When Relationships Between Men and Women Become Fractured

At 62 years old, I find myself standing in the eye of a storm I never quite anticipated—one where men and women appear to be further apart than I’ve ever recalled in my lifetime.

Something very profound is happening here, and I feel it not just intellectually, but viscerally, in my bones and in my breath.

I hear it in coffeehouse conversations, in hushed voices during community gatherings, in books, podcasts, and side comments that turn into existential confessions.

I see it in men retreating, unsure of how to be, no longer lording over women, but now often loitering outside their own sense of worth.

And I see it in women—many of them rightfully stepping into power after centuries of suppression, but often carrying a fire that burns so hot it sometimes scorches the bridge back to mutual understanding.

There is flying debris everywhere—miscommunication, distrust, wounded pride, dislocated intimacy. And beneath it all is grief. A silent mourning for a connection we can barely articulate, let alone reclaim.

The Fight of a Man’s Life

Men today are in the biggest fight of their lives. But it’s not one of fists or conquest—it’s the internal reckoning of who am I now?

Capitalism, which for centuries incentivized a narrow model of masculinity—provider, protector, powerholder—has made those roles obsolete in many spaces. The world no longer rewards brute strength. The currency has shifted. And for many men, the loss of purpose has turned into quiet despair.

Some have gone stoic and silent. Others perform masculinity louder, harsher, more defensive. Some numb it all with addictions. Some overcompensate by trying to be “nice guys” to win back a place at the table of love. Many are just confused.

And yet, in the background of all this collapse is an ancient rhythm calling men back—not to dominance, but to authentic presence. Not to control, but to conscious connection.

A Fracture Born of Imbalance

The Tao Te Ching reminds us in Verse 42 that:

“The Tao gave birth to One. One gave birth to Two. Two gave birth to Three. And Three gave birth to ten thousand things.”

This line has always spoken to the emergence of duality—yin and yang, feminine and masculine—not as opposing forces, but as mutually arising complements. When yin and yang fall out of balance, disorder reigns.

For centuries, yang—masculine energy—was ascendant: expansive, aggressive, domineering. It crushed and colonized and built steel empires. And yes, it wounded. It wounded women, the earth, and even the hearts of men who didn’t fit the mold.

Now, we’re in a moment of necessary yin ascendance. But in some places, that balance has flipped into its own form of extremism—where men are not only held accountable for past misdeeds (as they should be), but increasingly cast as symbols of irrelevance, toxicity, and failure.

The I Ching might frame this as a hexagram in flux—perhaps Hexagram 49 (Revolution), where transformation is occurring rapidly, and old structures must be shed. But it cautions us: “Before the new can be formed, the old must be seen with clear eyes.” That means not rejecting all that came before, but integrating its lessons with grace.

We Need Each Other More Than Ever

Here’s the paradox: just as we’re pulling apart from each other—retreating into our camps of fear, blame, confusion, and resentment—is the very moment when we most need each other.

The masculine is incomplete without the feminine, just as the sky is meaningless without the earth to hold its gaze.

I don’t mean that in some trite, Hallmark-card way. I mean it cosmologically. Energetically. Spiritually.

Men carry a seed of stillness, direction, and witness consciousness when healthy. Women carry a seed of chaos, creativity, and life-force aliveness when whole. Both are divine. Both are necessary. And both, when misunderstood, become destructive.

My Taoist Advice for Healing the Fracture

I don’t pretend to have answers. And I am not attached to being right because I’m still learning. But at this juncture in my life I have acquired some lived wisdom. So let me offer a few invitations to anyone willing to listen—especially the men.

💥 Stop performing. Start being.

There is nothing to prove anymore. Not to women. Not to other men. Not even to yourself. Practice the Taoist principle of wu wei—non-forcing. Let yourself arise naturally, honestly, and yes, vulnerably.

💥 Men, please listen to women—not just their words, but their silence.

Women are tired. They’re wary. They’re trying to lead in a world that taught them to fear being seen. Don’t fix them. Don’t analyze them. Just see them. Honor the yin.

💥 Reclaim your inner sage, not your inner warrior.

The Tao doesn’t ask you to fight. It asks you to flow. A real man in this new world is one who leads not from the front but from the center—quiet, grounded, and awake.

💥 Let grief do its work.

For us men, the old map of manhood is gone. We’ve lost something. We need to admit that. So cry about it you need to. Bury it. And then open yourself to the unknown terrain ahead. Only then can we as men build something new.

💥 Invite women back into conversation, not confrontation.

Host a space. A circle. A dinner. A quiet walk. Ask the hardest question: “How do we begin again?” And then…listen. And maybe, just maybe, the women in our lives will truly listen to us in return.

A Final Word from the Tao

Lao Tzu once wrote:

“When the masculine and feminine combine, all things attain harmony.” (Chapter 28)

We are not meant to go it alone—neither man nor woman. But we are meant to relearn each other. With patience. With humility. With reverence for what this great fracture is inviting us to rediscover:

Not power over, but power with.

Not old roles, but new reverence.

Not fixing each other, but holding space for each other to rise—whole, wounded, wise.

Let that be the new Way.

Let that be the Way forward.

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