The Power of Vulnerability: I Was Deeply Hurt By Men, and Healed By Them Too
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Racism and abuse by men in Tier Blundell's childhood left him wary of seeking support from men in adulthood
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First working with a male therapist, then with A Band of Brothers changed all of this – here's his story
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We have therapists who specialise in supporting men – find them here
After a candid conversation with a close female friend, she didn’t mince her words when she told me I needed therapy, and she was right. After some soul-searching and browsing through potential therapists online, I remembered her stern advice: "You need a male therapist." At first, this suggestion made me uneasy. My past experiences with men had left me scarred—physically and emotionally. Born to a Pakistani father and an English mother, my childhood was a battleground where two cultures clashed violently, leaving me to live as a totem to that duality of hate.
My stepfather, a man proudly adorned with England-related tattoos, from St George slaying a dragon to a bulldog sporting a St George’s Cross waistcoat, was a constant source of tension. His casual racism and frequent threats of violence left me in no doubt of his disdain for my heritage. He often told me, “Enoch Powell had it right,” and sent me to the “p*ki shop” without a hint of irony. On the other hand, my father’s absence loomed large in my life, a deafening silence that hurt much more than my step-father’s boot. I was told his absence was because I am half-white and that was unacceptable in his culture. My mother’s response to my longing for him was always the same: “He doesn’t want to know ya.”
Desperate to fit in where I could, I leaned into English culture, donning a Burberry hat and England football shirt, all while denying half of my heritage. Racism became my enemy, one I fought fiercely, hoping to erase the truth of my own identity. My anger and confusion led to school exclusion and a deepening sense of isolation and of being an outsider. Growing up in a predominantly white environment, I had no connection to my Pakistani roots; the word “P*ki” was just an insult aimed at me, devoid of any real meaning or context.
It was with all this baggage that I entered my first therapy session. I was wary, unsure if I could trust a man with my vulnerability. But something unexpected happened: my therapist shared a personal experience that mirrored my own, breaking professional ranks in a way that created an instant connection. For the first time, I felt seen by another man. This connection, however brief, was a revelation—it showed me that not all men were a threat. Some even, might accept me as I am.
This trust-building experience paved the way for me to take another leap of faith when I saw an advert for a trustee role with A Band of Brothers, an organisation dedicated to mentoring young men. Their mission spoke to me on a deeply personal level; the issues they described mirrored my own life. Guilty of ‘delayed adolescence’ and being a hurt person who had hurt people, I wanted to support their mission and bring it to other young men like myself. After spending a day sharing stories with a group of men in a circle, I was invited to attend a ‘Quest Weekend,’ a modern-day rite of passage.
The thought of surrendering my phone and spending a weekend in the woods with strangers brought back my old mistrust. Yet, remembering the trust I’d built with my therapist, I decided to keep an open mind. The weekend turned out to be nothing short of transformational. Surrounded by men who openly discussed their struggles and traumas, I found myself in a space where competition, comparison, and contempt had no place. Instead, we journeyed together, each on our own path, yet united in our quest for a new sense of self.
This experience rewrote the narrative I’d carried for so long—the story of a boy who felt he could never become a father or husband because the examples of those men in his life had fallen horribly short. The men I met on that weekend showed me a different way. Through their vulnerability, honesty, and integrity, they helped me confront my internalised racism and self-loathing, allowing me to finally believe in the goodness of men, and myself.
My journey didn’t end there. The trust and camaraderie I found with ABOB has continued to grow as I now work alongside these men to mentor the next generation. We aim to mentor young men who, like us, have been let down by men in the past. One key component of our work, is challenge. We challenge young men to be the kind of man they want to be. We do this not by trying to fix, advise, rescue or project on to them, but by listening, acknowledging and admiring them. We also model what it is to be men of integrity, by holding as closely as possible to the Four Agreements of the Toltec tradition; to be impeccable with our word, to say only what we mean and not to use our words to degrade others. To not take anything personally, to understand what others say and do is a projection of their own reality and does not have to affect us. To not make assumptions, to be clear in our communication and not be afraid to ask questions and seek clarity. Finally, to do our honourable best, knowing that this measure may change at times, but that we can avoid regret if we resolve to do our best. This was a refreshing departure from the usual challenge other men or teachers would issue to me, which would usually consist in flat out telling me that I was wrong, leading me to believe inside that I was wrong in the world.
In the beginning, I described myself as a totem for a violent culture clash, unable to find my own identity, full of shame and stunted in my development as a man. How fitting then, that it would be a group of men, holding to ancient ideals, having elders giving blessings, offering rites of passage and celebrating young men as they return to their communities, changed and hungry for responsibility, that would be the ones to bring me home.
