For husbands, fathers, and sons
You and I were taught to handle it alone.
Not anymore.
If you're a husband, a father, a son, struggling today — reach out. We are called to endure, and you no longer have to do it alone.
Come ready to name one thing you want to be different three months from now.
The lie
A real man sucks it up. That isn't strength — it's the thing that's costing you everything underneath.
Your sleep. Your temper. The way your wife has stopped asking. What your kids are learning about being a man by watching how you handle this.
Nobody taught us any different. We learned it from fathers who learned it from theirs, and we baptized it and called it faithfulness. It isn't faithfulness. It's avoidance with a Bible verse on it — I know, because I preached for a year and a half while doing exactly that.
What you might be carrying
- Someone died and everyone else has moved on.
- Your marriage went quiet and polite and you can't say when.
- The job, or the calling — gone, and you're still carrying it alone.
- Your father — still trying to satisfy him, or still trying to forgive him.
- The man you used to be before the burnout, the failure, the anger in your own house.
- Something you can't name yet. That counts. We'll name it together.
Who you'd be talking to
Until I couldn't anymore.
I was pastoring when my oldest son was killed in a car accident. I held my faith, my family and my congregation together for a year and a half while ignoring my own grief. Then I got honest with myself and knew I needed help.
A Christian coach walked with me — a man who understood my grief and my faith and told me the two things nobody had said yet: I wasn't going crazy, and I wasn't losing my faith. That is the room I now hold open for other men.
Where it starts
One man, one conversation at a time
Most of what I do is simple: you and me, fifty minutes, video or phone. You bring what you're carrying. I don't rush you, I don't fix you, and I don't flinch.
It isn't venting. Every conversation ends with something decided — one thing to work on before we talk again — because men don't want company, they want the thing handled. Some men come once. Most find out there's more underneath and keep going.
If you want more than one conversation
Other ways to work together
Six sessions, start to finish
Every other week over about three months. Your goals in writing by session two, and a ninety-day plan you keep. Every session published before you pay anything.
See all six ›Four weeks, six to eight men
Ninety minutes a week, same men every week. Something happens when a man hears another man say the thing he thought only he was thinking.
How the group works ›Before the wedding, for the two of you
Four sessions where you decide together what most couples find out the hard way later — money, family, conflict, faith, expectations — and write it down.
What it costs ›What it isn't
Plain about the limits
It isn't therapy
I'm a coach and a pastor, not a counselor. If what you're carrying needs a licensed professional or a doctor, I'll tell you in the first conversation and help you find the right next step.
It isn't advice from a book
I lost my oldest son. I held it together for a year and a half, and then I finally reached out and got help. I'm not describing something I read about.
It isn't a program that fixes you
Nobody gets fixed in a few conversations. What you get is it named, worked on, and a plan you keep using after we stop meeting.
Where to start
The first conversation is free
Thirty minutes. We talk about what you're carrying, what you want different in three months, and whether I'm the right person for it. If I'm not, I'll say so and point you somewhere better.
In eight years of ministry, what stopped men was almost never the money or the time. It was that making the call feels like admitting something. I waited until year two.
Come ready to name one thing you want to be different three months from now.