Hi, I'm Andrew
My dad died when I was 16. He was 48.
It was very sad. I didn’t know what to do with the sadness. So I hid it.
There was a voice in my head that said: Don’t cry. Don’t let them see. You have to be strong.
I listened to that voice for 26 years.
I was performing everywhere. At work. At home. At hockey. Even when I was alone.
From the outside, everything looked good. Inside, I was drowning.
When I was 42, my wife said, “You’re not really here.” She was right.
The armour I built to protect me was now trapping me.
Over time, I began to notice four voices.
The Stag is you under pressure. Chest tight, mind racing. The Stag carries everything and can't put it down.
The Rat is your defence. Quick, protective, relentless. Don't let them see. Stay strong. Do whatever it takes. The Rat has kept you alive — but it's exhausting you.
The Wren asks the question you haven't asked yourself. Not to give answers, but to create space. What are you defending? What remains when the defence drops?
The River is where the voices become clear. Away from the noise, you can finally hear which one is speaking, what it's protecting, and whether you still need that protection.
You will recognise them. You already have.
I started writing short dialogues between these four voices. Each one is a moment when the Rat is loud. And something else becomes possible.
I shared them with other exhausted men. Men who were tired of holding it together. Men who were performing instead of living.
They said, “That’s me. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”
I don’t think these stories work because they teach anything. They work because they help you notice.
“Oh. That’s the Rat.”
And when you notice, you have a choice. Believe it. Or ask a Wren question.
That’s the whole thing. Just notice.
Read one when you need it.
Andrew