The Quiet Refuge: Why Support Groups Need Less, Not More.

There was no orchestrated mayhem.
No drums, bonfires, or initiation rituals.
I joined a support group for males during a low point in my life.
And the experience was great.
Instead of getting my token for the ancestral sweat lodge, I got a cup of coffee.
The guys told their stories.
Some became highly emotional, and the well-established dam walls broke.
But by the third and fourth meetings, it all began to fizzle.
The altruistic motivations of the founders were suspect, or not entirely transparent.
If you wish to establish a construct to help yourself, while doing “something good” for others,
be honest about it; otherwise, it will implode.
The founders of our group could not read the room and understand it wasn’t their place to keep the guys busy.
A space where people could merely sit and stare at the dirty walls seemed too mundane.
That’s what people require.
A safe space filled with nothingness, as a solid antithesis: a grounding space to combat the overwhelming busyness of the outside world.
If that safe space offers coffee, and the knowledge that others are sharing it with you, it can be enough.

Have you ever heard of the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement?
It lost mainstream visibility  around the early 2000s.
The movement spawned a wave of self-help retreats and local support groups sparked by Robert Bly’s 1990 book Iron John: A Book About Men.
All the expected good stuff was there. All the “wild-man” activities.
We are scared of the mundane. The truth about being ordinary.
That’s why living between monuments sounds appealing.
Especially over a festive season.
This is the space where anticipation regarding the big event eclipses all experiences of life that’s happening right now.
Every mindfulness guru dreads this.

We ignore the moments of mediocrity, rushing through them with eyes on the prizes: the Holiday, the Christmas lunch. Bungee jumping or abseiling.
Monuments anchor the resilience of the human spirit, but at some point, one has to come down to where it’s messy and plain.
Some attendees of the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement recall living only with the expectation of the next monument: the next retreat date.

If someone invites you to go quad biking on a muddy trail, go!
Hell yeah. I would.
But after the fun, we all have to go home at some point and also embrace the pause: In a world wired for monuments, build your resilience in the quiet intervals: over coffee, in shared silences, or amid the holiday’s “dull” moments.
Show up for the ordinary stuff.
Be present in the ordinary smells, sights, sounds.
Start small: Next time life feels like a low point, carve out one hour a week with someone who’s been there.
No agenda.
Have a coffee.