Feelings Are Signposts, Not Destinations
What six months of facilitating a men's group has taught me
There’s a version of men’s fellowship that most guys are afraid of, and rightly so.
You sit in a circle. Someone shares something heavy. Everyone gets quiet. Maybe someone cries a little. Or a lot. Then you all say “thanks for sharing” and go home feeling like you participated in something meaningful.
I don’t run that kind of group.
There’s also a version of men’s fellowship where nobody shares anything real at all. You talk about the sermon or the game. You pray for safe things. Then you drive home alone with the same weight you walked in with.
I don’t run that kind of group either.
For the past six months, I’ve been facilitating a group of Christian men who meet every other Tuesday night on Zoom. Reformed guys from different churches, different cities, and different industries. We’ve been through a lot together. And what I’ve watched happen in that room has taught me more about biblical masculinity than most books I’ve read on the subject.
Here’s what I’ve learned.
Lesson 1: Other men can see what you can’t.
We all think we understand our own situation. We’ve been living in it, thinking about it, praying about it. We’ve got the whole picture. Or so we think.
Then a brother says one simple sentence and the whole thing shifts.
This happens constantly in our group, and I love it. A man will lay out something he’s been wrestling with for weeks, and another man—often with a completely different background—will point out something so obvious that the whole room goes quiet. Not because it’s profound in some abstract way. Because it’s true, and the man couldn’t see it because he was standing too close.
This is what Proverbs 15:22 means when it talks about the counsel of many advisors. Not that you need a whole committee. But that your own perspective has blind spots, and trusted brothers can see into them.
Lesson 2: Your deepest struggle is probably not unique.
One of the most isolating things about carrying something hard is the belief that nobody else could possibly understand what you’re going through. That your grief, your failure, your fear is somehow yours alone.
Six months of watching men open up has forever cured me of that idea.
Almost every time a man shares something he’s been carrying quietly, another man in the room has lived through the same thing. Not something similar. The same thing.
And that man often has hard-won insight that didn’t come from a book. It came from walking through the fire and coming out the other side, with scars to prove it.
The isolation most men feel isn’t because their problems are unusual. It’s just because they’ve never been in a room where they felt comfortable enough to find out they’re not.
Lesson 3: You are not a burden.
Every man I’ve ever worked with hesitates before sharing something heavy. There’s a voice inside all of us that says, “Dude, don’t put this on them. They’ve got their own stuff. You should be able to handle this.”
Here’s what I’ve noticed: every man who thinks that way is also the first to lean in when another man shares something heavy. The desire to help is immediate and genuine. No one resents it, and no one thinks less of him. In fact, the men snap to attention and the room comes alive.
The idea that you’re a burden is a trick your mind plays on you. The reality is that every man in a room like this wants to help. You’re not taking something from them. You’re really giving them the chance to do what they were made to do.
Lesson 4: Speaking it makes you accountable for it.
There’s something that happens when you say a problem out loud in front of men who know you. It stops being a private struggle you can manage quietly. It becomes something you’ve put on the table.
And you know that two weeks later, those men are going to ask you about it.
Sometimes that’s all it takes. It doesn’t need a strategy or a framework. Just the knowledge that you told your brothers you were going to deal with something, and they’re going to ask you how it went.
Lesson 5: A shared win is the best feeling there is.
When a man in the group has a breakthrough—he lands the job, has the hard conversation with a friend, calls his pastor, or makes the decision he’s been putting off—it doesn’t just feel good for him. The whole room celebrates. Especially when the brothers contributed to it, and when their counsel, challenge, or prayer was part of what moved him forward.
That’s what real fellowship produces. Not just comfort in suffering, but shared joy in victory. Both matter. But the victories are what make men come back.
And here’s the one that might surprise you:
Lesson 6: A men’s group doesn’t have to be a weepy emotional wreck.
This is the thing most guys are afraid of, and honestly, I get it. It’s a valid thing to be concerned about. A man who’s melting down in his feelings past the point of reason is a painful thing to watch.
But here’s what I’ve learned from six months in the room: Yes, good men have feelings about their lives. We’re supposed to. Those feelings are real and they matter.
But the feelings are not the point.
They’re signposts. They tell you something is going on underneath. Something about your marriage, your calling, your walk with God, your unprocessed grief.
In other words, the feelings point to the thing. But they are not the thing.
A good men’s group doesn’t sit around staring at the signposts. It reads them, and then moves toward what they’re pointing at.
We don’t ignore what we feel. That’s foolish, and only leads to bigger problems later. But on the other hand, we don’t set up camp there either.
Instead, we let the emotion show us where the work is, and then we do the work, together, grounded in Scripture, with men who are for each other and not against each other.
That’s what I’ve watched happen for six months. And it’s the most Christ-honoring fellowship I’ve been part of.
We have room for three more men.
The group meets every other Tuesday, 6:30–8:30 PM on Zoom. It’s $90/month, and I ask men to commit to spending three months with us, minimum.
We’re Reformed, and that theological Christ-centered perspective shapes everything.
If you’re roughly 30–45 years old, serious about your faith, and generally competent but missing the kind of brotherhood that helps you see what you can’t see on your own, this might be the room you’ve been looking for.
To join, you start with a screening call with me. It’s not a sales pitch. It’s a conversation to make sure this is right for you and right for the men already in the group.
Book a call here:
Or DM me on this platform.
Three seats. Once they’re filled, they’re filled.