I’m Brandon. I studied English, and now I teach math; I love Jesus, and I also like guys. I’m seemingly full of contradictions, but they make for interesting stories.
Last year, I attended my first YOBBERS Retreat, and despite a weekend full of anxiety it’s as if the Lord, beyond my insecurities, wanted me to find a sense of belonging there, encouraging me to return. Even with the hassle of coordinating travel logistics, including a wedding that same weekend, I registered and attended the retreat again this year.
My time leading up to this year’s YOBBERS Retreat came with mixed emotions. I knew a few familiar YOBBERS wouldn’t be returning, but I also knew I’d recognize many other guys attending.
Anxiety lingered. Had I really built the kind of connections that would help me feel at home this year?
I started spiraling in negative self-talk around my lack of “strong” connections. After last year’s retreat I’d promised to get more involved with YOB, but I’d only managed one Zoom call and rarely kept up with online discussions. The whole drive to the retreat, I couldn’t shake the voice that told me I’d fallen short, that maybe I’d not done enough to prove I belonged.
Arriving early this year compared to my late arrival last year was a relief, and having lunch with some of the guys — and Alex’s mom — was a simple, sweet start to the weekend. I felt my initial nerves ease by the familiar faces. People knew my name, greeted me with hugs, and expressed how glad they were that I could attend from the start. Each man’s greeting diminished my self-doubt, reminding me that maybe I was already more connected than I’d realized.
Our first night in tribes (small groups), I told my Humility tribe that I wanted to leave this retreat open to God and give up control, despite the anxiety I felt already. I had recently experienced His bringing people into my life, even when I was weary from all the initiating.
During our first worship session, I felt the anxiety rise again, especially as we transitioned to unstructured social time for the rest of the night. I retreated to the fireplace as a safe space. As I sat by the fire, Alex, who had been in my tribe last year, appeared. He hugged me and expressed how glad he was to see me back. Sitting there with him and a few others, chatting amid the warmth of the fire, I felt something inside me begin to settle.
With the retreat’s theme of “At Home?” I had a lot to process. Home has always been a difficult concept for me. For years, I have been searching for an ideal version of home: a place to feel safe, accepted, and fully known, without the constant need to prove myself.
Admitting my sexuality to others has felt dangerous, convinced I must first prove myself worthy of friendship before I’m able to share that part of me.
On top of that, I’ve often questioned whether I’m “masculine enough” to belong in my male friendships. I’ve felt like I needed to prove my worthiness by showing a strength that didn’t always come naturally to me — maybe if I worked hard enough, rejection wouldn’t feel inevitable.
Growing up, home was stressful; family dynamics left me anxious and on guard. Throughout college I threw myself into building community, filling my calendar with back-to-back meetups in hopes of creating something lasting. I was terrified of being alone, fearing singleness and loneliness as a reflection of my worth.
And while I enjoyed getting to know people more intentionally, I also burned myself out. After each hangout, I obsessively replayed conversations, questioning whether I’d said the right things, wondering if I’d done enough to make people stay in my life.
Although I had solid relationships, I was constantly on edge, afraid of being replaced for not measuring up.
Even after buying my own house, the idea of “home” remained elusive. I’d hoped home ownership would bring stability, but instead I faced new challenges. With my first roommates in this house, I felt trapped in their drama, struggling to find peace. Despite my efforts, true belonging was still out of reach. Owning a home didn’t bring the peace I expected.
Even within my church community, I felt the need to prove myself by striving to attend every invitation, and babysit, and volunteer, and initiate all the hangouts. While I wanted to do all these things, I also couldn’t shake the anxiety — was I doing enough?
If I had to decline something, I’d immediately worry I’d be forgotten, and nothing felt secure. When months passed without responses to my invitations, my insecurities rose all over again.
Reflecting on this year’s birdcage art piece, I felt like the bird on the outside of the cage, locked out of this idealized community I had been working so hard to break into. I felt like I was making progress, that the key to the lock was near, but I still couldn’t break through the bars separating me from what I desired most.
I’ve always put in all this effort, feeling on the outside looking in, held back by my sense of not being “masculine enough” to belong.
This need to prove myself has also extended to my relationship with God. Whenever I’ve binged with sin, I’ve wanted to get myself “put together” before coming to God or any accountability partners.
Throughout the weekend, I leaned into connection by stepping out of my comfort zone: sitting with new people, joining group games, and sharing in walks. On the final night, I sat with a new YOBBER, our arms around each other, talking as if we’d known each other for years.
In that simple, unguarded embrace, I felt God affirm why He’d brought me here — to share my full self without fear, including my longing for physical closeness for which I’ve often felt ashamed. I didn’t need to prove my worth to be loved or accepted; God wasn’t waiting for me to be perfect.
At this year’s YOBBERS Retreat, I felt that belonging was something given, not earned — a gift from Him.
Have you felt the anxiety of not fitting in, especially among a group of men? Where have you seen and felt a deep sense of belonging?
About the Author
Brandon,
I’m really grateful for this post. I loved your words in the next to last paragraph:
In that simple, unguarded embrace, I felt God affirm why He’d brought me here — to share my full self without fear, including my longing for physical closeness for which I’ve often felt ashamed. I didn’t need to prove my worth to be loved or accepted; God wasn’t waiting for me to be perfect.
I long for the same freedom.
Thanks for putting words to something I’ve often struggled to express.
Brandon. Thank you for your beautiful post. I truly appreciate and value your honest, thoughtful sharing strikingly similar thoughts and feelings that have been with me, within me for an eternity. I, too have struggled with sharing my full self, admitting my sexuality. I, too grew up in a stressful home and felt extreme stress in school (and on the playground). This has led to a lifetime of anxiety, worry, insecurity, as well as the need to prove myself, that I am, in fact worthy. Thank you for citing battles where you have “binged with sin.” Don’t we all, and I find such solace in the “stories” of fellow brothers. Blessings!
I saw a lot of growth in you, Brandon, from first retreat to second! I hope you’ll make it a third and many times yet to come. Grateful for your perspective!