Because most men were taught that other men are competition, not community.
I grew up in a world where men competed. For grades, for girls, for status, for positions. You measured yourself against other men, and the result told you where you stood. Trusting another man meant being vulnerable, and being vulnerable meant giving someone ammunition.
On top of that, a lot of men have been betrayed by other men. A friend who talked behind your back. A mentor who used you. A business partner who took more than his share. These aren't hypothetical — they're common. And they teach a lesson: don't let other men too close.
But here's what I've learned: the isolation that protects you from betrayal also protects you from brotherhood. And a man without brotherhood is a man doing the hardest work of his life alone.
The men I trust most in the world are men I had to risk to trust. I had to go first. I had to be honest before I knew it was safe. And yes, some of them let me down. But the ones who didn't — they're the reason I'm still standing.
Trusting other men isn't naivety. It's a choice to believe that the risk of betrayal is worth the chance of being known. And it is. It always is.
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