We know they’re there. We can hear the rustling, the scratching, their breathing, just outside of our view. Beyond the dim light, in the void. Every now and then we catch a glimpse. Our heart races and we struggle to catch our breath. Sometimes their intrusion into the light is brief. Others linger longer. They always leave a mark. They always change our perception of safety and our capacity to defend against them. They make us wonder if we really know ourselves. We question everything.

One of the most powerful pieces of metaphorical imagery I have deployed in my continuous journey to becoming a good man is that of the perimeter man. Introduced by Jack Donovan in his book “The Way of Men,” this concept changed the way I look at my role as a man in this world. It gave me structure and helped me to more clearly define my purpose. Put simply, the concept illuminates our responsibility to guard the perimeter encircling all that we hold dear. In my perimeter are the people, things, and values I put above all others, and whose sacredness requires my protection. As I’ve struggled to make sense of my role in this world, standing guard as the perimeter man – the knowledge that they can sleep safely knowing I am standing watch, protecting them from what prowls outside of the wire – is all I need.

As noble as all of this sounds, the most humbling truth I’ve had to wrestle with is that many of those demons out there hunt the things I value most simply because I value them. Yes, the world has its dangers, but many threaten the things I value most because of their proximity to me. The demons are a part of me. Deep down we all know this to be true.

Let us pause for a moment to clarify something vitally important, as you’re no doubt reading this because you are someone who has worked with me in the past, is curious about the services I offer as a therapist or coach, or are someone who is struggling with the potency of your own demons. Without a sliver of doubt, the things inside your perimeter are better off with you there. Without you to stand watch, all of those things, those people, are exposed to a cruel world without you. To contemplate this is natural. To give it a voice or to walk away is not the way.

In my conversations with men, though many struggle to articulate it, there is a fear of engaging in the type of work that can steel you against these demons because they feel that acknowledging the demons is what gives them power. If I accept that they’re there, that my faults and weaknesses are real, then I breathe life into them. So we pretend they aren’t there, that they only hunt other, weaker people, and we shield our eyes similar to how a young child protects themselves from a scary moment in a movie.

Of course, hiding and pretending are not the ways of men in this battle. It is when we shield our eyes that we invite the world to challenge our boundaries. It is when we live in deliberate ignorance of the challenges we face and of the threats to our peace that we give them power over us.

For many, this shows up in subtle, self-soothing ways. We tell ourselves there are no monsters in the dark.  The pull to end the day with a drink isn’t that bad. Turning to porn when I’m stressed out is natural, and hurts no one. Raising my voice at my kids isn’t the end of the world, at least I didn’t hit them. Needing cannabis to sleep is fine, everyone does it. There is no way I’d ever cross that line and betray those I love, it’s not in me to do that. My withdrawing from the tough conversations actually spares her discomfort and pain, so I’m doing this for her.

We ignore the signs. We stuff them down and hope, secretly, that they go away or pass us by.

In my work, nearly all men learn the hard lessons through hindsight, asking “How did I find myself here?” All knew, on some level, that the risks were real but somehow had convinced themselves that this was someone else’s story. Everyone’s story was someone’s “someone else’s” story. This doesn’t have to happen.

But, we’re afraid.

The origin of every great and worthy story requires fear. Without it we are vulnerable. Without fear there is comfort and this kind of comfort kills. The fear invites us to examine and confront what is out there. When we sit with the fear, we can recognize it as the wise elder seeking someone with whom he can share his wisdom. Fear informs. It warns. It often screams “Pay attention. Do not shield your eyes. Square your shoulders and hold fast. Protect what is sacred.” Without the lessons fear has to offer, there can be no invitation to greatness. No call to embrace courage.

Somehow along the line, we were trained to embrace comfort and fear fear itself. Never has a greater sin befallen mankind than the selling and adoption of this lie. It is at the root of everything that tears us down.

It is through courage of thought and action that we learn the skills to slay our demons. It is by squaring our shoulders toward the danger that we begin to see them clearly and recognize their tactics. It is by shining a light on them that we get to say “I see you. I respect your power. But I am stronger and you will not get through my perimeter.”

Only when we confront what hunts us from the dark do those things and people that matter most to us stand a chance of being safe. They are not safer when we talk away. They are not safer when we fold. They are not safer when we ourselves walk out of the light.

There are many paths to confronting our demons. All, I believe, require a guide, mentor, or fellow journeyman to stand with you as you do. We were not meant to fight alone. No, not all journeys require a therapist or coach. To suggest this would betray the complexity and sacredness of the path. All, I believe, require community or a brotherhood of men similarly disposed to the protection of their perimeters, and who will do anything, including being deeply vulnerable and uncomfortable, to make it happen.

Brothers, refusing to confront that which our bones know is out there is how the demons win. Acknowledging them and respecting their power is the first step in being able to turn toward them and begin building the strength necessary to stand fast. This capacity is in the heart of every man, without exception. The first step is always courage; to reach out, to ask for help, to ask to sit at the table with other men, and to shine a light on the demons whose only true strength lies in your fear, and nothing else.

Protect your perimeter, men. And please do not do it alone.