Hey brother,
Most queer men like us learned early that the safest version of ourselves was a smaller version. We learned to lie about who we were and who we desired, to be the funny one so nobody would see us as a threat, and to close our hearts so we could stay safe.
We came out into a community that promised us freedom while being run by transactional capitalism. We've normalized apps where you become a torso and a list of stats for someone else's consumption. The gym bodies, the fillers and the filters, the impossible standards of looking youthful and desirable, and the pressure to be perfect in every area of life so that maybe, just maybe, the world will love us.
So we perform, and many of us do it very well. Academy Award worthy performances, where we edit ourselves down to be palatable, likeable or docile, or pump ourselves up into a success story, just to be wanted. We catch our reflection in the mirror and see what's wrong first: what needs fixing, what isn't sexy or worthy enough. And somewhere along the way, we lose ourselves.
And our lives pay for it, our inner lives and usually our outer lives too. We find ourselves having plenty of sexual contact and very little intimacy. The hookup leaves us emptier than before. The relationship stays on the surface because it's safe. The spark sits on a safe level, and the eros that once felt like life itself goes quiet.
But what I've learned, through years of my own inner work and from working with hundreds of men, is that behind every one of those masks, we are hiding a tremendous amount of beauty. There is a man in you who never learned to be ashamed, who never had to dim his bright light to fit in, who knew intrinsically that all of him belonged and was worthy of the most delicious, yummy, erotic love and devotion.
The good news is that he didn't go anywhere. He's still in there, waiting for you to go back for him, to see him in your reflection, and to bring him into your life.
And when the lover comes back, you stop hiding, and your gifts stop hiding too. Your desire becomes a compass instead of a source of shame, and you get to show up as yourself, without the constant low hum of managing how you're being seen by others.
Are you willing to stop being the version of yourself that survived, and start becoming the one who came here to live?
