Last weekend, I went out to a wine bar, deep in conversation with a friend about the way so many men think they need to become this “rich, ripped, loud” persona to be desired.
It made me sad a little, knowing how many men believe they have to perform masculinity to be chosen. Somewhere along the way, he learned he had to be louder. Funnier. More shredded. More successful. More something.
And I thought… what a lonely narrative.
How the masculine (the true masculine) has been reduced to this hollow, cartoon version of power. All performance. No presence.
I feel for men. Deeply.
Because I see how hard they try.
How much they want to be loved.
How rare it is for a man to simply be.
Maybe that’s why I dreamt of him that night.
The masculine.
Not a face, but a frequency. A warmth. A magnetic strength.
I could feel his desire before he even touched me, almost like heat rising from his skin. As he stepped toward me, calm and sure, I instinctively moved back until my hips met the edge of a table. He followed with the same slow certainty, closing the distance until I could feel the presence of his body.
He leaned in — just a tilt of his head — and paused.
His mouth hovered close: parted, soft.
He didn’t kiss me.
He waited.
I tilted my head toward him, surrendered to the pull, and met his lips. Everything in me responded. His hands found my waist like he already knew the shape of me. Gentle at first… then firmer, as they traveled slowly down the small of my back.
Whew.
Did that just take you there for a second?
The dream was… yes. That.
Not a show of strength.
Not a curated image.
Not a role.
Just presence.
Just the masculine.
And I realized, we were trained, too.
Since girlhood. In front of mirrors. With calorie trackers and lip gloss. We memorized how to be desirable. But somewhere along the way, we forgot to tell men what we actually desire.
Not money.
Not muscle.
But safety.
I don’t need you to be rich.
I need you to be safe.
Grounded. Clear. Present.
So I can melt. So I can soften. So I can trust myself in your arms.
The next time you feel that warm, gravitational pull toward a man’s grounded energy, tell him. Let him know what his presence does to you.
Tell him how you soften in his steadiness.
How his attention calms you.
How the way he shows up means more than anything he could say.
Let’s praise the men who make us feel safe.
The world doesn’t need louder men.
It needs honest ones.
Men who show up.
Men who stay.
Men who hold you like they mean it.
This isn’t just about romance. It’s about polarity.
Because no matter how independent or empowered we become,
Don’t we still want to surrender to something stronger?