Pledges men who’ve participated in groups over the past 30 years wrote have been turned into wall hangings and adorn the walls of the welcoming meeting space.
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I recently found myself the only woman among 11 men in a room lit only by candles and salt lamps.
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Given a history of some less-than-desirable encounters with the opposite gender, the environment wasn’t one I’d usually walk into willingly.
I had pushed out of my comfort zone, however, because the reason for this meeting of men was an important one.
I’m smart enough to know not to tar an entire gender with the same brush — after all, I know many great men, my own father for one — but even if I’d put them all in the same basket, the ones in this room were there to work on themselves.
And that, to me, takes effort I admire.
It was the Talking Straight ‘warrior training’ men’s group.
I’d been invited as a guest speaker after a conversation I had with one of the group’s facilitators, Dale Wright, a couple of months earlier.
I had told him I wished I’d known such a group existed when a past partner of mine was struggling with his mental health, which manifested in domestic violence and the ultimate demise of our relationship.
I had written a story about the group when it called for expressions of interest ahead of the next 13-week program in 2025, so I had the gist of what the group was about and what it was trying to encourage (self-love in men) and prevent (suicide).
Dale was somewhat mysterious about what exactly went on to achieve such outcomes inside the softly illuminated room I eventually got firsthand insight into.
Secret men’s business.
Nervously, I approached Varloine Cottage — Dale’s photography studio where the sessions are held — that night, uncertain about what I was walking into.
The candle holder mimics a linking of arms between the men during the session.
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If I’m honest, the moment I sat in the circle of men around that flickering candle flame, my fight or flight instinct stood to attention and my mind screamed at me to do the latter.
“I’m here now,” I soothed myself silently.
“It’ll be over soon enough.”
A powerful poem was shared before each of us took turns reading aloud short and sharp handwritten pledges scribed on laminated tickets at our seats.
I relaxed a little and settled in to listen, hoping to wholly grasp the extent of what was unfolding before me.
Like Dale, I won’t divulge all the details between the ceremonial rituals of taking ‘journey steps’ and ‘playing catch’, but I can say, as expected, these men were there to support each other and grow as humans.
They reflected on their feelings throughout the week since they’d last met, listened respectfully to each other, asked the group for advice to help them with their current struggles and accepted graciously any that was thrown their way.
I’m not used to seeing men open up this way or allowing themselves to be vulnerable.
In fact, many of the men I know would sadly consider the act of doing so weak or to be ashamed of.
And perhaps it’s because of that stigma, because of that toxic masculinity that is still so rife in this world, I feel I was actually witnessing some of the bravest behaviours I’ve ever seen in men.
Sure, they must feel the pressure to go forth and slay the dragon. They’re generally biologically stronger anyway.
But admitting you’re not six foot tall and bulletproof is a different kind of bravery and arguably more admirable.
Gender and gender norms aside, we’re all human.
Warm blood courses through our veins, hearts beat in our chests, busy minds overthink and sometimes turn against us, trauma-induced emotions run deep.
Actually, emotions run deep whether there’s a history of trauma or not.
Why should men quash their feelings? Why should they pretend they’re okay because anything less might be considered weak? Who made those ridiculous rules?
I still believe we, the human race, have a long way to go in rewriting the narrative on this whole issue.
But the Talking Straight men’s group — which has been running for more than 30 years — is contributing to the much-needed changes on a local level.
It’s getting men to engage in self-reflection, lean on each other and no doubt is saving relationships and lives.
It’s not your regular orthodox clinical environment, which is probably one of the best things about it.
What works for one, doesn’t necessarily work for another.
If nothing else, the men who go to this group gain mateship, which Dale says is key.
“If you haven’t got a best mate, your soul and spirit diminish; we need a mate; we need to bounce off another mate.”
For more information or to express your interest in joining a future group, phone 5821 1864. Referrals from doctors, psychologists and counsellors are also accepted.
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