I recently read an article in the journal Men and Masculinities about a Kenyan health care worker and masculinity writer who goes by the name Amerix on X. The paper described him as an influencer with more than two million followers and expressed deep concern about what it saw as his misogyny and harmful influence on men.

I had never heard of Amerix. So before reading any further, I decided to spend some time reading his posts on X for myself. Here are a few:

1. Amerix
It is easy to blame your:
• Childhood
• Parents
• Tribe
• Government
It is much harder to accept responsibility for your own decisions.

The day a man stops looking for someone else to blame is the day he begins taking control of his life.

2. Amerix
Men,
A man who can:
- Cook
- Wash his clothes
- Clean his environment
- Organize his closet
- Mend & sew his clothes
- Budget his money

Cannot be manipulated by women.

Be this man!

3. Amerix

Men,
How to be a loser in life:
- Download TikTok,
- Start scrolling mindlessly,
- Ogle at naked women, laugh at shit videos & dumb jokes.

If you consume shit, you will become shit.

After reading dozens of posts like these, I found myself wondering if I had somehow landed on the wrong account.

What I found surprised me. I expected to find someone whose main focus was attacking women. Instead, I found someone consumed with challenging men.

• Get healthy.

• Stop making excuses.

• Save your money.

• Read books.

• Learn a skill.

• Exercise.

• Build friendships with other men.

• Take responsibility.

• Become the kind of man others can depend upon.

What I found was a man who thought highly of masculinity and cared deeply about men who were struggling to find their place in a world that openly criticizes men as being toxic. He challenged them to stop making excuses, take responsibility, and work on themselves as men. I can’t remember hearing a comparable message from feminist writers directed toward women. Their emphasis has generally been on the obstacles women face, the ways society has failed them, and their claims of victimhood. Amerix’s message was very different. He held men accountable and urged them to become stronger, healthier, more disciplined, and more capable.

Why would millions of men and boys be drawn to someone like Amerix?

I don’t think it’s much of a mystery.

His message is remarkably simple: You matter as a man. Now get to work.

He challenges men to improve themselves while offering practical guidance on how to avoid the traps that derail so many lives. Beneath that challenge is another message—one many men have rarely heard—that they have value simply because they are men.

In a culture that casually speaks of toxic masculinity while rarely celebrating the positive possibilities of manhood, that message is powerful. Amerix tells men they have value, but he doesn’t stop there. He also tells them they have a responsibility to live up to that value.

Does Amerix talk about women? Absolutely. He has some strong opinions about women and repeatedly urges men to be cautious in their relationships. He encourages men to value themselves, maintain their own purpose, and not lose themselves in trying to satisfy every desire of a partner. I can understand why many feminists would object to some of his views. He is often blunt and sometimes makes sweeping statements about women. But after reading a number of his posts, I simply can’t say that women are the center of his work. They aren’t. Men are. His central project is encouraging men to become stronger, healthier, more disciplined, and more responsible.

Here’s one of his tweets about women:

Men, You are the driver of your bus. The bus is your life and the route is your purpose. A woman is a passenger in your bus. If you are a careless driver, she will alight. Don’t follow her. Improve your skill & keep going. Another passenger will board.

The paper concludes that Amerix’s message is ultimately dangerous. Here’s how the authors summarize their concern:

Amerix’s ideology thereby not only reproduces the experience of pressure, failure, depression and stress caused by the expectation to fulfil the role of the breadwinner (cf Schmidt 2024), but also fosters a sense of masculine entitlement among Kenyan men (cf Kimmel 2019) that, in case of ongoing lack of success, might produce feelings of rage and aggression. What presents itself as a form of self-scaling (Schmidt and Kibuye ) masculine repair might thus rather be a vicious cycle of destroying oneself, other men, society, and women.

I paused when I read that.

This is not merely a criticism of some of Amerix’s ideas about women or relationships. It is a much broader claim. The authors argue that his overall message of masculine self-improvement ultimately becomes “a vicious cycle” that destroys the man himself, other men, society, and women.

That is an extraordinary conclusion.

Extraordinary conclusions deserve equally strong evidence.

What surprised me was how little attention was given to the positive themes that dominate so much of his work—discipline, health, responsibility, purpose, and accountability. Those themes receive relatively little discussion, while the paper concludes that his overall message leads toward entitlement, aggression, and ultimately the destruction of oneself, other men, society, and women.

Then, a few pages later, the paper makes another striking claim: (emphasis mine)

Amerix’s suggested practices of masculine self-repair thus have three important
characteristics differentiating them from other forms of social repair. They are, firstly, not outward-oriented but practices of caring for one’s masculine self. They are, secondly, prone to paranoia because changing their masculine self will cause a change in how men see the world, namely as interlaced with feminist ideology and micro-practices that need to be uncovered and corrected. Lastly, masculine self-repair is considered self-scaling, that is small acts of (re)masculinizing are believed to cause changes in men’s relations to other people as well as cause the world to run according to its masculine nature again. According to Amerix, masculine self-repair therefore leads to a revelation of the fact that men live in a perverted world that can, however, be tilted back onto its masculine trajectory if enough men decide to repair their masculine selves.

Wait a minute.

The authors argue that Amerix’s message makes men “prone to paranoia” because they begin to see feminist ideology woven throughout modern society.

Really?

But that immediately raised another question in my mind.

If encouraging men to see feminist influence throughout society is said to foster paranoia, shouldn’t we also ask whether encouraging women to see patriarchy throughout society might produce a similar effect?

The point is not that either movement is necessarily paranoid.

The point is that the same psychological standard should be applied consistently.

If one worldview is examined for its tendency to heighten suspicion, then competing worldviews deserve the same scrutiny.

That seems reasonable to me.

This also brngs up a related issue. The authors seem upset that Amerix would make sweeping negative generalizations about women, Okay. But if they are going to take that route shouldn’t they also hold the same judgment against all of the sweeping generalizations about men that are made on a daily basis? Men are toxic, men are privileged, etc. I have never heard a feminist or feminist researcher hold themselves accountable in that manner. Have you?

I finished reading Amerix with a more positive impression than I expected.

I finished reading the paper with a more negative impression than I expected. Not because it criticized Amerix. But because I don’t think it gave an accurate representation of him.

Before we criticize anyone, we have an obligation to understand what they are actually trying to accomplish.

After reading both, I came away believing the paper understood Amerix’s most controversial statements. I’m not convinced it understood Amerix himself.

Men Are Good.

Amerix X account

A Note Before You Begin

This is the opening chapter of a book I have been writing called Seeing Men Clearly.

The book grew out of a simple question: Why are some forms of male suffering so difficult for us to recognize, even when the evidence is directly in front of us?

From the beginning, I made a conscious decision to avoid writing a book that assigns blame. Rather than searching for villains, I have tried to understand the deeper historical, psychological, and cultural forces that have shaped how we think about boys and men. My hope is that if we can better understand these underlying dynamics, many of today’s conflicts and misunderstandings will begin to make more sense.

In recent years, more people have begun to recognize that boys and men face challenges that have too often gone unnoticed. Yet conversations about these issues can quickly become polarized, causing people to stop listening before the discussion has truly begun. I wanted to write a book that invites readers to look carefully at the evidence, consider a different perspective, and decide for themselves.

I am sharing this chapter now because I believe its central idea is too important to remain confined to a book or a website. If it resonates with you, I hope you’ll consider sharing it with others who may benefit from seeing these patterns more clearly.

As always, I welcome your thoughts and feedback.



Chapter One

Women and Children First

When the Titanic struck the iceberg on April 14, 1912, and the magnitude of the disaster became clear, a command emerged that would echo through history:

“Women and children first.”

The phrase has since become shorthand for moral decency. It evokes images of courage, sacrifice, and order in chaos. It is taught in classrooms, praised in films, and woven into our understanding of what it means to be honorable. The men who stepped aside that night are remembered as noble. The expectation that they should do so is rarely questioned.

And yet, very few people pause to consider what that command reveals.

The Titanic was not an isolated moment. Maritime tradition had long held that in emergencies, women and children were to be prioritized for survival. The principle was considered civilized. It distinguished order from barbarism.

But beneath the nobility lies a moral asymmetry so familiar we rarely examine it. In moments of mortal danger, women’s lives are prioritized while men’s lives are expected to be risked. This expectation is not controversial. It is not debated. It is instinctively accepted.

The question is not whether the instinct is understandable. It clearly is.

The question is why it feels so natural.

Imagine that the command aboard the Titanic had been:

“Men and children first.”

Most people would recoil instinctively. The order would feel grotesque, unjust, and almost unthinkable. We would immediately ask why women’s lives had been placed below men’s and how any civilized society could accept such a rule.

Yet “women and children first” produces almost no comparable discomfort. It feels honorable. Natural. Even morally necessary.

The facts have changed. Our moral intuition has not. The same moral asymmetry appears in modern institutions.

More than a century later, only men in the United States are required to register for Selective Service. Failure to do so can carry legal consequences. Women are exempt. The justification often rests on combat roles, tradition, or biological difference. But beneath those explanations lies a deeper assumption: in times of national danger, the lives of men are treated as more expendable than the lives of women.

Imagine reversing the arrangement. Imagine requiring only women to register for potential military conscription while exempting men. The reaction would be immediate and fierce. It would be called discriminatory, unjust, and oppressive.

Yet the current arrangement provokes little sustained moral outrage.

Why?

The instinct to protect women and children is often described as chivalry. It is framed as virtue. And in many ways, it is. Throughout human history, men have risked and sacrificed their lives to defend families, communities, and nations. War memorials stand in nearly every town, bearing overwhelmingly male names. The expectation of male sacrifice in defense of others has been normalized for generations.

It is not cruel. It is not consciously malicious. It is simply assumed. And assumptions, when shared collectively, become invisible

The pattern extends far beyond disasters and military service. In public emergencies, evacuation protocols routinely prioritize women and children. In humanitarian crises, aid campaigns frequently emphasize the vulnerability of women and girls. In media coverage of tragedy, particular attention is often drawn to female victims, even when male casualties are numerically greater.

The emphasis feels compassionate. It feels humane. But it also reveals a hierarchy of concern. When women suffer, it feels urgent. When men suffer, it feels unfortunate. That difference is rarely articulated.

It is simply felt.

None of this requires resentment to observe. It does not require hostility toward women. It requires only the willingness to notice a pattern.

The pattern is this: our culture instinctively treats female vulnerability as morally primary. Male vulnerability, by contrast, is often conditional. It must be demonstrated, justified, or placed into context before it receives the same degree of concern.

The phrase “women and children first” is not a policy manual. It is a moral symbol. It tells us something about who we instinctively protect and who we expect to endure. The instinct itself may be rooted in evolutionary pressures, reproductive strategy, social stability, or simple empathy toward those perceived as physically smaller or less capable of defense. Explanations vary.

What matters for our purposes is not origin but operation.

Whatever its origins, this instinct became deeply embedded in our moral thinking. Over time it came to feel less like a preference and more like common sense. As we will see later, blind spots often begin as useful adaptations. The question for this book is not how the instinct originated, but how it continues to shape our perceptions today.

When a moral reflex becomes a cultural default, it begins shaping institutions. Education. Research. Public policy. Funding priorities. Media narratives. Legal frameworks. Over time, what began as an adaptive instinct gradually becomes social structure. And once a structure has existed long enough, it no longer appears to be a structure at all.

It simply feels normal.

If we are to examine modern debates about gender honestly, we must begin here—not with ideology, political movements, or competing grievances—but with the underlying moral gravity that quietly tilts our collective responses.

We admire the men who stepped aside on the Titanic.

We require men to register for war.

We instinctively organize compassion around women and children.

None of these reactions feel unusual. That is precisely the point.

The question is not whether the instinct to protect women is wrong. The question is what happens when an instinct becomes so familiar that we no longer recognize it as an instinct.

Before we can discuss policy, research, or political movements, we must first name the moral pattern that makes those policies and reactions feel so natural.

There is a word for that pattern. In the next chapter, we'll give it a name and begin exploring how it quietly shapes our understanding of boys and men.

Fathers and Divorce: The Grief No One Sees

When women divorce, the public conversation often emphasizes freedom, personal growth, empowerment, and the opportunity to begin again. Books, articles, support groups, and even friends reinforce the idea that she is beginning a new chapter of life. Men, by contrast, are far more likely to have their suffering overlooked or minimized. If they struggle, people may assume they are simply angry, bitter, or paying the consequences for their own mistakes. Their grief often goes unseen.

As a therapist who has spent many years helping people through grief, I’ve often been struck by how poorly we understand what divorce can mean for many men. People often talk about divorce as though it were a single event: “The marriage ended.” But for many men, divorce is not one loss. It is ten or fifteen losses, all arriving within a matter of months. No wonder so many struggle.

Part of the reason we miss this is because we misunderstand grief itself. When people think of grief, they usually think of death. A spouse dies. A parent dies. A child dies. We understand that these losses bring grief because something precious has been taken away.

But grief does not only follow death.

Grief follows loss.

And some experiences involve so many losses occurring at once that they can evoke a grief similar to the one that follows the death of someone we love.

Divorce is one of them.

Yet beneath the legal documents and the practical changes, many men are mourning an extraordinary number of losses all at once. Until we begin to see those losses, we will continue to misunderstand why divorce can be one of the most devastating experiences of a man’s life.

The Loss of a Wife

The most obvious loss is the marriage itself. Even when the relationship has been difficult, the loss of a spouse often means losing the person who at one time shared everyday life. The person who knew your routines. Who heard your stories. Who sat beside you at dinner. Who helped create a home. That daily companionship disappears almost overnight. The loss may have occurred long ago—perhaps even shortly after you were married—but it is only now that the loss becomes complete.


The Loss of Being Left

This may be one of the deepest wounds of all. When a spouse dies, the separation is usually beyond anyone’s control. Neither partner chose it, and it is not something either of them wanted. Divorce can be very different. If your wife decides to leave, the loss carries another painful message. Whether she intends it or not, many men hear: “I no longer choose you.” That is an additional loss and a powerful rejection. Many men begin asking questions that are difficult to answer. “If the person who knew me best decided to leave... what does that say about me?” The grief of divorce can often be intertwined with abandonment, shame, self-doubt, and a significant loss of confidence.

The Loss of Children

Perhaps no loss hurts more. Many fathers go from seeing their children every day to seeing them every other weekend—or even less. People often think fathers miss the birthdays and holidays. They do. But they also miss the ordinary moments: helping with homework, driving to soccer practice, bedtime stories, cooking dinner together, watching a movie on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Those ordinary moments, many thousands of them, are what fatherhood is made of. When they’re gone, the loss can be overwhelming.

The Loss of Home

A house is more than wood and drywall. It holds memories: first steps, Christmas mornings, family dinners, laughter, arguments, birthdays, watching your children grow. Leaving the family home often feels like leaving an entire chapter of your life behind. For many men the house is either sold or no longer your residence. That loss can be both painful and disorienting.

These losses bring something that surprises many people: chaos. Life is not simply different—it becomes disordered. The routines, relationships, roles, and sources of stability that once anchored a man’s life can disappear all at once, making it increasingly difficult to find a path back to solid ground.

This kind of chaos is familiar to anyone who has experienced the death of a loved one. Profound grief often shatters the order of life. It is this chaos that many men find most disorienting. The familiar ways of finding their center are gone, leaving them in a landscape that feels unfamiliar, unstable, and profoundly lonely.

The Loss of Purpose

Many men organize their lives around providing for their families. The long hours, the sacrifices, the stress of earning a living all make sense because someone they love depends on them. Purpose is often woven into responsibility.

After divorce, many continue working just as hard. But they return each evening to an empty apartment. The paycheck still arrives. The responsibilities continue. Yet the daily experience of providing has changed. The work remains, but the purpose feels different. For some men, it is as though the “why” behind years of effort has quietly disappeared.

The Loss of Identity

Many men don’t simply lose a marriage. They lose identities they have carried for years: husband, daily father, protector, problem solver, provider, family man. These are not merely titles. They become part of how a man understands himself and his place in the world.

When those identities are suddenly stripped away, many men quietly ask a question they never imagined having to face: Who am I now? Rebuilding a life after divorce often means rebuilding an identity as well—a process that can take years.

The Loss of Financial Security

Divorce often means selling a home, dividing retirement savings, paying attorneys, supporting two households instead of one, and, in many cases, paying child support or alimony. Years—sometimes decades—of careful planning and hard work can disappear with astonishing speed.

The financial impact reaches beyond bank accounts. Dreams are postponed or abandoned. Retirement may be delayed. Vacations disappear. Hobbies are set aside. A home that once represented stability becomes a memory. Financial security is more than money; it is the confidence that tomorrow will be manageable. When that confidence is shaken, it becomes another profound loss layered on top of all the others.

The Loss of Friends and Community

Divorce rarely affects only two people. Friendships often change. Couples choose sides. Churches become uncomfortable. Neighborhoods no longer feel like home. Even familiar restaurants or vacation spots may become reminders of a life that no longer exists.

For many couples, it is the wife who has served as the social conductor—maintaining friendships, organizing gatherings, keeping in touch with extended family, and sustaining the couple’s social life. When the marriage ends, many of those relationships disappear almost overnight. Invitations stop coming. Mutual friends drift away. Family connections become strained or vanish altogether.

A man’s world can quietly become much smaller, leaving him not only grieving the loss of his marriage but also the community that once surrounded it.

The Loss of the Future

When people marry, they almost always carry hopes for the future. They imagine building a life together, raising children, growing old side by side, celebrating holidays, welcoming grandchildren, traveling, retiring, and sharing the ordinary moments that make up a lifetime. These dreams become part of the marriage itself. They are not fantasies; they are emotional investments in a future that both partners expect to share.

When a marriage ends, that imagined future dies as well. The life the couple had been building together suddenly disappears. This is one of the least recognized losses of divorce. People grieve not only what has happened. They also grieve what will never happen.

Birthdays that will never be celebrated together. Vacations that will never be taken. Grandchildren who will never know the family as it was imagined. Growing old together becomes a future that no longer exists.

In many ways, this is grief for a life that was never lived but was deeply loved nonetheless.

The Loss of Being a Father

Many divorced fathers describe another painful loss. They still love their children every bit as much. Yet they may have little influence over daily routines, discipline, schools, medical decisions, or even where their children live. Loving deeply while having limited ability to protect, guide, or simply be present for your children is one of the most painful experiences a father can endure.

The loss is not simply one of control. It is the loss of everyday fatherhood. Bedtime conversations disappear. Helping with homework becomes less frequent. Family dinners, weekend routines, spontaneous hugs, rides to school, and quiet moments together may suddenly vanish or become occasional events governed by a custody schedule.

Many fathers also carry a constant awareness that important moments in their children’s lives are unfolding without them. First accomplishments, disappointments, new friendships, school events, illnesses, and ordinary daily experiences continue, but they are no longer there to witness them. They become spectators to a life they once helped shape.

This is a unique kind of grief because the children are still alive. The love remains fully intact. Yet the opportunity to live that love as a father is profoundly diminished.

The Loss of Reputation

Some men leave divorce carrying accusations. Others simply carry assumptions. People quietly wonder what he must have done. Friends become more distant. Coworkers become more cautious. Invitations become less frequent. Even when no one says anything directly, many men feel that they are being viewed through a different lens.

Our culture often reinforces these silent judgments. Divorced women are frequently portrayed as survivors, as women beginning a new chapter, rediscovering themselves, or reclaiming their lives. Divorced men, by contrast, are often viewed with suspicion. If the marriage ended, many assume he must have been controlling, emotionally unavailable, selfish, or somehow at fault. These assumptions are rarely spoken aloud, but they can be felt in conversations, in changed relationships, and in the subtle distance that develops between him and others.

Of course, some men bear responsibility for the end of their marriages, just as some women do. But cultural narratives often encourage us to ask what happened to her while wondering what he must have done. That difference shapes how compassion is distributed after divorce.

For many men, the result is a quiet but painful loss of reputation. They are not only grieving the end of a marriage; they are grieving the loss of how they are seen by the people around them.

The Loss of Hope

After enough losses accumulate, another danger appears. Some men stop believing that happiness is possible. Not because they are weak, but because everything that once gave their lives stability and meaning seems to have disappeared at the same time.

By now they are swimming in chaos. Every familiar landmark is gone. The routines that anchored them, the people who steadied them, the dreams that guided them, and the roles that defined them have all been disrupted. Chaos has a way of whispering a dangerous lie: There is no way out. Things will never be good again.

That lie can become one of the greatest dangers of divorce. The future begins to look like nothing more than an extension of today’s pain. Hope itself becomes another casualty.

Yet one of the most important truths about grief is that chaos is not permanent. It feels permanent while we are living through it, but it is not. As new routines emerge, new relationships form, and a new sense of purpose develops, hope can slowly return. The challenge is helping men survive long enough to discover that the voice of chaos is not telling the truth.

Death by a Thousand Losses

People sometimes ask why divorce affects men so profoundly. Perhaps they’re asking the wrong question. Imagine losing your wife, your children, your home, your daily purpose, your financial security, your identity, your friendships, your community, your future dreams, your reputation, your confidence, your hope, and the knowledge that someone once chose you above everyone else. Very few human experiences involve so many simultaneous losses. That is why divorce can produce such profound grief. Not because one thing was lost. But because an entire life disappeared.

A Final Thought

One of the greatest misunderstandings about grief is the belief that it belongs only to death. It doesn’t. Grief follows love. It follows attachment. It follows dreams. It follows identity. It follows every meaningful loss we experience.

For many divorced fathers, the deepest struggle is not the legal process itself. It is the accumulation of losses that follow it—the loss of daily fatherhood, home, community, identity, reputation, dreams, stability, and hope. Taken together, these losses create a kind of chaos that can make the future seem impossible to imagine.

Perhaps it is time to stop asking why so many divorced men struggle and begin asking what they have actually lost.

If we can learn to see divorce through the lens of grief rather than failure, we may finally begin to understand the silent suffering of millions of fathers. And with that understanding may come something many of them have long needed but seldom received: compassion.