Power to is much better than power over.

But most men don't know the difference. And that confusion is creating a painful double bind.

Our relationship to power depends on whether we're wielding it or experiencing it. For men, power can feel like both a birthright and a trap. Society tells us to be powerful, to take charge, to be in control. But the same society condemns us when we use that power in ways that feel controlling, dominating, or oppressive.

So we try to do the right thing. We rein it in. We make ourselves smaller. We go along to get along. We downplay our opinions, soften our presence, apologize for taking up space. We try to be less intimidating, less domineering, less of what we're afraid others see when they see a man with power.

We trade one problem for another—from potentially abusing power to abandoning it altogether.

The question haunts us: How can I be strong without alienating the people I care about?

The balance feels elusive, and the fear of getting it wrong keeps us playing small.

We've all been there. You screwed up, you knew it, and you felt terrible about it.

The mistake itself is painful enough. You're already replaying it in your mind, beating yourself up, feeling the weight of disappointment and shame. You don't need anyone to tell you that you messed up—you're acutely aware.

And then someone calls you out. Having our worst moment highlighted and used against us. Being defined by our failure rather than given space to grow from it.

Let's be honest: You're no picnic.

Neither am I. Neither is anyone.

But here's the thing—we never see it that way, do we? We are the protagonist doing our best in a world full of difficult people who just don't understand us.

And from your point of view? You're absolutely right.

And yet.

You're stuck in a loop. No matter what you do, it never seems to be quite enough.

• Your partner says the relationship feels disconnected, so you book a nicer vacation and work harder to provide. But the disconnection remains.

• Your project at work isn't quite perfect, so you stay late, pull weekends, optimize every detail. But the satisfaction doesn't come.

• You're feeling alone and overwhelmed, so you scroll more, drink more, party harder—anything to escape the feeling. But the emptiness persists.

You're doing more. Adding more effort, more hours, more intensity, more stuff. And yet the problems aren't solving. If anything, they're getting worse.

The frustrating part? Everyone around you seems to validate this approach. Work harder. Try more. Add more. Maximal effort. More input equals better output. More must equal better.

This is what success looks like, isn't it?

But what if the problem isn't that you're not doing enough? What if the problem is that you're doing too much?

You've noticed things aren't working anymore.

The strategies that got you through life - pushing forward, staying busy, keeping emotions at bay - have stopped being effective. Relationships feel strained. Your partner says you're "emotionally unavailable." Your kids seem distant. Work success isn't bringing the satisfaction it once did. You're questioning yourself in ways you never have before.

Maybe you've had a significant life event - a divorce, a career setback, a health scare - that's forced you to pause.

You look around and wonder: "Is this it? Is this all there is?"

Here's something that will blow your mind:

"Crazy Train" is a disco song. 🎶

That's right, the most recognizable heavy metal anthem—Ozzy Osbourne's headbanging classic—has a distinctly disco rhythm section, according to the hosts of the One Song podcast. And if you've seen the live version of ABBA's "Mamma Mia", they reference the Crazy Train guitar riff in their own disco-heavy performance.

It reminds me that how we see the world is often not the same as the world itself.

Here's what they don't tell you about the modern man's relationship with work:

It's not all about ambition or career advancement.

Sometimes it’s about avoiding the messy, unpredictable complexity of real life, and the exhausting vulnerability that comes with authentic relationships.

Here's what they don't tell you about perfection:

It's not actually about achieving excellence.

It's about avoiding the anxiety of being human, and the exhausting performance that comes with it.

We spend our lives performing.

On the playground, in boardrooms, on Instagram stories. Waiting for applause, hearts, promotions, and nods of approval.

This week, I made a discovery that shouldn't have surprised me but did:

Most self-esteem isn't authentic at all. It's performative.