Jesse Munns

For so long, I was just surviving — surviving my own wreckage.

For years, I did what I thought I was supposed to do: family, church, career, responsibility. I worked hard. I showed up. I did what men are taught to do — provide, protect, hold it all together. But underneath it all… I was barely holding myself together. There was this deep loneliness I couldn’t name — a constant feeling that no matter how much I did, I was still failing. I kept pushing forward, hoping it would be enough — enough to be loved, enough to be seen, enough to finally feel okay in my own skin.

And then… it all collapsed.

I lost my church — the place I’d built my identity around. My first marriage went up in flames — and with it, the financial devastation and the life I thought I was building. I ended up in endless court battles, fighting to be present for my kids while chasing a career that kept me shackled from them. I carried the pain of missing birthdays and bedtimes… of knowing my kids were growing up without me — while I was forced to watch from the sidelines. I was exploited financially, and left in a situation so dire that even bankruptcy couldn’t help me recover. I didn’t just lose relationships and possessions… I lost parts of me. I felt invisible — like the world had moved on without me. I wanted someone to ask how I was doing and actually mean it. I wanted to be seen — not for what I could do, but for what I was carrying. Without even realizing it, I started developing really bad habits — overworking, smoking, drinking, pornography, seeking validation outside my relationships, mobile gaming, gambling. I did it all to numb myself. To escape. To cope with the pain, anger, frustration, loneliness, and isolation I was feeling. And even though I had plenty of buddies — reaching out to them, showing that I cared — I still felt empty inside.

At 40 years old, life finally punched me in the face with the truth…

I was at rock bottom. The wreckage of my choices was staring back at me in the mirror: I was financially broke. The career I’d poured seventeen years into — gone. I was facing another potential divorce… and the possibility of being an absent father to my newborn son. My family was breaking, and I felt completely helpless. And in that moment, I realized — I had two options. Keep drowning in the shame and guilt that had chained me for twenty years… numbing out through coping mechanisms, escapism, and bad habits. Or finally summon the courage to face what I’d been running from all along — myself.

Because if I kept going the way I was, nothing would ever change.

And then it hit me… What I wasn’t willing to change about myself — I was choosing. It was time to stop running. Time to face the shame, the guilt, the demons, the lies, and every dark shadow inside me. Because until I did, I would never truly live the life I wanted.

The awakening came when I finally stopped running… and turned inward.

I had to face my inner child — the part of me I’d neglected, ignored, and silenced for years. I had to look him in the eyes and admit how much I’d abandoned him — chasing validation, approval, career success, and escape. What I came to realize was that fear had been driving everything.

Fear was the chain that had bound me my entire life.

Fear of not being enough. Fear of being truly seen. Fear of failing, of losing love, of being alone. That fear led me straight into the coping — the numbing out, the lies, the betrayals. It was fear that made me hide the parts of myself I was too ashamed to face. It was fear that sent me chasing validation anywhere I could find it. I had to confront every false truth I’d been told and believed — all the stories that shaped me for the last twenty years. And I realized something… those weren’t who I was. They were just poor choices — masks I wore to survive.

Life has a way of burning away everything that isn’t real. Like a blacksmith refining steel, the fire of the forge forced me to strip away all my masks — the helicopter pilot, the excommunicated Mormon, the deadbeat dad, the cheating spouse, the addict. One by one, I had to let them die. Because none of them were the true me. And when the noise finally stopped… what was left was raw, honest, and real. From that place, I could finally start rebuilding — this time on a foundation of courage, honesty, transparency, and integrity. As I started waking up to who I truly was, I realized something — I couldn’t be the only man going through this same struggle. And through my own network, I found out… I wasn’t. Through honest conversations with the guys in my circle — the ones who looked like they had it all together — I started to see the truth. We didn’t plan it. We didn’t label it. We just talked.

So many of us were silently fighting the same battles — shame, isolation, frustration with work, feeling like failures as husbands, fathers, and men. Carrying pain with no place to put it. There was no real space for men to strip it all back — to be raw, honest, and seen without judgment or consequence. No tools. No guidance. Just the expectation to “man up,” deal with it, and keep grinding away. That’s when I knew something had to change — not just for me, but for all of us. Not a network. Not a program. Just men being real with each other. No one trying to fix anything. No one judging. Just listening. Just showing up.

And that’s how Awakened Iron and Soul was born — a brotherhood built from the ashes of my own awakening. A space for men to face their truth, shed their armor, and rise together in strength, honesty, and soul.

This isn’t about building a brand.

It’s about giving men what I never had — a place to be fully seen, without having to earn it. A place where pain isn’t hidden… and strength doesn’t mean silence.

I didn’t create this to lead anyone.

I created it because I needed it.

And if you’ve ever felt like you’re the only one… I promise you — you’re not.

This is who I am.

This is how I got here.

This is what matters to me now.