The Quiet Strength: A Personal Journey (Part 1)
There's a kind of strength that doesn't announce itself. I discovered it in the most unexpected place - not in the weight room where I spent countless hours, but in the quiet moments when everything I thought made me strong fell away.
The Illusion of Strength
Years ago, you could find me in the college weight room, pushing 100-pound dumbbells like they were nothing. Two workouts a day, three hours each, protein shakes, and a body that screamed 'strength' to anyone who looked. I was an exercise science major who knew exactly how to build external power.
What nobody could see was the fragile world inside me crumbling. That same year, I had watched my mother being handcuffed and taken away on what should have been my exciting first day of college. I thought if I could just look strong enough, be strong enough on the outside, somehow the pain inside would transform too.
It didn't.
The Pattern of Pushing
Instead, that pattern of forcing strength followed me everywhere. Job after job, relationship after relationship, even pushing through a master's degree in public health - always searching, always forcing, never listening to the quiet voice inside that kept whispering: "This isn't it."
Life has a way of bringing us to our knees when we need it most. For me, it came when my heart started pounding out of my chest, erratic and frightening. Medical tests revealed nothing. I was a successful allergist, my identity wrapped in my corporate role, until suddenly I wasn't - laid off and facing a void I couldn't fill with external achievements.
The Turning Point
This time was different. Instead of pushing through, something else emerged. Through work with a shaman, through 5 years of therapy, through building relationship with nature, through finally listening to my body's wisdom, I discovered a different kind of strength. One that didn't require forcing or pushing. One that emerged from presence rather than performance.
This quiet strength was messy at first - rough-edged and unfamiliar. It didn't look like the polished professional image I'd cultivated. But it was real. For the first time, what showed on the outside matched what lived within.
The River Beneath
Now, sitting with men in my practice, I recognize that same struggle. I see it in the successful executive who can't sleep at night, in the father who can't understand why his achievements feel empty, in the partner who has everything on paper but feels nothing inside.
I see their familiar patterns of pushing through, forcing solutions, building external strength while their inner world whispers for attention. And I recognize the sacred opportunity in these moments - when life finally brings us to our knees, it's often the first time we're quiet enough to hear our own truth.
The Emergence
Like the mountain reshaped by wind and ice, this process of finding quiet strength isn't always gentle. It curves our edges, reshapes our understanding of power. But what emerges is something far more authentic than what we started with.
True strength, I've learned, isn't about powering through or pushing aside our inner experience. It's about being present with whatever arises - the grief, the uncertainty, the tenderness we've spent years trying to outrun. It's about learning to listen to the wisdom that lives in our bodies, our emotions, our quiet moments of truth.
And perhaps most surprisingly, this quieter form of strength doesn't make us weaker - it makes us more whole. When we stop forcing our way through life and learn to feel our way forward instead, something remarkable happens. We discover a power that flows from the inside out, authentic and unwavering, like a deep river that doesn't need to announce its strength.
In Part 2 of this series, I'll share practical pathways to discovering your own quiet strength, including specific practices and exercises that have helped both me and the men I work with. But for now, I invite you to sit with this question: What might become possible if you stopped pushing and started listening?