First Chapter of the Leadership "Title TBD" Book

INTRODUCTION

This is for people who have a curiosity, an inkling, into the inner and outer workings of leading an accountability group. In particular, this variation is focussed on a popularizing trend of Men’s Work.

I’m writing this book to give a functional guide to men who want to step up to facilitate more accountability, and trust, and provide a safe space in their community for men to work on their personal and professional challenges. In reality, I had started to write this book to give a guide to people interested in men’s work and other facilitators in the men’s organization I have been facilitating with. 

I’ll start with a brief history of my experience with Men’s Work. I’ve been facilitating Men’s Work since 2017, and many of the members I’ve worked with have gone on to become successful life coaches, entrepreneurs, managers, influencers, and counsellors in their own journey. I’ve seen the transformative nature that these spaces can offer.

Because this is meant to be a functional guide. I’ll try to keep everything as brief and pragmatic as possible. Along the way, I’ll share some anecdotes, without mentioning names for the sake of confidentiality. I think some of the stories will be helpful in illustrating some of the more abstract ideas in facilitation. And because, as many researchers and psychologists agree on, we learn best through stories.

In 2015, Phil T. Mistlberger – who called himself a transformative therapist – and who had authored around 5 books at the time, rebooted a Men’s Group. I was invited to one of the first free meetings at the time by my yoga friend.

My yoga friend, who had just come back from India, was on a self-development tear. He was taking workshops, and he kept inviting me to all sorts of odd events (they were odd to me at the time, and odd to larger society). You have to remember that in 2015, going to therapy, working-on-yourself, and self-help were all considered quite strange. Fast forward to now, in 2025, the self-development space has blown up in a 41.8 billion dollar industry (as recorded in 2021) and projected to go to 67 billion. In 2025, if you haven’t heard of shadow work, if you’re not trauma informed, or if you haven’t been to at least one therapy session – in some circles, you’re the one considered odd. But I digress.

So, in 2015 – my yoga friend said, “It would mean a lot to our friendship if you’d come to this Men’s Group meeting.” I thought it was so strange, but because he threw down the “friendship” card, I relented, begrudgingly.

I met Phil, a balding man, with a beard, and at-the-time, what I thought was a almost cartoonishly deep voice. Phil started to tell us about Men’s Work.

Phil leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together, and said, “Men’s Work has been around in some form for a long time. But in the modern sense, it really started as a response to feminism—mostly as an allyship. Men trying to be better men, trying to listen, trying to understand.” He paused. “And then, like anything, some of it got radicalized. You had groups of men who felt attacked, who felt left behind, who reacted instead of responded. But at the same time, there were also men—men like Robert Bly, like Joseph Campbell—who didn’t want to fight, but who wanted to create something of their own.”

He glanced around the circle, making eye contact with each of us. “That’s how the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement was born. These men weren’t interested in debating gender roles on TV panels. They were interested in something older, something primal. They looked at ancient cultures—Indigenous cultures, pre-modern societies—and they saw what we had lost. The firepit. The circle. The rites of passage. The transition from boyhood to manhood, guided by elders, through story, through myth, through real initiation.”

Phil stroked his beard. “And here’s something I want you to sit with—there’s an energy that men can only get from other men. Not in competition. Not in performance. But in deep, honest brotherhood.” He let that settle before moving on.

I wasn’t convinced. It stuck in my brain, sure, but in that way where you’re not sure if something makes sense or if you’ve just been talked at by a very charismatic person. So I took it to my therapist.

At the time, I was a pretty introverted, anti-social guy. I was working as an animator, which meant 9-to-5 (but really 9-to-9) sitting in front of a computer screen, pushing pixels around, barely talking to another human being unless it was through Slack or an email chain.

My therapist didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I think that’s a great idea for you,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if that was an endorsement of the men’s group or just an indictment of my social skills. Either way, I figured, why not?

So I signed up. Partly because I was curious, partly because it was only $40, which seemed like a fair price to lose if it turned out to be terrible. Besides, I was already shelling out close to $100 per therapy session, and this gave me four group sessions. Basic math.

Phil was surprised. He later told me that he didn’t expect me to come back because I had spent most of that first meeting looking at my feet, barely making eye contact with anyone.

What surprised everyone—including myself—was not just that I stuck around, but that I stayed for two years. And after that, I became a facilitator myself. Almost eight years later, I’m still here. Still showing up. Still looking forward to those couple of hours every week.

And I’m not alone in saying that.