The Shadow of Care

Issue Twelve: Why So Many Good Men Lose Touch with Their Own Desire

He was a kind man.

Loving. Thoughtful. Devoted.

He came to me because he’d been experiencing erectile difficulties.

He wasn’t angry or frustrated.

Mostly, he was confused.

“I love my wife,” he said. “I want to want her. But as soon as we start, I lose my erection.”

As he spoke, I noticed something:

Every time he mentioned sex, his jaw tightened.

A small, almost invisible clench—

But the body is the most direct way to access our implicit thoughts and feelings.

I stayed curious.

“Every time you talk about intimacy, there’s tension—in your jaw.

If you stay with that sensation… what comes up?”

He closed his eyes.

There was a long silence.

Then he exhaled and said quietly, hesitantly:

“Part of me is angry.

I’m angry that she never asks what I want.

That it’s always about her pleasure.

And I’ve never known how to say that without feeling selfish or like I’m imposing.

I feel embarrassed even admitting it.”

The Shadow Side of Care

Many men who come to me for therapy share something similar—though often, they can’t name it right away.

They care deeply about their partner’s pleasure.

They want to make her feel safe, satisfied, desired.

On the surface, it’s beautiful: an expression of love, empathy, and integrity.

But underneath, there’s often something else:

A quiet disconnection from their own erotic self.

These men are not uncaring.

They’re too caring—so much so that their pleasure becomes entirely dependent on hers.

If she’s not aroused, he can’t feel aroused.

If she doesn’t climax, he feels he’s failed.

Over time, this noble orientation drains vitality from their erotic life.

Because sex stops being a shared experience.

It becomes a performance.

A form of validation.

And a subtle act of self-erasure.

The Cultural Layer

We often talk about toxic masculinity and male entitlement—and rightly so.

But what we don’t talk about enough is the opposite wound:

Many men, terrified of being seen as predatory or harmful, have disconnected from their own desire altogether.

Mainstream narratives have taught many men that their sexuality is dangerous.

That arousal must always be managed, softened, contained.

So they unconsciously silence themselves.

They stop expressing needs, voicing wants, staying connected with their desire.

They stop co-creating. They stop feeling.

Their nervous system learns that wanting is risky.

And eventually, arousal itself begins to shut down.

When Care Becomes Suppression

For this man, the erectile dysfunction wasn’t a failure of the body—

It was the body’s intelligence at work.

His arousal system was saying:

“I can’t keep performing connection while I’m unseen.”

That realisation—that what he thought was a “problem” was actually communication—

was a paradigm shift.

From there, our work wasn’t about fixing the body.

It was about helping him reclaim permission to want.

To feel his pleasure and sexuality as legitimate. As safe.

The Erotic as Reciprocity

Desire isn’t selfish.

It’s relational.

When we abandon our own desire—even in the name of care—

We rob the relationship of its polarity, its energy, its pulse.

Because real intimacy isn’t about one person giving and the other receiving—

It’s about mutual attunement and presence.

The erotic is not a transaction.

It’s a dialogue between two bodies—both of which deserve to speak.

And sometimes,

The most caring thing you can do for your partner

is to stay connected to your own desire.