Sovereign Masculine

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My Story - Coming Home to a Steadier Man

I didn’t grow up drumming by the fire or wearing a gákti.
I grew up in a mining town where being Sámi was something you softened, hid, or joked about before anyone else could.

The language went quiet. The old ways went underground. So did I.

For years, my “confidence” was a performance: loud when I needed approval, small when I feared judgment.

I learned to anticipate, to please, to push through.

On paper I was fine. Inside, I was angry at myself. At what I’d tolerated, at the boundaries I hadn’t set, at the man I promised I’d be and wasn’t.

This is the story of how that anger turned into grief, and how grief turned into ground.
How I stopped performing masculinity and started inhabiting it.
How I found a voice rooted in land, not labels.
And why I do this work with men now.

The Mining Town Lesson: Hide What Matters

Where I’m from, winter is long and the horizon is honest. But the culture around me taught something else: fit in first; feel later.

I became fluent in reading rooms and shrinking parts of myself that didn’t fit neatly, heritage included.

That skill made me useful. It did not make me free.

In love, I over-gave. In conflict, I avoided. At work, I outworked everyone until I resented everything.

I mistook tension for danger and comfort for love. And when it broke, as it always does.. my anger came for one person: me.

I wore that anger like armor. It kept feelings out, but it also kept me out of my own life.

Breaking Quietly (and Completely)

There wasn’t one dramatic crash. There were a hundred small ones:

  • Promises to myself that I “started Monday” and abandoned by Wednesday.

  • Arguments I avoided until they turned into distance.

  • Nights my chest felt tight and my mouth said “I’m fine.”

The worst part? I knew better. I could talk the language of change. I just couldn’t be it under pressure.

That was the turning point: realizing this wasn’t an information problem. It was a presence problem.

Returning to Land

I stopped trying to “fix” myself by willpower alone and went where my body actually exhaled: out on the land.

Cold air. Slow light. Tundra that doesn’t respond to convincing or charm.

There’s no algorithm out there. Only wind and your word. I walked, listened, and let the noise burn off.

I didn’t suddenly become a perfect man. I became a quieter one.

And in that quiet, I heard something older than advice:

  • Keep your word.

  • Move at the pace of truth, not urgency.

  • Choose the hard thing when it’s the right thing.

  • Let the land teach you how to hold tension without folding.

I started treating my life like winter travel: pack light, move steady, honor weather, don’t make drama where a decision will do.

On Reclaiming Without Pretending

I don’t wear a gákti. I don’t joik (yet). Those losses are real; I grieved them. For a while I thought I needed the visible markers to be “legitimate.”

What I reclaimed first was function, not costume:

  • The noaidi thread isn’t cosplay. It’s the discipline to listen deeper than words, to hold a room without dominating it,

         to move energy by steadying yourself first.

  • The drum I didn’t inherit became a pace inside my chest. Regular, grounded, unhurried.

  • The “ceremony” became the way I keep a promise when no one is watching.

 

I honor what was taken and what survived. I don’t pretend to be what I’m not.

My reclamation is simple: live in a way my ancestors would recognize as honorable, even if the symbols are still on their way home.

Anger into Grief. Grief into Ground.

For a long time I was furious at younger me.. for staying too long, for people-pleasing, for saying “yes” when I meant “no”.

That anger felt strong, but it kept me stuck. Out on the land I let it break into grief. Clean, cold, real.

Grief emptied the noise.
In the space that followed, I found ground: a steadier spine, a warmer heart, a pace that doesn’t collapse or explode.

From there, confidence stopped being a performance and became how I move when nothing needs proving.

What Changed (That You Can Feel)

  • Reliability over bravado. I don’t need to say “trust me.” I show up when I said I would.

  • Boundaries with warmth. I won’t harden to keep myself safe, and I won’t soften to keep the peace.

  • Presence under pressure. I can hold tension without rushing to fix or flee.

  • Attraction without chase. Magnetism is quiet when you’re not bleeding neediness into the room.

  • Leadership as service. Not to be seen as a leader, to serve what matters and keep things moving.

None of this is theoretical for me. I learned it in real conversations, real relationships, real winters. It cost what it cost.. And it was worth it.

Why I Work With Men

Because I’ve been the man who:

  • Stared at the phone, crafting the “right” text instead of saying the true thing.

  • Apologized for existing by over-delivering.

  • Lost attraction by losing self-respect.

  • Sat on a cliff of regret, performing confidence and feeling hollow.

 

And I’ve become the man who:

  • Says the true thing and stands with it.

  • Sets a standard and enforces it without theatrics.

  • Knows that reliability is sexy. To partners, to clients, to himself.

  • Feels the land in his body and makes decisions from that pace.

 

I don’t sell hacks. I coach men to become steady.

So love, work, and self-respect stop wobbling with every mood or moment.

Your life doesn’t need more noise. It needs a North.

The Work We Do Together

This is not therapy. It’s training.
We build three things, in this order:

  1. Spine (Sovereignty)
    Standards, boundaries, and the discipline to keep your word. Especially to yourself.

  2. Heart (Warmth)
    Drop performance. Speak clean. Let grief clear anger. Bring warmth without collapse.

  3. Feet (Follow-Through)
    One lever per week that moves your whole life. Execute in 72 hours. Repeat.

 

Every session ends with one promise you’re willing to be measured by.

Nature is our co-coach: you’ll be asked to spend time on land regularly, not for photos.

For pace and presence.

What Men Tell Me Changes

  • “I stopped performing and she leaned in.”

  • “I finally said ‘no’ without a fight and didn’t feel guilty.”

  • “My team trusts me because I do what I say, when I say.”

  • “I feel like myself in my own body again.”

 

It’s not fireworks. It’s respect. From you, first.
Everything good grows from there.

If You’re On the Edge

You don’t need perfect words. You need a first step that honors the man you’re becoming.

A Quiet Promise

I don’t carry a drum.
What I do carry is pace.
If we work together, I’ll bring that. Every time. No performance. No labels.

Just the work:

A steady spine. An open heart.
A man the land would recognize.

When you’re ready, we begin.