Not all caregivers wear a label. Some are sons who learned to be the steady ground for a parent’s storm. Others are partners who have become the silent architects of someone else’s peace, fixing wounds that aren’t their own. Many are men who have moved through life believing their worth is measured by their invulnerability—their ability to be an endless well of availability. These are the men I sit with. They may not call themselves caregivers, yet they have spent a lifetime