The Silence Edge
What Men Find When They Stop Talking
Have you noticed how many words we use to avoid saying what's real?
I sat with a group of men last night as one of them tried to explain why he hasn’t been able to sleep recently. He spoke about stress at work, about his morning routine, his practices, even about the supplements he was taking. Words piled on words until finally, he stopped.
In that silence, his eyes welled up.
"I miss my dad," he whispered.
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There's a particular flavor of silence that arrives when a man finally says the thing he's been talking around. It's not empty—it's pregnant with all the words he didn't need to say.
This is where the real work begins.
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As men, we're trained to use words as shields. We explain, justify, rationalize. We turn our pain into PowerPoints, our grief into goals, our longing into logic.
But what lives beneath all those words?
In my circles, I've noticed three layers that emerge when men finally stop talking:
The Story Layer
This is where we live most of the time. The narrative we tell about why we're fine, why we've got it handled, why we don't need help. It's comfortable here. Safe. But nothing really changes.
The Sensation Layer
When we drop below the story, we find the body. The tight chest. The clenched jaw. The shoulders that haven't relaxed in decades. This is where transformation becomes possible—if we're willing to stay.
The Sacred Layer
Beneath sensation lies something older than words. Our connection to life itself. To the ground beneath us. To the lineage we carry. To the truth we've been running from.
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"But what's the point of silence?" you might ask. "Isn't men's work about expressing ourselves more?"
Yes and no.
Yes, we need to learn to express ourselves. But first, we need to find ourselves. And that finding happens in the spaces between words.
This is why medicine work can be so powerful—it often drops us straight through the Story Layer into direct experience. But we don't need plant medicines to access this depth. We just need the courage to stop talking.
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Try this: Next time you're in circle, or even just with a trusted friend, set a timer for three minutes. Sit in silence together. Notice what wants to be said just to fill the space. Notice what emerges when you don't say it.
This is how we learn to trust ourselves—and each other—beyond words.
This is how we find our way back to what's real.
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The man in our circle who missed his father? Once he said those words, everything changed. His body softened. Other men's eyes grew wet. The quality of presence in the room deepened.
Not because he found the right words, but because he finally let the words fall away.
What's waiting in your silence?