Circle.
People meet in circles because it means that everyone can face each other. It’s unavoidable. A while ago I was invited along to a men’s retreat called A Band of Brothers. It’s a charity struggling to keep its head above water (shocker) which intends to help, guide and nurture young men. Especially ones who have found themselves in prison or similar.
Having been quite outspoken about male mental health, the charity reached out to me to see if I’d be interested in taking part in one of their weekends. With the hope that I would help spread the word. Become an ambassador. I’ve tried my best. Because I really do believe that it’s these kind of things that can shift attitudes and culture.
A lot happened on that weekend but I want to focus on one moment that’s stayed with me since. Having already had quite a bit of therapy and been on a week long emotional trauma retreat, a lot of what was being covered wasn’t new to me. Some of it I’d literally done before. So needless to say, when we all gathered into a circle, in the middle of the woods, somewhere in Sussex, with men I’ve never known and known but never met and know but rarely see, I was expecting to be little more than an observer. I wasn’t expecting to be surprised.
But as I’ve grown to understand. The emotional world lives on a whole other spectrum. One that doesn’t await the recognition of my thinking mind.
In these woods, the head facilitator, Conroy, had us all stand together in a circle. And then one after one, he would announce a circumstance related to grief and encourage those it applied to to step forward. So he’d say something like:
“Step forward if you’ve ever lost a friend to an accident.”
And then, of course, there would be a motion. Then emotion. Especially the further that we travelled into these griefs.
“Step forward if you’ve ever lost someone to suicide.”
“Step forward if you’ve ever lost a pet.”
“Step forward if you’ve ever lost a parent.”
“Step forward if you’ve ever lost a grandparent.”
Getting hairs standing to attention even writing this. I remember being slapped in the face with a feeling of connection. Connection centred around loss. A physical representation of what binds us. Conroy might call something out and it would only be myself and one other person stepping forward. And I might realise that that person had never shared this loss with me. Or I’ll realise that there’d never been an opportunity to. Or perhaps I’d judged them without considering what they might have had to go through.
Or there’d be a call out and literally everyone would step forward. And we’d find ourselves in an inescapable brotherhood. Perhaps someone I hadn’t seen eye to eye with, I was now heart to heart with. And it was without words. Or sometimes there’d be a call out where I was one of a handful who hadn’t stepped forward and we’d feel only for those in the middle. We wouldn’t be able to help ourselves.
I was drawn into the experience so intensely, I cried. Having just felt as if this would be a walk in the park. A step in the woods. I began to cry. Because I could feel everyone around me and it was inescapable.
I dream of a mainstream reconnection to these kinds of spaces. I really do believe it’s ancient. I heard somewhere the other day that there’s a genetic lineage to ‘conversation pits’. Someone, when talking about architecture, was claiming that our brains respond to wiring from millennia ago whenever we step down into a room. We’re more inclined to begin conversation. It encourages conversation and eye contact. I wonder if it’s the same for circles. If and when men are sat facing inwards as part of a circle, does it make connection guaranteed? Does it bypass whatever brainwashed conditioning we’ve fallen foul to? Obviously with guidance. Universal grief. One of the keys of healing.
I understand why the concept of it is terrifying nowadays though. I often wonder if any of us truly understands the levels of shame, confusion and fear that so quickly assimilates into the male experience. Not to mention the competition and bravado. That fear that any admittance of vulnerability can be leveraged. It’s heartbreaking.
