The Lighthouse in the Storm: Redefining Masculinity Through the Lens of Lived Experience

With thanks to our member, Liam Zamudio, for this article.

Liam Zamudio is a husband, father of two, Probation Practitioner, Hypnotherapist, and trainee Psychotherapeutic Counsellor based in South Wales. His work and writing focus on emotional awareness, masculinity, and personal growth through reflection and resilience.


When I first walked through the gates of a prison as a young officer, I was still finding my footing in the world. I came from a turbulent childhood, familiar with chaos but naïve to the many ways people learn to survive it. Very quickly, the environment demanded that I grow up. Inside those walls, male emotion existed under a microscope. Everything was intensified: desperation, rage, grief, and pride. I witnessed suicide, both attempted and tragically successful. I saw self-harm and mutilation, violent outbursts, and sudden, tear-soaked remorse. It was a crash course in the extremes of human distress and in the cost of unprocessed emotion.

At first, I did what most people in that environment do; I adapted. I learned to survive by keeping my guard high and my empathy low. Authority became armour. I was conditioned to respond to behaviour rather than understand it; to contain and control rather than connect. In a world where strength meant suppression, empathy was seen as a liability. Looking back, I can see how easy it was to lose sight of the human being behind the behaviour when all you were trained to see was risk and control.

But something in me resisted. Over years spent in two different prisons, and later in practice with the Probation Service, my understanding of people, and of myself, began to change. I found myself watching closely, noticing tone, body language, and the flicker in a man’s eyes before he erupted. I began to recognise that every outburst, every act of defiance or aggression, was also a form of communication. It said, I don’t know how else to be heard. Beneath the violence, I saw hurt. Beneath the hostility, shame. What I had once seen as “problem behaviour” became, in time, a map of unmet need.

That was the beginning of my shift from control to connection. I started to understand that empathy, far from being weakness, was the key to surviving that environment with my integrity intact. My naturally empathic nature, which I had once tried to hide, became the lens through which I made sense of the world.

Life outside the gates brought its own lessons. Marriage and fatherhood gave my understanding of masculinity a new shape entirely. My children have been my greatest teachers. They’ve shown me that real strength isn’t in control, but in presence. It’s in sitting on the floor at a tea party with teddies one day and setting healthy boundaries the next. It’s the quiet consistency of being there, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My wife and I work hard to raise our children to understand that love and discipline, creativity and resilience, are not opposites but partners. Through them, I see reflected the kind of masculinity I want to embody: grounded, loving, capable, and kind.

Beginning my journey into psychotherapy, hypnotherapy, and counselling has been transformative in ways I never expected. Through reflective journaling and personal therapy with an incredible person-centred counsellor, I have confronted my own history: trauma, attachment wounds, and emotional baggage that had lingered for years. The process of self-reflection has stripped away layers of armour I didn’t know I still wore. It allowed me to turn my empathic capacity outward again; to use it in service of others, rather than as a shield for myself.

Working with clients, particularly men, has shown me just how urgently we need to reclaim the idea of masculinity as something valuable, not shameful. There’s no question that toxic expressions of masculinity exist, and I’ve witnessed them at their worst. But the conversation has become unbalanced. Too often, we speak about masculinity as if it is inherently dangerous, when in truth, it is simply misunderstood. Masculinity, like femininity, carries both shadow and light. The problem is not masculinity itself; it is disconnection from it, distortion of it, or the absence of healthy male role models to show what it can look like.

In therapy, we have an opportunity, and I would argue, a responsibility, to model positive masculinity. For some female clients, this may mean providing a corrective emotional experience: a safe encounter with a male presence that is calm, grounded, and non-threatening. For male clients, it can mean demonstrating that vulnerability and strength can coexist; that emotional expression does not erode identity but enriches it. Healthy masculinity is quiet confidence, emotional fluency, protective energy channelled through compassion, and the courage to stay present even when things get uncomfortable.

The wider social narrative around men is often laced with contradiction. Men are told to open up, yet judged when they do. They are asked to be emotionally intelligent, yet mocked for sensitivity. They are encouraged to lead, then criticised for taking up space. These mixed messages create paralysis and confusion. I see men in my practice who feel lost between outdated ideals of dominance and a cultural suspicion of masculinity itself. Therapy offers them something different: a space to integrate the two, to find a way of being that is powerful and peaceful.

I believe masculinity needs to be reclaimed as a positive cultural force. When it is healthy, it protects, provides, nurtures, and builds. It sets boundaries with compassion, takes responsibility without ego, and recognises that true leadership begins with self-knowledge. Healthy masculinity is what stands up for what is right, not for the sake of pride but for the sake of others. It is the steady hand in the storm, the presence that says, “You’re safe here.”

Encouraging men to reconnect with this version of masculinity is essential, not only for their mental health but for society at large. When men are grounded, emotionally literate, and self-reflective, families are stronger, communities are safer, and children grow up with role models who embody balance rather than chaos. That is the ripple effect of good therapy.

I often describe the role of a healthy man as being like a lighthouse. A lighthouse doesn’t chase ships or demand to be seen; it simply stands firm, anchored, illuminated, and unwavering. Its power lies not in control, but in constancy. That, to me, is the essence of positive masculinity: to be dependable, to shine light when others can’t find their way, and to weather the storm without becoming it.

Through my work across prisons, probation, and now in counselling and hypnotherapy, I have witnessed both the fragility and the resilience of men. I have seen them at their breaking point and at their rebirth. I have seen that, given the right support, even those who have caused harm can rediscover empathy and purpose. Therapy provides the bridge from suppression to expression, from chaos to clarity.

Masculinity, at its best, is not about control but about balance. It is not about being invulnerable, but about knowing when to hold firm and when to soften. It is strength in service of safety, not strength for its own sake. It is being physically robust through exercise and nutrition, emotionally aware through reflection and counselling, and spiritually present enough to love without fear.

If we want to shift the narrative around men’s mental health, we must start by redefining what it means to be a man in the first place. Masculinity can and should be spoken of with pride. It can be a healing force, a guiding energy, and a vital part of what keeps society anchored.

To every man reading this: you are allowed to feel, you are allowed to care, and you are allowed to lead with empathy while remaining strong. Be the lighthouse in the storm; steady, compassionate, and true. The world needs you to shine.