Men and Emotions: What No One Taught Us (But We’re Learning Anyway)

“Emotions are teachers. The more we feel them, the more we understand ourselves.”

-Unknown

Let’s get something out in the open: most men were never given the manual on emotions.

We were handed tools to fix broken things, taught how to hide pain with jokes, or work, or booze, and expected to “man up” whenever feelings dared to surface.

I know this because I lived it.

I grew up in a big family; thirteen kids and two parents doing their best to meet our physical needs. There wasn’t a lot of room for feelings, and emotions weren’t something we discussed. Not because anyone was cruel or careless, but because our survival and routine came first. You just kept moving. You didn’t fall apart. And if you did, you did it quietly.

The woods of northern Minnesota surrounded us, and those trees became something of a silent companion to me. I didn’t know it then, but nature was offering me a safe place to feel, before I even knew what feeling was.

Now I see it clearer: Nature has always been trying to teach me what no one else ever did.

Fast forward through years of raising my own family, through life’s big turns and quiet heartbreaks, and somehow, I’ve ended up back where I started. I’m walking trails, breathing in pine and dirt, and realizing just how far I drifted from myself in the noise of it all.

And honestly?
The years I spent furthest from the natural world were also the years I felt the most emotionally distant, from others and from myself.

I learned to bottle it, bury it, or numb it. At first, I didn’t even know I was doing that. I thought I was just “being strong.” And like a lot of the men I meet now, I didn’t have the language to describe what was going on inside me.

I couldn’t tell the difference between sadness and shame.
I couldn’t name grief without calling it anger.
I couldn’t sit in discomfort without reaching for a drink.

It’s wild to think about it now, but I truly didn’t know what I didn’t know. Not until it all broke. Not until my marriage ended and I watched myself walk away with a kind of stubborn pride. Not until I hit a low that almost cost me my life did I try to find understanding.

The High Cost of Staying Numb

When my marriage fell apart, I didn’t fight. I thought not reacting was the right response. I thought that staying calm and collected somehow proved I was still in control.

Looking back, I see it differently now. I see a man who didn’t have access to the emotional tools needed to hold space for hurt, confusion, or even vulnerability. And I’m not writing this from a place of regret, I’m writing it from a place of deep awareness. Because now that I see it, I know I can do better.

And now? I live differently.

I ask better questions.

I know better answers.
I still fall short.
But I don’t numb it anymore.

This Isn’t About Perfection

I’m not here to play expert. I’m not a therapist. I’m a man who is learning (sometimes painfully) how to be more present, more real, and more emotionally available.

I believe every one of us can learn a new way forward, no matter how we are raised. We don’t need to have all the right words. We just need to be willing to show up and ask better questions.

And maybe the first question is this:
What have I been feeling… that I’ve been too afraid to name?

Walk with that for a while.
The trail has a way of answering.

What I’m Learning on the Trail

These days, when I hit the trail, I’m not just walking for exercise. I’m walking to feel. To reflect. To reconnect with the parts of myself I used to silence.

And I’ve learned something that I think a lot of us, especially men, need to hear:

Suppressing emotion isn’t a strength.
Avoidance isn’t peace.
And shutting down isn’t stability.

Real strength comes from doing hard, inward work. From listening to the discomfort and staying present with it long enough to understand it.

A Simple Exercise to Get to Know What You’re Feeling

You don’t have to become an emotionally present person overnight. But if you’re someone who struggles to name what you feel, here’s a trail-based practice that’s helped me:

The Feel & Find Practice

1. Before your hike or walk, pause for 30 seconds and ask yourself:
   What am I feeling right now?
   (Even if the answer is “I don’t know,” that’s a start.)
2. As you walk, pick up a stone, pinecone, or fallen leaf. Assign it the emotion you’re working with.

This stone is my frustration.

This pinecone is my low self-worth.

This leaf is my confusion.

3. Carry it for a while. Let your body feel the weight of it.
4. When you’re ready. When something inside you says, “let it go”. Find a place on the trail to set it down. Don’t just toss it. Place it intentionally.
   Let it be a symbol that you acknowledged what was there and chose not to carry it back.
5. As you walk away, repeat a short phrase like:
   I’m learning to feel. I’m allowed to feel.
   Or whatever words come honestly to you.

Before You Go…

If this practice feels awkward or uncomfortable, that’s okay. That’s expected. You’re not doing it wrong.

We have been conditioned for years (maybe our whole lives) to believe that shutting down, toughing it out, or powering through was strength. Unlearning that takes time. Rewiring the inner script takes intention.

This is not about flipping a switch; it’s about building new trails, one habit at a time. And just like hiking, the first few miles are always the hardest. The terrain feels unfamiliar. Your footing is unsure. But give it time. Give yourself grace. With steady practice, the unfamiliar becomes familiar, and those heavy old ways start to fall away.

You deserve the kind of life that not only survives, but truly feels alive.

This isn’t just your trail. I’m on it too. Learning, stumbling, and learning some more.

Let’s keep growing. One step at a time.
Let’s hike. Let’s heal.