From the Man Box to Liberation: What I Learned at A Call To Men’s Leadership Academy
By Brad Hieftje, Healthy Manhood Coordinator
He was 13 years old, sitting in the back of a middle school classroom. I asked the boys a simple question: “When’s the last time someone told you it’s okay to cry?”
He clenched his jaw and looked away. No words—just that familiar tension.
The kind that says: “It’s not safe to feel.”
The kind that boys carry in silence until it hardens into something else.
I’ve seen that look more times than I can count—in boys, in fathers, in grown men trying to keep it together. What most people don’t understand is that this kind of suppressed pain doesn’t just go away. It fractures the soul.
And when men are taught to bury grief, hide fear, and never speak their truth, that fracture becomes a fault line—one that can erupt as disconnection, addiction, loneliness, and yes, sometimes even violence.
This is why I do this work.
Because I’ve sat with too many men who were never allowed to feel.
Because I’ve listened to too many survivors whose lives were torn apart by men who didn’t know how to love without control.
And because I believe we can break the cycle by helping men remember themselves, reconnect to their humanity, and choose healing over harm.
That’s what brought me to A Call To Men’s Leadership Academy this April in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was honored to be selected as one of only 25 leaders nationwide to attend this immersive four-day experience. But more than a training, it felt like a spiritual reckoning—a chance to gather with others who believe, as I do, that violence prevention is not just about what we stop. It’s about what we build.
We’re building new ways to be men.
Men who don’t flinch at the word vulnerability.
Men who lead with empathy.
Men who stop the cycle before it starts.
What Set This Experience Apart
From the moment I arrived, it was clear this wasn’t a typical leadership training. We didn’t start with resumes or accomplishments. We started with stories. With truth.
We explored what it means to meet men where they are, not just geographically, but emotionally and culturally. We talked about barbershops, locker rooms, churches, and digital spaces. We unpacked the messages young men are getting from figures like Andrew Tate and asked, What are we offering that’s louder, more compelling, and more human?
We learned how to build “community trees” rooted in trust and vulnerability, how to engage unusual allies—even those on the other side of the ideological aisle—and how to communicate in ways that don’t just educate but transform.
My Biggest Takeaways
These are the truths I brought home with me:
Culture change starts with relationships. We can’t shift masculinity without shifting the spaces men move through. Connection comes before curriculum.
Men need healing, not just behavior change. We need to address pain, trauma, and shame. Not to excuse harm—but to prevent it from taking root.
Shared leadership multiplies our impact. Power shouldn’t live in one person. It should be held by many diverse voices working together with clarity and care.
We must be louder than the Man Box. Toxic masculinity is being sold as success. We have to offer something better, and we have to make sure it reaches boys before the harm does.
Engaging men is feminist work. If we’re not intentionally reaching the men in a community, then we’re not truly supporting the women and children in that community either.
What Comes Next
Back home in Michigan, I’m already putting this learning into action. At Resilience, I lead our Champions of Healthy Manhood program—a space where men gather to unlearn, rebuild, and grow together. We talk about fatherhood, friendship, vulnerability, and accountability. We cry. We laugh. We tell the truth.
I’m also restructuring our leadership model, shifting from a single-leader structure to a shared, circular model with six key coordinators. We’re inviting women into leadership for the first time and centering the voices that have too often been pushed to the margins. Because equity begins at home—and we can’t model what we don’t live.
This work isn’t easy. But it’s essential.
For every survivor who’s ever wondered if things will change,
For every boy clenching his jaw, afraid to feel.
For every man still carrying pain he never asked for,
I want you to know: I’m in this for you.
And I’m not alone.
Let’s keep building—together.
