The Sacred Art of Falling Apart

Deepening Relationship with Grief and Surrender

When was the last time you let yourself completely fall apart?

Not the controlled breakdown in your car between meetings. Not the quick tears wiped away before the kids notice. I mean the full, messy surrender that leaves you undone on the floor, snot-nosed and raw, with no idea how to put yourself back together.

For most men I work with, the answer is "never." Or "not since I was a child." Or, most tellingly: "I can't afford to."

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Here's what I've learned sitting with men in their grief: the cost of not falling apart is far greater than the cost of surrender.

The grief lives in our bodies anyway. It shows up as chronic pain, inflammation, rage toward our children, distance from our partners, endless striving for a success that never feels like enough.

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Last month in circle, Michael shared about losing his father. "I handled it," he said. "I took care of everything. The funeral, the estate, my mom's needs." His chest was puffed out, voice steady.

Then he got quiet. "But sometimes, when I'm alone, I feel this... thing... like it might swallow me whole if I let it in."

That thing is grief, brother. And it's not meant to be handled.

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Three Practices for Sacred Surrender

Grief Walk

Find a private piece of earth. Begin walking slowly. With each step, name something you've lost. A dream. A relationship. A version of yourself. Let your body move however it needs to. Fall if you need to fall. Yell if you need to yell. The earth can hold it all.

Empty Chair

Set up a chair across from you. Sit with someone you've lost—to death, to distance, to time. Tell them everything you never got to say. Let it be messy. Let it be real. Let it be enough.

Brotherhood Witness

This is an advanced practice. In your men's group, create space for one man to fully grieve while others hold the container. No fixing. No advice. Just presence. Just witness. Just love.

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"But what about staying strong?" you might ask. "What about everyone who needs me?"

Consider this: What if your surrender is actually a gift to those around you? What if seeing you fall apart gives them permission to be human too?

What if strength isn't about holding it together, but about trusting that you'll survive falling apart?

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The medicine of psychedelics often brings us face to face with our ungrieved losses. That's not a bug—it's a feature. These medicines know that our wholeness lives on the other side of our brokenness.

But you don't need medicine to access this wisdom. Your body knows the way. Your grief knows the way.

The only question is, will you let yourself be led?

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What are you afraid would happen if you really let yourself fall apart?

What might become possible if you survived it?

Share in the comments. Your vulnerability is medicine for us all.

Remember: The way through is down.