An Open Letter to Justin Baldoni

can we practice being seen in our mess in the public eye?

EDIT: I’ve received information about the situation since publishing this letter that has inspired some level of doubt in me as to whether this letter is well-founded and grounded in truth.

I do not and very likely cannot know what actually happened or didn’t happen.

Nevertheless, I’m choosing to leave this letter up—not because its specific content is true or will age well, rather because it serves as a template for how I might relate to any man who leverages his power or reputation to silence women, a phenomenon far too common in our world.

Dear Justin,

You've spent years asking men about the last time they weren't enough. Now the spotlight's on you, and it's not about enough or not enough anymore—it's about what happens when a man who's built his platform on conscious masculinity faces his own shadow.

I imagine you're experiencing a lot right now. The weight of exposure. The temptation to defend. The fear of losing everything you've built. I recognize these forces because I've faced smaller versions of them myself—as have most men doing this work.

But this moment—this exact moment of choosing between doubling down and diving deep—is where the real work begins.

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Although we've never met, I believe that you and I have both spent significant time sitting in circles with men. We know what it means to be witnessed in our mess, to have other men see through our defenses and name what's really happening. These circles have changed my life—they're the reason I can be a father today, the reason I trust myself to pass on something different than what I inherited.

Which is exactly why your response to this situation matters so much.

Your response to these allegations ripples far beyond you or Blake. Every time a visible leader in men's work chooses PR manipulation over authentic accountability, it validates the deepest skepticism about this work—that it's all performance, that conscious masculinity is just another mask, that men can't actually be trusted to face ourselves.

Think about it: How many women have sat across from their partners at dinner, listening to them quote your TED talk or reference your podcast, feeling a glimmer of hope that men can change? How many of those same women are now watching you deploy the same tactics that have been used to silence them for generations?

This isn't just about your reputation. It's about the credibility of every men's circle, every workshop, every moment when a man says, "I'm doing my work." Your choices right now can either strengthen or erode the container that holds all of us doing this work.

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Many men out here in the wild know for themselves the choice point that occurs post-fuck-up:

The instinct is to fight. Double down. Leverage your reputation, money, status—anything—to come out on top. Hire PR firms to paint her as unstable, difficult, attention-seeking. We know this play. It's written in the same ink as every attempt to silence women who speak up.

What if there’s another path, if less traveled: You can choose to breathe, tell your body that this too will pass, this moment will not kill you. You can take this opportunity to deepen your awareness, to examine what’s actually true, and work with the discomfort that arises.

This is where real change becomes possible.

True repair isn't about managing your image. It's a practice of restoring trust through sustained action.

Here's what that could look like:

First, with Blake: This means pulling back every PR attack. Ending the campaign to discredit her. Acknowledging publicly—without qualification—the specific ways your behavior impacted her. Not a crafted statement, but a genuine acknowledgment of what happened on that set and how your subsequent actions compounded the harm.

With your audience: You have a rare opportunity to model what it actually looks like when a man faces his shadow. Not through more TED talks or podcast episodes, but through demonstrated accountability. This means being willing to sit in the discomfort of public critique without defending. It means using your platform to expose, and get curious about, rather than obscure the very mechanisms you've employed to protect yourself.

With the men's work community: Your actions have placed every facilitator, leader, and man doing this work in the position of having to answer for the gap between what we preach and what we practice. Real repair here means stepping back from leadership—not as punishment, but as a genuine recommitment to your own growth. It means doing your work in private before claiming the authority to guide others.

The work you've put into the world through the Man Enough podcast has touched millions. I believe that impact came from a genuine desire to help men evolve beyond our conditioning. But this moment is asking something deeper of you—and of all of us who claim to be doing this work.

This is your opportunity to demonstrate that men's work isn't just another performance of enlightened masculinity. That we mean what we say about facing our shadows. That we can practice being seen in our mess even in the public eye, without resorting to the old playbook of discredit/deflect.

I can imagine how terrifying this feels. To face the possibility of losing everything you've built. To stand in the fire of public accountability without armor. To trust that something more authentic might emerge from the ashes of your carefully constructed image.

But that's exactly what you've been asking other men to do.

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I have a wish that you are sitting with this whole situation in deep contemplation, in circle with men who won't let you bypass the truth, and alone with whatever emerges. That you're allowing yourself to feel the full weight of your impact without rushing to resolution.

I have a wish that when—if—you choose to speak about this again, it comes from that place of hard-earned truth rather than damage control.

And I have a wish that you might discover, as so many men before you have, that our greatest moments of growth often come through our biggest failures.

This moment could be your most powerful teaching about what it truly means to be "man enough"—not despite your actions, but because of how you choose to face them.

The choice is yours.

With hope for what's possible,

Sean Talbeaux