In this monologue from the Dad Starting Over podcast, host Ralph Brewer markets the Help for Men Brotherhood, a community offering forums, coaching, and resources for men dealing with loneliness, divorce, and relationship challenges. He then delves into a personal philosophy rooted in independence and scarcity, explaining why he avoids oversharing with his spouse. Using the "sausage" metaphor, Brewer argues that most people—especially women—prefer to see only polished results, not the messy process behind success. He illustrates this with anecdotes about chef’s tables, dating experiences, and business negotiations, advocating for a "work in silence" approach, under‑promise/over‑deliver tactics, and the idea that resilience is built through repeated rejection. The talk ties these concepts back to his book, The Dead Bedroom Fix, positioning the Brotherhood as a place where men can practice these principles without exposing the uncomfortable behind‑the‑scenes work to others.
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Okay, if you're a frequent listener of the Dad Starting Over podcast and you find yourself saying, "Yeah, that sounds like me," well, you don't need another podcast episode. What you need is support. The Help for Men Brotherhood is where men go when they're done pretending that they got it all handled. You know, your dead bedrooms, your divorce, your loneliness, your rebuilding life. We have private forums, frequent live Zoom meetings, one-on-one coaching, courses, all my books at no additional charge. And yes, we get together in person. Real men and real conversations. So stop doing this alone and join the Help for Men Brotherhood today at help4men.com/join. I look forward to seeing you in the next member meeting. There's a phenomenon amongst the DSO readers and fraternity members that I personally can't really relate to. I understand it somewhat, but it's still foreign to me. It's the concept of oversharing with your spouse. It may be because I was an only kid, a latchkey only kid to be more precise, but I value my independence. Anything that tiptoes towards the dependence on another, it doesn't sit well with me. Ever since I was a little kid, I learned how to cook, I learned how to clean, fold laundry, change a tire, hang drywall, etc. My parents, whether consciously or not, they instilled in me a feeling of, "You better learn how to take care of yourself and not depend on others." That solitary mindset has bled into other areas of my life. Especially when in a romantic relationship. When I talk about the importance of scarcity, AKA independence, in my book, "The Dead Bedroom Fix," that comes from very personal experience. It's not unusual for me to engross myself in something, keep quiet, not involve others, and I often forget about the possible anxiety or the hurt feelings that may result in others as a result. I'm also not one to go to my wife with all of my accomplishments let alone my everyday life worries. Frankly, there's not much to be gained from it, and I don't need her input or an attaboy to stifle my anxiety. Because that's what we're talking about when we hear stories of men oversharing with their wives. We're talking about anxiety. He either needs her approval to win points with mommy, which is not good, or he needs to get some feelings of insecurity out just to make sure that he's not going to hurt her feelings or piss her off in some way, which is also not good. Most people, especially women in relationships, they don't want to see how the sausage is made. Have you ever heard that statement before? It means that people don't want to see all the gross stuff that happens behind the scenes. They don't want to see the struggle. They don't want to see the work. They want— they don't want to see what goes into making the sausage that is on their plate. You know, the killing of the pig, the slaughtering, the grinding of the meat, the putting into casings, all that gross stuff. They just want to enjoy the final result, the meal. They would prefer to think that the sausage just magically appeared and tastes delicious without knowing the how or the why it got there. And that sentiment applies to a lot in life. A few years back, my wife and I sat at the "chef's table" for a couple of different restaurants. This was a relatively new trend back then. You could get a table that was right up next to, or maybe even inside the restaurant's kitchen, and you could watch the chef and his crew make your meal right in front of your face. How cool! Well, to me, it wasn't so cool. First, it was awkward to sit and stare at a bunch of grown men sweating and cooking while we sipped our wine. It felt like I was at the zoo and I was watching a bunch of monkeys. Second, Seeing your fancy meal being prepared took away a lot of the mystique. Seeing a sous chef look at your ticket, grunt, reach under the counter to a fridge, pull out a squeeze bottle full of some sauce and squirt it on my salmon, complete with the appropriate bottle farting noise, and then he shoved that plate down the line to the next guy who put rice on it. Well, it just made the whole experience a hell of a lot less appetizing. I was left saying to myself, Yeah, I could have done all that and saved myself $50. I much prefer being out in the dark dining room, being doted over by my server, watching the people around me, waiting for that exciting moment as the server comes out with a tray full of our food, and the food that we haven't seen until this very moment. And after we're full, the server offers us coffee and dessert. And we don't see some dude in the kitchen reach into a fridge and cut off a slice of cheesecake that they purchased from their vendor. And then watch him grab a stained squeeze bottle and squirt some off-the-shelf raspberry sauce all over it. No, we just see that awesome chilled plate come out to the table with a couple of spoons and a very happy server saying, "This is my favorite thing on the menu, enjoy." See, it's all about the presentation. It's the same damn result, same damn food, but one leads to feelings of, "Ew, I'm paying for this?" and the other makes you feel like a king for the day and it puts a smile on your face. I think way too many of you are sharing just a little too much. You want your wife to listen to your self-help audiobooks, your podcasts, read that article that you just read, and it's all just too much. It's especially too much when those books and articles revolve around sex and marriage or improving marriage in general. Putting in the work is admirable, But your constant reaching out to your wife can quickly go from partnership to seeking validation and comfort. And to me, the safe bet is to work in silence. There's another saying that I love: under-promise and over-deliver. You tell your client that you're going to have it done by Friday, but you deliver on Wednesday. You knew deep down that Wednesday was probably going to happen, but you kept that to yourself. And you gave yourself an extra couple of days just in case. The result? An ecstatic customer. Give your customer a job quote of $10,000, but in the end, you hand them a bill for $8,500. What you don't tell the client is that you actually came up with a final budget of around 7 grand, but you added a little extra padding on top to cover yourself in case things went weird on the project. So which do you think sounds better? Quote, I'm hoping I can do this for 7, but just in case, I'm going to quote you 10, and we'll probably end up being somewhere in the middle there. Hopefully, maybe, I'm not sure. You'll just have to wait and see. Or the job will cost $10,000, take it or leave it. Okay, the job is done now. Surprise, I just saved you $1,500. Merry Christmas. Same damn result, completely different tone. One results in a customer who's not quite sure about you, and the other is a customer who will probably call you back for more jobs. In my book, The Dead Bedroom Fix, I talk about how everyone loves a, quote, natural. But the irony is that nobody is a natural. We all learn. Some of us just have a way about us that makes everything seem easy. That guy who just seems to have all the luck with women, he may have some natural-born gifts about him, you know, like his physical appearance, but What you don't see is that he's been rejected by women. A lot. So much so that he actually grew tougher and stronger. And that in turn makes him a more attractive guy. He's not fumbling and stumbling when he meets a super pretty girl at the club. Because he's been there before. He knows that she could tell him to get lost. And that's not a big deal. Picture the pretty girl getting hit on by the handsome confident guy. She immediately sizes him up and says in a matter of milliseconds, This guy is worth my time. So she twirls her hair, she smiles, and it's game on. They talk for 30 minutes, and she has quickly gone into this guy might be good boyfriend material mode. Now take that same situation, but have Mr. Handsome take out a laptop and say, okay, let me show you a video compilation of all the times that I've fucked up in life. Let me show you the times that I went to the gym. Here, here's a montage of women rejecting me. The woman will take her drink and slowly back away. I think this is precisely what many of you are doing. You're hoping for empathy, but instead you're getting the customer who's grossed out when they see how the sausage is made. It might be an interesting and rewarding process to you, but not to the person who is starving and just needs something to eat. They'll just opt for the salad instead. I've heard many disgruntled men say, "Women don't wanna hang around for the struggle. They just wait for the winners at the finish line," or something to that effect. And this is true for society in general. People love winners. People love success. They often dream about attaining that success for themselves. That is until they see the sacrifice and the work that goes into that level of hyper-success. They don't see how the sausage was made. And suddenly they don't feel so bad about their normal 9-to-5 job. But they sure won't turn down hanging out with their rich buddy on his private jet or stop him from paying for those courtside seats.
