What Grief Looks Like for Men in the Real World.

You have to see it to face it.

Chapters in this Guide

1. Man Down - Introduction

2. Why I’m Writing this No-BS Guide to Grief for Men

3. What the Hell is Grief Anyway?

4. How and Why Men Grieve Differently

5. What Grief Looks Like for Men in the Real World

6. The Traps Keeping You Stuck

   1. Shoulding All Over Yourself

   2. Trap #2 - Destroying Yourself by Avoiding the Pain

   3. Trap #3 - Locking Everything Away to Survive Another Day

   4. Trap #4 - Trying to Outwork the Pain

   5. Trap #5 - Playing the Victim

7. From Traps to Tools

8. The Tools

   1. How to Focus on What’s In Your Control

I'm writing this almost two years after Chloe’s death, and time feels warped. Some days, it’s like she died yesterday. Other days, it’s like she's been gone for decades. Then there are moments I wonder if she was ever real at all—like she’s a ghost. Grief does that to you. It messes with your sense of time, your reality, your identity.

They say the second year is worse than the first, and I didn’t believe it. I started to get it as the second year dragged on. The first year is raw and brutal—shock, exhaustion, survival. The second year? That’s when it sinks in that this isn’t going away. This is your life now, and you have to figure out how to live it. That’s a different kind of hard.

The world keeps moving, people go back to their routines, and life carries on. But for you? You’re stuck. It feels like purgatory, trapped between the life you had and the one you can’t figure out how to live. There’s no roadmap, no way out—just this endless, grinding existence.

The second year can hit harder because it forces you to face the cold, brutal truth. This isn’t something you’re going to shake off. This is your new reality, and it’s here to stay. Now you need to figure out what to do with it.

Here’s what I’ve noticed when I stack up the first year after losing Chloe against the second. In that first year, the pain was sharper and more overwhelming than anything I’d ever imagined. Crushing headaches. Uncontrollable anxiety. Panic attacks. Chest pain. Absolute exhaustion. There were times I thought I was losing my mind.

I didn’t know a human being could hurt so much and still (sort of) function. But at least the pain had a clear connection to Chloe’s death. It was tied to something I could name, something I could attempt to wrap my head around. My Neanderthal brain could grasp the simplicity of "I feel like shit because my daughter is dead."

I’ve come to realize that the pain had a purpose—it kept me connected to Chloe. In some twisted way, it made me feel closer to her. Part of me wanted her to look down and see me wrecked, to know how much I love her. But I also knew staying in that mindset would wreck me over time. I couldn’t let pain be the only connection I had to her. For my own sanity, I had to find ways to keep her close that didn’t destroy me. We’ll get into that later

The second year has been very different, and in some ways, it’s been even harder. There have still been moments of crushing pain and sadness, but they’re fewer and further between. That should feel like progress, right? In some ways, I guess it is.

I used to wrap up running big events feeling fired up, ready to take on the world. Now? I’m drained. I finish, and all I want is to lock myself in a hotel room, away from everyone. McDonald’s in my car at 6 AM, housecoat on, shitty hashbrown in hand—who does that? Don’t answer. It’s ridiculous, but also exactly what grief does. It finds you in the places you’d least expect and reminds you how much of a train wreck things are.

The second year has been like walking through a fog of shit. The raw, in-your-face grief isn’t as sharp anymore, but it hasn’t left. Instead, it creeps in, chipping away at you bit by bit. It’s not the big gut-punch moments. It’s the small, unexpected reminders that catch you off guard and remind you life will never be the same.

This grind is the reality of grief—it’s not only one thing, and it doesn’t stay the same. It evolves, finding new ways to mess with you. And that’s the point I want to make: grief isn’t static. It shifts. It sneaks into your life in ways you don’t expect, and you have to figure out how to face it.

When grief shows up, it brings much more than sadness. It’s anger, regret, exhaustion, and a thousand other things you didn’t see coming. It tears into every part of your life—your body, your mind, your relationships, your work. This is what it looks like in the real world, and if you’ve been there, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Grief Hits You Physically

• It’s waking up feeling so drained that getting out of bed seems impossible.

• It’s chest pain, crushing headaches, and exhaustion that won’t let up.

• It’s eating like crap and gaining weight because you don’t care—or can’t stop yourself

• It’s locking yourself in a dark basement because being around anyone—even people you love—feels unbearable.

Grief Tears at Your Mind

• It’s falling into a doom loop of “What-Ifs” and “If-Onlys” that you can’t shut off.

• It’s wondering if the people you lost were ever real.

• It’s feeling like a loser for still crying randomly, a year or five years later.

• It’s knowing healing takes time but still beating yourself up for not having it all together.

• It’s losing your sense of identity and trying to figure out who the hell you are now.

• It’s feeling overwhelmed by a world that keeps spinning while yours has stopped.

Grief Hurts Your Relationships

• It’s losing friendships because you’ve become a hermit, and they don’t know what to say or do.

• It’s not talking about your loss because you don’t want to burden people—or because you’re sick of whining about something you can’t change.

• It’s feeling resentful when you see happy parents with their alive kids.

• It’s realizing, with a mix of shock and anger, that people you thought would step up for you... didn’t.

• It's lashing out at or shutting down people who are only trying to help.

Grief Hits You When You Least Expect It

• It’s being blindsided by a panic attack when someone asks how many kids you have.

• It’s feeling fine one minute and crying on the side of the road the next.

• It’s driving through the cemetery and still being shocked this is real.

• It’s being unable to visit the accident site where your daughter died.

• It’s blurting out your story to strangers, regretting it, and wondering why you did it in the first place.

Grief Shows Up at Work

• It’s knowing you need to perform while not giving a single shit about your job.

• It’s struggling to keep up with your old standards but realizing you’re not the same person anymore.

• It’s finishing something big—something you used to love—and feeling so drained you want to disappear.

Grief Turns You Against Yourself

• It’s hating yourself for the way you’re coping, knowing it’s making everything worse.

• It’s punishing yourself with booze, drugs, or something else because you couldn’t save them.

• It’s wanting your pain to prove how much you loved them—as if being “okay” would mean you didn’t care

Grief Challenges Your Strength

• It’s being sick of the tools and skills you’re supposed to use to move forward.

• It’s feeling like shadowboxing—swinging at something you can’t fully name or pin down.

• It’s realizing this is your new reality, permanent and unshakable, and having to figure out how to live with it.

Grief isn’t a problem you solve or a battle you win. It’s something you live with. But living with it doesn’t mean letting it own you. The first step is seeing it for what it is—naming it, facing it, and understanding how it’s showing up in your life.

Grief doesn’t define you unless you let it. Name it. Face it. You can take back your life - one small step at a time

---

YOUR NEXT STEPS: Learn The Most Important Relationship Skill You Were Never Taught

Ever been in a conversation where someone was grieving, upset, or overwhelmed—and you had no idea what to say?

Maybe you tried to cheer them up, offered advice they didn’t want, or just froze, unsure of how to help. And afterward, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you could’ve shown up better.

💡 You’re not alone. Most people struggle with this—not because they don’t care, but because no one ever taught them how.

That’s why I created The LEAD Model Training—so you can stop second-guessing yourself and start being the person people turn to in their hardest moments.

Here’s What You’ll Walk Away With:

✅ A simple, repeatable framework (Label, Explore, Acknowledge, Decide) that works in any emotional conversation.
✅ Confidence in what to say (and what NOT to say) so you never feel awkward or unsure again.
✅ Proven techniques that make people feel deeply heard—without forcing them to open up.
✅ Real-world role-play scenarios so you’re not just learning, you’re practicing.

Most people:
🚫 Jump to fixing before someone is ready.
🚫 Say things that make people shut down without realizing it.
🚫 Avoid tough conversations altogether out of fear of saying the wrong thing.

But the people who get this right? They build deeper relationships, gain unshakable trust, and become the person others turn to when it truly matters.

🔥 If you’re ready to stop feeling helpless in emotional conversations, join the LEAD Model Training today.