The first time I sat in a room full of men talking honestly about their health, I almost left. There was no posturing, no résumé, no rank. Just men, mostly over fifty, telling the truth about fear, about doctors, about families, about their own bodies. I had not heard that kind of honesty in thirty years.

We tell ourselves we don’t need support. That we are fine. That talking is for other people. But silence is what kept most of us from acting sooner. The men in that room didn’t fix me. They reminded me I wasn’t alone — and that was enough to make me move.