For most of my life, I carried the weight of being “the strong one.” I was the person others leaned on when things got hard, the one who didn’t cry, didn’t falter, didn’t let anyone see cracks. At first, I thought it was pride. Later, I realized it was fear—fear that if I showed any emotion, people would see me as weak or unreliable. But behind that armor was a man who felt invisible, unsupported, and completely worn down.

My breaking point came during my second divorce. One night, after helping a coworker through a crisis, I sat alone in bed with a heavy chest and tears pressing at the back of my eyes. I fought them the same way I always had—but this time, I got angry. The question hit me hard: Who is there for me? I couldn’t think of an answer. I realized I had spent years being strong for everyone else without ever believing I had the right to need strength from someone, too.

Through my job’s Employee Assistance Program, I finally called a therapist. Those conversations helped me see the truth: men are human. We feel. We break. We need connection. Yet we’re taught to bury it all and keep going. I started to see the damage that silence was doing, not just to me but to every man I knew. Somewhere along the way, society had sold us the lie that our worth is tied only to what we provide and that “real men” don’t cry. I wanted to challenge that.

So I started C.O.R.E. Men. Nothing fancy—just a small house, a few chairs, and the understanding that here, no one has to pretend. We speak honestly about what we carry, and it’s met with respect, not judgment. At C.O.R.E. Men, we believe true strength comes from responsibility—not just power, but owning your role, stepping up, and lifting others. Real leadership demands courage, integrity, and commitment to building a better future. This is more than a group; it’s a call to action. It’s time to redefine manhood on our terms—with heart, backbone, and purpose.