Carlos Martinez
the daily man
Transformative Healing, Lasting Change: Where Your Recovery Journey Finds Hope and Renewal.
despair’s loop: confession, sin, and the search for peace
I was a man stuck in the relentless cycle of sin, confession, and sin again. It felt like I was ensnared in a web of lies, secrecy, and shame, endlessly tightening around me. I had bought into the whispers of worthlessness and hopelessness, believing them to be the truth. My life was an empty chase, trying to define my identity through fleeting relationships, each one leaving me more broken than before. Despair was my constant companion, lurking at the end of every path I pursued.
Nothing ever satisfied me. I was always restless, craving something—anything—that would fill the void within and bring balance to the chaos. My heart was a wanderer, endlessly searching for a place to call home, yet always coming up empty-handed, disoriented by the never-ending pursuit of something that would ground me and bring peace.
growing up in chaos: a journey through dysfunction and grace
I was born in the heart of Hollywood, California, and grew up in the nearby suburb of Eagle Rock, a neighborhood on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Life in my household was anything but a Hollywood fairytale. I was thrust into a chaotic world filled with rageaholics, alcoholics, drug addicts, and codependents. My survival feels like a miracle in itself. By all accounts, I shouldn’t be here today. It's only through God’s grace and mercy that I made it out of that madness alive. From an early age, I was constantly on edge, wired with anxiety, always bracing myself for the next crisis. Being the youngest child gave me a front-row seat to dysfunction, and although I watched from somewhat of a distance, the fear and anxiousness permeated every corner of my life.
Life at home was a storm of anger, addiction, and unpredictability. My father lived a double life; we didn’t discover until after his passing that he was out there raising another family with his secretary. I grew up feeling desperately lonely, yearning for a connection that never came. A deep father wound took root in me, one that would later grow into a crippling attachment problem. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was already shaping false narratives about who I was—stories of unworthiness that would be reinforced as I bumped my way through life.
Fellowship was a foreign concept to me. Instead, I felt safer in one-on-one connections with guys I met along the way. My school years were a blur, bouncing from middle school to high school, only finding some semblance of academic stability in college. Meanwhile, I was stuck in an enmeshed relationship with my mother, quickly adopting the superpower of codependency. I longed for a deeper relationship with my father, but he was trapped in old-school dysfunction and lacked the tools to offer the validation I craved.
Then, around the age of sixteen, I stumbled into my first addiction: girls. From sixteen to thirty, relationships became my drug of choice, each new romance offering a fleeting rush of hope that inevitably ended in despair. I was trying to medicate the wounds of my childhood, seeking validation from every girl I dated. Looking back, I see now that I projected my severe anxious attachment onto each of them, placing a weight of expectation they could never fulfill. My relationships were a cycle of emotional highs and lows, each one repeating the story of my desperate need for connection and my fear of being abandoned.
ghosted by shadows: when the past returns to haunt the heart
Carrying a deep attachment wound felt like living in a constant state of emotional survival. It was as if I was dragging around an invisible chain, keeping me bound to fear and longing that followed me into every relationship I entered. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I wasn’t enough, that I was unlovable at my core, and that everyone would eventually leave me. In every interaction, I became consumed by a need to secure my place, to make sure I was wanted. Friendships were tense tightropes where I feared saying the wrong thing or being too much, or worse, not being enough. But it was in romantic relationships where this wound truly dominated my life. It was as if my entire sense of self-worth was dependent on how my partner felt about me at any given moment. Their words, their tone, their every move became data points in my relentless quest to find evidence that I was safe, that I was loved. Yet, no matter how much reassurance I received, it was never enough to calm the storm inside me.
In romantic relationships, my anxiety was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. I would cling desperately, obsessively analyzing every little detail for hidden signs of rejection. If a text went unanswered or if I sensed the slightest change in my partner’s behavior, my mind would spiral into a whirlwind of catastrophic thoughts. It wasn’t just about feeling uneasy; it was a full-blown panic that tightened around my chest and left me gasping for emotional air. I would convince myself that I was being abandoned, that they were losing interest, and that I was about to be left alone in the dark. In response, I would seek more and more reassurance, demanding my partner’s undivided attention and love. My fear made me possessive, leaving me constantly on edge. But the reassurance, no matter how much I received, was fleeting. It slipped through my grasp like water, never truly filling the deep void within me. I was trapped in a cycle—grasping for control, suffocating my partners, and inadvertently creating the very distance I feared.
The anxiety and panic weren’t the only emotions I wrestled with. Beneath it all was a profound sense of unworthiness that had been shaped long ago. I believed that if I were truly valuable and lovable, people would never leave me. This fear of abandonment was a deep-rooted belief that I had to fight for love, that I had to perform, mold, and sacrifice to be worthy of someone staying by my side. It made every relationship feel like an exhausting battle, where I was always trying to prove myself, to be enough to avoid the impending doom of being left behind. It was as if my entire identity was on the line every time my partner asked for space or seemed distant. I would twist myself into knots to keep them close, to hold onto the security that I thought their love would provide. But the truth was, I was chasing a sense of safety that no relationship could ever fully give me. The real issue wasn’t the people around me; it was the gaping wound inside me that needed healing.
the daily man -
god given manhood -
the daily man - god given manhood -
hands that heal: finding grace through the men i never knew i needed
I can still picture the moment I finally reached out, a mix of fear and hope gripping me as I dialed the number of a man who had known me since childhood. I was desperate, at the end of my rope, and had no idea where else to turn. His name was Mike. I half-expected to be met with some profound wisdom or a long, soul-searching conversation. But Mike, true to form, answered the phone calmly, heard me out, and simply said, "Be here tomorrow at men’s group." That was it. No sermon, no motivational speech, not even a verse. Just a direct call to action. I was thrown off at first—surely, I thought, I needed more than just a group meeting to fix this mess. But in that moment, Mike wasn’t offering a quick fix; he was handing me a lifeline. His instruction was clear: stop overthinking and just *do* something.
The next morning, I showed up at Mike's men's group, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as the clock struck 6 AM. I figured, "What do I have to lose?" It was there, amidst the quiet murmur of early morning coffee and tired nods, that I made the decision to lay it all bare. I didn't hold back. I shared my deepest, most humiliating sin, the one I had been hiding for years. To be honest, I half-expected to be kicked out on the spot. Instead, something miraculous happened. At some point, I found myself on my knees, surrounded by these men, their hands resting on my shoulders, as they prayed over me. I felt a surge of grace unlike anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t the divine lightning bolt I had always imagined God might use to "zap" me into healing. No, God was using these *men*—broken, imperfect, but willing—to bring healing to my deepest wounds. That morning marked the beginning of my journey to restoration. Mike, along with three other men, became instrumental in raising me up, healing the underdeveloped areas of my life that I didn’t even realize were holding me back. This was more than just friendship; it was a fellowship, a brotherhood that gave me the sense of belonging I had longed for but never found in my own family. It was undeserved, yet that’s exactly what grace is: God’s unearned favor, flowing through others into our broken places.
“No, God was using these men, broken, imperfect, but willing - to bring healing to my deepest wounds. ”
My healing was born out of a profound season of grief. I know that might sound a bit strange, but it's the absolute truth. Transformation demanded that I walk through that valley of sorrow and loss. It was during this time that God began to bring the right people into my life—an incredible therapist, wise men to guide me, and, oddly enough, the gift of solitude. My family had all moved away from Los Angeles, leaving me alone, which at first felt like abandonment. But now, I see it as divine orchestration. God knew that for me to truly change, I needed to confront my pain without the comfort of familiar distractions. I had to learn how to sit in the fire, to be fully present in my agony. This wasn't just about grieving the obvious losses, but about facing the deeper, darker roots—the false beliefs, survival lies, distorted narratives, and unhealthy thinking patterns that I had relied on for so long.
I remember taking long walks, pleading with God, "Pour it on.
grieving to grow: turning pain into purpose and healing
Let me feel every ounce of pain if that's what it takes to change for good." I realized that if I wanted to grow into a more confident, resilient man, to forge a stronger identity, and to break the chains of codependency, I had to embrace the suffering and mourn the dysfunctional parts of myself. Those walks became sacred spaces where I learned to grieve the “old man” within me. In that season, I experienced a blend of joy and suffering unlike anything before or since—a kind of supernatural encounter with grace. The deep work of fellowship, therapy, spiritual growth, and an intimate relationship with Christ ignited a passion in me to help others. This journey led me to serve in my church, starting as a helper and then stepping into the role of a mentor for men who needed support as they grieved their own dysfunctional realities. That experience sparked a deeper calling, eventually driving me back to school to earn my counseling license, and years later - The Daily Man
farewell to the familiar
the painful goodbye that “can” transforms us
Grieving is essential for transformation because we have developed a deeply ingrained, almost dependent relationship with our unhealthy thoughts, feelings, and—most importantly—the beliefs we hold about ourselves. These internal elements have manifested into behaviors that we’ve come to rely on. They provide a sense of predictability, a false sense of control. To simply reject or rebuke these wounded parts within us isn’t enough for true transformation. It might lead to fleeting moments of freedom, but not the enduring change we seek. These thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and behaviors have become our most trusted allies. In our darkest moments, they were always there, ready to step in, offering comfort, a sense of peace, and even regulation for our chaotic emotions. This wounded part of us lay dormant, ever vigilant, waiting to be activated whenever we felt threatened or insecure. It was always eager to play its role, bringing instant relief.
The truth is, we developed a strong, dependent relationship with this destructive part of ourselves. And it’s not something that we can simply reject or rebuke because it is woven into the fabric of who we are. We need to understand that we can’t just sever ties with this part of us. Instead, we must learn to have a healthier relationship with it. We need to respect its power, acknowledging that it has the capacity to bring us instant comfort, satisfaction, and mood regulation. It can make the pain disappear temporarily, offering a false sense of peace. While this part of us doesn’t have our best interests at heart, and in fact, often sabotages our growth and freedom, it has always been ready and willing to support us whenever we called upon it. This doesn’t sound like something bad that we should reject outright, does it? It sounds more like a close companion, someone we’ve relied on deeply, even protected over the years.
This is why grieving this part of ourselves is so crucial. It’s about recognizing that this wounded part has served a purpose, albeit a destructive one, and that we need to let go of our dependency on it. Grieving allows us to establish healthier boundaries with this inner ally, rather than allowing it to dominate our lives. It’s not about banishing this part completely—it will always be there to some degree, lurking in the shadows, ready to cause interference. Instead, we need to become more aware of when it tries to take control and confront it with respect. It’s about saying, “I see you. I know you’re here. I recognize that you want to take over and provide comfort, but I’m choosing not to engage with you. I know what you’re offering, and I’m walking away.” This dialogue is an act of self-compassion, a way to honor the past while choosing a different path. And as we do this repeatedly, the power that these dysfunctional and destructive parts once held over us diminishes.
The process of grieving is like experiencing the loss of a trusted friend—one who always came through with immediate relief. It’s painful because we are saying goodbye to something that made us feel better in the moment, something that rewarded us whenever we called on it. Yet, by acknowledging this loss, by feeling it deeply, we begin to reclaim our power. My attachment wound has lost its grip on me because I’ve learned to stop entertaining the thoughts, feelings, and beliefs that it once wielded. I’ve chosen, time and time again, to recognize its presence but refuse its offer of control. This is the battle in my mind: knowing that it exists, but choosing to walk away. And every time I do, I weaken its influence. The grieving process isn’t just about mourning what was; it’s about reclaiming control over what will be.
the 8 steps of purpose driven manhood:
grieving the old self to build a stronger, purpose-driven manhood
As I worked through my own journey, I realized the importance of having a structured path for transformation—one that would address the deep wounds and unhealthy attachments that men often carry. This realization led me to develop my 8-step program, aptly named The Eight Steps of Purpose-Driven Manhood.” This program lies at the core of The Daily Man ministry, embodying the process of confronting, redefining, and ultimately living out a purpose that aligns with God’s design for manhood.
"The Eight Steps of Purpose-Driven Manhood" isn’t just about rejecting passive living; it’s about moving through a structured process that allows men to come to terms with their wounds, find purpose, and embrace godly masculinity. The steps guide them through identifying their God-given mission, breaking free from the chains of unhealthy dependencies, establishing healthy relationships, and building a Christ-centered life of service and strength. Each step moves men forward—from defining their vision of manhood to walking in that purpose with conviction and confidence. It creates a roadmap for lasting change, helping men step into the full measure of who they were created to be.
The Eight Steps of Purpose-Driven Manhood provides a clear path for others to follow, serving as both a compass and a community of brotherhood. This program is the heart of my ministry, offering not just tools for personal transformation but also a way for men to support each other in their journey toward masculine maturity. Through this process, they can reclaim the strength, purpose, and freedom that come from living as the men God intended them to be.
the 8 steps of
purpose-driven manhood
Step 1
We Admitted Our Dependency
Heart of the Journey: We admitted that our problematic behaviors, though destructive, were reliable companions. They served a purpose in helping us forget the pains, fears, and anxieties that haunted us.
Grieving Task: We grieved the fact that our lives had been built on fragile foundations of unhealthy coping, admitting that though they “worked,” they could never truly heal us.
“For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” — Romans 7:15
Step 2
We Uncovered the Lies
Heart of the Journey: We uncovered the false beliefs we had clung to for so long—those whispers that told us we needed our vices to survive, that we were unworthy of better.
Grieving Task: We mourned the lies that held power over us, grieving how they shaped our choices, knowing we can no longer live by the shadows of these deceptions.
“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” — John 8:32
Step 3
We Released Our False Security
Heart of the Journey: We released the illusion of security that these behaviors had provided. They gave us comfort, but it was a comfort that masked chaos.
Grieving Task: We grieved the loss of this dysfunctional “safety,” accepting the pain and discomfort that comes with leaving behind what once felt like protection.
“The name of the Lord is a fortified tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.” — Proverbs 18:10
Step 4
We Embraced Our Emotions
Heart of the Journey: We embraced the emotions that had long been buried beneath our problematic behaviors—anger, sadness, fear, and shame—finally allowing them to surface.
Grieving Task: We grieved the many years spent running from our feelings. Instead of numbing, we chose to feel, to mourn, and to let the healing begin.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
Step 5
We Let Go of Our Rituals
Heart of the Journey: We let go of the rituals and routines that supported our dysfunction. We recognized these patterns for what they were: distractions from the deeper work of transformation.
Grieving Task: We mourned the rituals that brought temporary relief but sustained our separation from the life we were meant to live. Saying goodbye to them was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” — Isaiah 43:18-19
Step 6
We Faced Our Shame
Heart of the Journey: We faced the shame that had long defined our actions, knowing it was the root of so much of our behavior. It was time to confront it head-on.
Grieving Task: We grieved the damage shame had done, acknowledging its grip on our identity. With open hands, we handed that shame over to Christ, accepting His grace in its place.
“Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” — Psalm 34:5
Step 7
We Surrendered Our Cravings
Heart of the Journey: We surrendered our cravings, knowing they wouldn’t simply disappear. The pull to return to what was familiar would remain, but it no longer had to control us.
Grieving Task: We grieved the cravings when they arose, choosing to breathe through them, acknowledge them, and once again hand them over to Christ, trusting Him to carry the weight.
“But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” — 1 Corinthians 9:27
Step 8
We Said Goodbye, Again and Again
Heart of the Journey: We said goodbye to our old selves, not just once but repeatedly. The process of letting go was ongoing, a continual surrender of what once defined us.
Grieving Task: We grieved each time the old man tried to rise again, choosing to be present in that moment, saying goodbye with intention, and handing it all over to the One who is making all things new.
“Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature.” — Colossians 3:5
about carlos martinez
For over a decade, I’ve dedicated myself to being more than just a counselor. I’ve walked alongside men and women as they confront their giants and mourn the wounded parts of their past that have kept them shackled for so long.
My approach is grounded in a “no matter what” mindset—firm yet anchored in grace and compassion. Most days, you'll find me in my private practice, working one-on-one or with couples. But beyond that, I thrive in mentoring, leading groups, and facilitating transformative workshops and retreats. It's the kind of work that doesn’t just bring me satisfaction—it gives life a deeper purpose.
coming soon
