It’s one of the very few times I’ve seen a man attempt to trace the emotional inheritance of masculinity in such an honest way. I want to acknowledge the courage it takes to look at those patterns in oneself and to write about them publicly.
Reading this, I saw my former partner everywhere in these words. The longing for warmth, the lack of emotional mentorship among men, the way romantic relationships end up carrying more weight than they were ever designed to hold.
That recognition brought me to tears more than once.
Because the part that often goes unspoken is what it feels like on the other side of that dynamic.
When a partner becomes the primary regulator of someone’s emotional world, the relationship begins to carry an enormous load. Love is there, but it is asked to do too much. It becomes mirror, stabilizer, reassurance, proof of worth — sometimes all at once.
I loved a man who was doing the best he could with the inheritance he had been given. But I could not carry the weight that was placed on me.
Eventually I realized something difficult but important: compassion for someone’s history does not create the capacity that a relationship requires.
For a relationship to hold real intimacy, two capacities seem essential. The ability to feel emotion without becoming overwhelmed by it. And the ability to remain present while another person’s emotions are in motion.
When those capacities are still shaped by earlier developmental imprints that haven’t been resolved, partners can end up trying to regulate each other instead of simply meeting one another.
So reading this piece, I felt both things at once — recognition of the pattern, and respect for a man who is willing to look at it honestly in himself.
It’s one of the very few times I’ve seen a man attempt to trace the emotional inheritance of masculinity in such an honest way. I want to acknowledge the courage it takes to look at those patterns in oneself and to write about them publicly.
Reading this, I saw my former partner everywhere in these pages. The longing for warmth, the lack of emotional mentorship among men, the way romantic relationships end up carrying more weight than they were ever designed to hold.
That recognition brought me to tears more than once.
Because the part that often goes unspoken is what it feels like on the other side of that dynamic.
When a partner becomes the primary regulator of someone’s emotional world, the relationship begins to carry an enormous load. Love is there, but it is asked to do too much. It becomes mirror, stabilizer, reassurance, proof of worth — sometimes all at once.
I loved a man who was doing the best he could with the inheritance he had been given. But I could not carry the weight that was placed on me.
Eventually I realized something difficult but important: compassion for someone’s history does not create the capacity that a relationship requires.
For a relationship to hold real intimacy, two capacities seem essential. The ability to feel emotion without becoming overwhelmed by it. And the ability to remain present while another person’s emotions are in motion.
When those capacities are still shaped by earlier developmental imprints that haven’t been resolved, partners can end up trying to regulate each other instead of simply meeting one another.
So reading this piece, I felt both things at once — recognition of the pattern, and respect for a man who is willing to look at it honestly in himself.
I love your comment here. I also wept so many times reading this. My last relationship ended for many of the reasons mentioned here. In healing my own unhealthy dependencies on him, I began to realize how responsible I had been for regulating his emotions and for providing continual evidence of love and worth. I just couldn’t perform in that circus any more. Deeply heart breaking.
I’d always been alarmed by the absence of intimate male companionship in his life .
Thank you so much for your dedication to change, doing the work and this writing.
I also want to add that we women also do this too, for all of our emotional skills so many of us didn’t learn to stay in ourselves either, I didn’t—“ It felt like honesty at the time, like I was finally laying my cards on the table, admitting how much I cared, how much I needed. But without a foundation of emotional steadiness among other men, without having learned how to hold my own emotional life, that exposure often tipped into dependency. What I thought was vulnerability was often urgency. What I thought was depth was sometimes an attempt to secure reassurance. I wasn’t wrong to want connection, but I didn’t yet know how to want it without making the other person responsible for regulating my emotional state.”
It seems the patriarchy cuts off our ability for emotional regulation from most people. No matter their gender.
this essay is fire, Paul. what struck me most was how refreshing it is to see a man writing openly about the interior terrain of his life while actively examining the conditioning that shaped it.
the way you trace the emotional lineage between the men in your family and the silence that gets handed down through it is powerful and painfully recognizable. that gap between men, and the weight that then gets placed on women to hold emotional life, is something i see everywhere.
i was genuinely surprised to see my words appear as i was reading, and honored to be included in such thoughtful company. thank you for writing this with such honesty.
I appreciate this essay deeply because in my circles we are collectively still at the point of celebrating any amount of male vulnerability and emotionality, especially in relationships with women. While this is worthy and important, the collective sentiment doesn’t extend to acknowledge the asymmetry of emotional labour in most male-female relationships (I see this patterning not just in romantic pairs but also in friendships, work relationships, families). While vulnerability and intimacy is important in any relationship, is sharing, space creation, regulation, and inquiry being done equally? I don’t think we ask these types of questions enough.
I love your essay. You really captured the critical role of developing emotionality, particularly in reference to family.
You were lucky to have some strong women on your side. My father was raised in a emotionally deprived situation. He was a very hard worker, attempting to provide for our family financially and ultimately failing in that died by suicide. However, we did not get any emotional sustenance from him. Although our mother was emotionally demonstrative, she was not emotionally supportive. She was the taker, not the giver. We kids really didn't get any emotional sustenance. We were isolated from external family, largely because my mother did not get along with anyone.
I believe I have been a good mother to my two girls, but I certainly am not what you would describe as "warm and fuzzy ". I'm more like "cool and quirky ". I will take that as a compliment. We have a close and mutually supportive relationship, just not very huggy.
This piece moved me deeply.
It’s one of the very few times I’ve seen a man attempt to trace the emotional inheritance of masculinity in such an honest way. I want to acknowledge the courage it takes to look at those patterns in oneself and to write about them publicly.
Reading this, I saw my former partner everywhere in these words. The longing for warmth, the lack of emotional mentorship among men, the way romantic relationships end up carrying more weight than they were ever designed to hold.
That recognition brought me to tears more than once.
Because the part that often goes unspoken is what it feels like on the other side of that dynamic.
When a partner becomes the primary regulator of someone’s emotional world, the relationship begins to carry an enormous load. Love is there, but it is asked to do too much. It becomes mirror, stabilizer, reassurance, proof of worth — sometimes all at once.
I loved a man who was doing the best he could with the inheritance he had been given. But I could not carry the weight that was placed on me.
Eventually I realized something difficult but important: compassion for someone’s history does not create the capacity that a relationship requires.
For a relationship to hold real intimacy, two capacities seem essential. The ability to feel emotion without becoming overwhelmed by it. And the ability to remain present while another person’s emotions are in motion.
When those capacities are still shaped by earlier developmental imprints that haven’t been resolved, partners can end up trying to regulate each other instead of simply meeting one another.
So reading this piece, I felt both things at once — recognition of the pattern, and respect for a man who is willing to look at it honestly in himself.
More conversations like this are needed.
This piece moved me deeply.
It’s one of the very few times I’ve seen a man attempt to trace the emotional inheritance of masculinity in such an honest way. I want to acknowledge the courage it takes to look at those patterns in oneself and to write about them publicly.
Reading this, I saw my former partner everywhere in these pages. The longing for warmth, the lack of emotional mentorship among men, the way romantic relationships end up carrying more weight than they were ever designed to hold.
That recognition brought me to tears more than once.
Because the part that often goes unspoken is what it feels like on the other side of that dynamic.
When a partner becomes the primary regulator of someone’s emotional world, the relationship begins to carry an enormous load. Love is there, but it is asked to do too much. It becomes mirror, stabilizer, reassurance, proof of worth — sometimes all at once.
I loved a man who was doing the best he could with the inheritance he had been given. But I could not carry the weight that was placed on me.
Eventually I realized something difficult but important: compassion for someone’s history does not create the capacity that a relationship requires.
For a relationship to hold real intimacy, two capacities seem essential. The ability to feel emotion without becoming overwhelmed by it. And the ability to remain present while another person’s emotions are in motion.
When those capacities are still shaped by earlier developmental imprints that haven’t been resolved, partners can end up trying to regulate each other instead of simply meeting one another.
So reading this piece, I felt both things at once — recognition of the pattern, and respect for a man who is willing to look at it honestly in himself.
More conversations like this are needed.
I love your comment here. I also wept so many times reading this. My last relationship ended for many of the reasons mentioned here. In healing my own unhealthy dependencies on him, I began to realize how responsible I had been for regulating his emotions and for providing continual evidence of love and worth. I just couldn’t perform in that circus any more. Deeply heart breaking.
I’d always been alarmed by the absence of intimate male companionship in his life .
Thank you so much for your dedication to change, doing the work and this writing.
I also want to add that we women also do this too, for all of our emotional skills so many of us didn’t learn to stay in ourselves either, I didn’t—“ It felt like honesty at the time, like I was finally laying my cards on the table, admitting how much I cared, how much I needed. But without a foundation of emotional steadiness among other men, without having learned how to hold my own emotional life, that exposure often tipped into dependency. What I thought was vulnerability was often urgency. What I thought was depth was sometimes an attempt to secure reassurance. I wasn’t wrong to want connection, but I didn’t yet know how to want it without making the other person responsible for regulating my emotional state.”
It seems the patriarchy cuts off our ability for emotional regulation from most people. No matter their gender.
A very powerful and deeply beautiful piece of writing Paul. Thank you.
this essay is fire, Paul. what struck me most was how refreshing it is to see a man writing openly about the interior terrain of his life while actively examining the conditioning that shaped it.
the way you trace the emotional lineage between the men in your family and the silence that gets handed down through it is powerful and painfully recognizable. that gap between men, and the weight that then gets placed on women to hold emotional life, is something i see everywhere.
i was genuinely surprised to see my words appear as i was reading, and honored to be included in such thoughtful company. thank you for writing this with such honesty.
Thank you for such a vulnerable share!
Wow! I bow to this testimony. It’s raw and vulnerable and fills me with hope. Thank you. Thank you. 🙏🏻
An exceptional and truly insightful piece of writing. Thank you so very much.
Wow. I've been waiting for someone to write from this place. Thank you. So insightful
I appreciate this essay deeply because in my circles we are collectively still at the point of celebrating any amount of male vulnerability and emotionality, especially in relationships with women. While this is worthy and important, the collective sentiment doesn’t extend to acknowledge the asymmetry of emotional labour in most male-female relationships (I see this patterning not just in romantic pairs but also in friendships, work relationships, families). While vulnerability and intimacy is important in any relationship, is sharing, space creation, regulation, and inquiry being done equally? I don’t think we ask these types of questions enough.
I love your essay. You really captured the critical role of developing emotionality, particularly in reference to family.
You were lucky to have some strong women on your side. My father was raised in a emotionally deprived situation. He was a very hard worker, attempting to provide for our family financially and ultimately failing in that died by suicide. However, we did not get any emotional sustenance from him. Although our mother was emotionally demonstrative, she was not emotionally supportive. She was the taker, not the giver. We kids really didn't get any emotional sustenance. We were isolated from external family, largely because my mother did not get along with anyone.
I believe I have been a good mother to my two girls, but I certainly am not what you would describe as "warm and fuzzy ". I'm more like "cool and quirky ". I will take that as a compliment. We have a close and mutually supportive relationship, just not very huggy.
Here's a link to my father's story.
https://celestialspheres.substack.com/p/capitalism-killed-my-father?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=10gwf0
What a great piece! Thanks for sharing that. I can completely relate. The American dream that grinds us to dust.
Thank you Paul for putting words on all of this
This explains my ex husband so well. Thanks for this piece.
You're doing a great job!
Thank you for all the lovely comments and restacks, everyone. Much appreciated!