Growing up, masculinity was something I came to fear. Early on, I was surrounded by stories of trauma caused by men, shared by family members and friends. These stories painted masculinity as something potentially harmful rather than supportive, something to approach with caution. The men around me seemed to reinforce this impression, often behaving in ways that went unchallenged, as if emotional distance, control, or even aggression were acceptable qualities in a man. For a long time, few positive examples of masculinity appeared, and as a result, I started associating masculinity with control, criticism, and emotional withdrawal. It felt like a quality I didn’t want in myself or others.
In high school, I encountered teachers who perpetuated this image of masculinity as rigid and authoritarian. They were raised in a time when emotional distance and discipline were the main markers of a strong man, which drove a wedge between the masculine identity I saw around me and the sensitivity I knew within myself. I was more inclined to show empathy, curiosity, and openness, but these qualities were often dismissed as weakness. Facing ridicule from peers who saw my sensitivity as “lacking the balls”—a phrase that became ironically relevant later in my life—I questioned whether masculinity was worth embracing at all. And so, I chose to resist it, although this resistance created an internal conflict that lingered for years.
In the early years of my marriage, I struggled with a sense of competition that seemed to confirm these fears. My wife, a full-time doctor, could take on an additional shift on a holiday and earn in a day what I would make in an entire month. The contrast was stark, amplifying the old belief that my worth had to be earned through visible success. Each day I worked 13 or 14 hours, commuting to and from Tokyo, yet I felt like I was constantly playing catch-up, as if I had to prove my worth by doing more. This led to an overwhelming sense of hyper-responsibility, a feeling that I needed to take on everything that came my way to compensate for my perceived shortcomings. But this drive ultimately backfired, leading to exhaustion, burnout, and a lingering question: Would I ever be enough?
In recent years, one of the biggest turning points in my journey has been learning to redefine masculinity through physical practices, specifically strength training. When I first encountered the idea of working on physical strength, I resisted it, seeing it as something I associated with control or aggression—a reminder of my father’s approach to “being a man.” But over time, I realized that strength training could become a path toward grounded resilience rather than raw physical prowess. Building physical strength became symbolic of inner resilience, allowing me to embody a version of masculinity that felt stable, quiet, and respectful. The practice helped me let go of my old notions of masculinity as something to be feared, reshaping it instead as a source of inner strength that supported my whole self.
In embracing this grounded version of masculinity, I began to see its influence on my relationships. For years, I had seen empathy as something that required constant giving and boundless availability, often to the point of exhaustion. But through physical practices that strengthened my own boundaries, I found a new balance. I came to understand that true compassion doesn’t require endless overextending, and that empathy can coexist with self-respect and clear limits. Rather than viewing masculinity as a liability, I started to see it as a source of stability that allowed me to hold space for others in a way that felt supportive and complete.
As I’ve worked to integrate these insights, my relationships have taken on a new depth. I’ve found that approaching masculinity from a place of inner stability and grounded presence allows me to connect with others more authentically. No longer feeling the need to prove my worth or overgive, I’m able to show up in a way that values both strength and sensitivity, recognizing that they’re not opposites but complementary forces. This shift has created a foundation that allows me to bring my full self to my work, my relationships, and my creative pursuits.
In the end, this journey has been about redefining masculinity as something that embraces both resilience and vulnerability. I now see masculinity as a balanced force that allows me to cultivate empathy without losing myself, and to connect with others from a place of authenticity and strength. By letting go of the need for constant validation and embracing an inner stability, I’ve found a new way to engage with masculinity that feels both empowering and genuinely my own.
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