Men's Healing Retreats and the Hard Work of Asking for Help

A men's healing mastermind outside Phoenix gathered twenty-some men from different professions, ages and lives into one weekend built around emotional, physical and spiritual healing. Two facilitators, Ilan and Guy Ferdman, were there to guide medicine journeys. Coming home, they found the same thread running through the room: nearly everyone was carrying something heavy, and nearly no one wanted to say so out loud. In their conversation on the Old Souls and Seekers podcast, the brothers treat that silence as the real subject, and they trace it through the difficulty of asking for help, the strange comfort of being among strangers, and the discovery that mastery always leads a person back to himself.

What did a weekend with twenty men actually look like?

The conversation opens with Ilan setting the scene. This was his third time being invited to the gathering, and Guy had attended two before. The intention, Ilan said, is "really beautiful" (2:09): bring men together in a container where healing is the explicit point, then do the work side by side. Across the weekend the group took part in several medicine journeys, and Ilan described the experience as one that keeps unlocking something new, both in the way he knows himself and in the way he carries himself in those moments.

Guy, who was fighting an illness he had not wanted to discuss, admitted he was "a lot more under the weather than I let on." It is a small confession, and it sets up the larger one. The men in that room were doing exactly what Guy was doing: functioning, showing up, and keeping the heavier part to themselves.

Guy's first impression was the range of people. He described a man who tried to become the first person to walk solo across Antarctica, on foot rather than with dogs or sleds. He also mentioned a participant who had spent 17 days in a dark room. (Guy said the Antarctica man is creating content about the trip, and the brothers said they plan to have him on the podcast.) For Guy the parallels mattered more than the extremes. Each man, however different his path, was confronting himself in a way that was hard to avoid.

Why does asking for help feel like chewing glass?

The episode's central phrase is the sentence "I really need help," which the brothers describe as feeling like chewing on glass. That image is worth sitting with. Asking for help is not a neutral request. For many men it registers as exposure, as losing the standing they have built, or as admitting that the old strategy of handling everything alone has run out.

The brothers argue that this reluctance is exactly why the retreat matters. When a room full of men is each carrying a private struggle, the isolating instinct becomes a shared pattern, and it becomes visible. The paradox they return to is that vulnerability, which feels like the opposite of strength, is in fact where real strength starts. The men who can say the sentence out loud are the ones who stop spending energy on pretending.

Their framing has a practical edge. The silence is not a character flaw to be lectured away. It is a learned response to pressure, and learned responses can be unlearned, slowly, in rooms where saying the true thing does not cost you your place.

What does it mean to feel safe with a room of strangers?

This is where Guy gets personal, and the disclosure is one of the most honest moments in the conversation. He said he is "fascinated by how comfortable I am now" in a group of strangers, and especially in a group of men. Both of those settings had once been threatening to his nervous system. He described a long history of lacking safety and trust around men, and, more broadly, a sense that he had nothing to contribute among people he did not know.

What struck him was that he had not fully registered the change until he talked it through with Ilan. "I don't even think I acknowledge that honestly" until recently, he said, "how big of an actual deal that is for me." Growth of this kind often happens quietly. A person keeps going into the room, keeps showing up, and only later notices that the room no longer costs him what it used to.

Ilan confirmed the change from the outside. Going back to their earlier years in the marketing world, he recalled Guy in rooms of every kind, alone, in a group, or one-on-one, and said "it all felt very home." Even while Guy was depleted that weekend, Ilan said, watching him was "beautiful." The observation matters because it suggests that comfort in a room is not a performance. It shows in the body and in the ease of how a person occupies space.

Why does every path to mastery return to the self?

One of the sharpest lines in the episode comes from Guy's reflection on the men he has met. He said that people who have reached a state of mastery tend to arrive at similar conclusions, even when they come from entirely different fields. His reasoning is direct: "the only way to become a master is to spiritually deal with yourself." Whether the path runs through technology, physics or physical discipline, there are boundaries to cross, and the crossing requires facing something inside.

That idea reframes the weekend. A man who walks across a continent alone and a man who sits in a dark room for seventeen days are not so different from a man who finally says "I need help" in front of a group. Each is confronting the same question from another angle: what am I still carrying, and am I willing to meet it? Guy said the appeal for him lies in the parallel conclusions, the way different lives converge on the same inner truths.

Ilan also described the medicine work as a place where that inner encounter becomes possible, because the journey strips away the usual defenses. The brothers' larger point is that medicine does not replace the work of self-honesty. It can make the work harder to avoid.

What is Dad Code, and why will it be capped?

Near the end of the episode's description, Ilan reveals the name of his new fathers' group, Dad Code. The group will be capped and wait-list only. The limit is deliberate, and it follows from everything the conversation has been about. A small group makes the kind of safety Guy describes possible. It lets men speak before they feel ready, and it gives them time to be known rather than processed.

The episode also touches on AI, which Guy describes as a shift in how he uses it. The emphasis is on spiritual reflection rather than productivity, a distinction that matters for anyone who has ever used a tool only to get more done. The episode's description lists this topic alongside a range of others, including surrendering to spontaneous body expression in front of strangers, unlearning an identity copied in order to succeed, and what it means to simply be with someone instead of trying to fix them. Those threads deserve the full conversation, which is worth hearing in its original form.

What does the episode leave you with?

Guy and Ilan close on a note that is less a conclusion than an invitation. The silence men keep when life gets hard is widespread, and it is not a weakness to be shamed. It is a pattern with a history, and it can change. The first step is smaller than most men expect: a sentence, spoken to people who can hear it. The brothers' experience suggests that once that sentence gets said, the glass becomes a little easier to swallow.

The episode is shared as personal experience and opinion, not medical or mental health advice. If you are struggling, reach out to a trusted person or a qualified professional.

Where to go from here

If this conversation resonated, the most useful next step is to listen to the full episode, which runs about fifty-four minutes and covers far more than this summary can hold. Pay attention to the moments when the brothers describe their own discomfort, because that is where the practical lessons live. If you are a father interested in the wait-listed group, the episode's show notes and the Ilan's messaging link are the places to start. And if you notice you have been carrying something alone, consider the question Guy's story poses: what would it take to say the true sentence out loud, to someone who can actually hear it?