“We need to teach our boys that they can bear suffering and loss without shame … that anger is a question that deserves deeper answers than punishment or silence.”
On our first date three years ago, my husband Geof told me where he went to college, what he did for a living, that he was involved in climate activism, that he was allergic to wheat, and that his younger brother had committed suicide almost 30 years ago. As we got to know each other better, suicide as a defining event in his life took greater shape through many more conversations that each chipped away small pieces of the hugeness of what could never be fully be explained.
Geof’s brother Peter took his life at 21 in the family garage with the motor running. Geof found the body. Sometimes he relives that day, describing what Peter’s face looked like, what his fingers looked like, or how it felt the moment he anticipated what he was going to find when he opened the garage door. Details are sometimes uttered that have been unspeakable for many years, and, in between, Geof wraps himself in quietness for long stretches of time. I know that he will never—can never—tell it all. It’s OK.
How do we keep what happens to us? How do we incorporate these events into our lives, without turning them into anecdotes? For a long time, it was difficult for both of us to get inside Geof’s life. He was so impenetrable and lonely, a prison few entered or escaped. The turning point may have been sitting in a parked car in Cambridge, watching him pick another fight to push me away, and thinking, not for the first time, that I just didn’t have the stamina to do this much longer. What I said was, “You’re so much work.” What I didn’t say was what we both heard: and I might have to leave.
♦◊♦
When profound tragedy like suicide happens, for a long time the heart oozes and weeps, in drips or in rivers, and you can build dams, but they constantly break, and there is nothing to do but get yourself out of other people’s way. Eventually, in great time, the heart scabs over, but scabs are not cement, and they occasionally get bumped off, or picked off, and the leaking begins anew. The heart scabs over again, but even so, the movies in the brain play on.
John Steinbeck once said, Men need sea monsters in their personal oceans. I have found this to be achingly true.
And just one more quote in the form of lyrics, this from folk singer and songwriter Bob Franke:
There’s a hole in the middle of the prettiest life
So the lawyers and the prophets say
Not your father nor your mother
Nor you lover’s gonna ever make it go away
And there’s too much darkness in an endless night
To be afraid of the way we feel
Let’s be kind to each other
Not forever but for real
Geof’s sea monster lives in that hole. I used to feel threatened when there was no room for me there, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I can leave them to it when they need each other, there in that place.
♦◊♦
One day Geof and I were walking in the woods of Concord around a pond called Punkatasset, and it must have been near the anniversary of Peter’s death in March. Geof was in his annual dark mood, full of ambivalence, even though it was a glorious winter day. He talked of Peter, the inability to ever set things right or ever fully move on, the burden of survivorship, and the urgent but impossible desire to turn back time to see what was coming and stop it somehow.
When we returned to the car, I was taking off my jacket to put it on the back seat, and Peter spoke to me for the first and only time. I felt like my lungs had been punctured and all the air escaped in one big whoosh.
Peter’s voice was so perfectly, distinctly clear, though I had never heard it before. Tell Geof I do not want this for him. Tell him I want him to finally be happy. Tell him I need him to live. Tell him.
I don’t know how much time had gone by, but Geof saw me standing on the side of the road, shaken. I don’t really remember the rest, but ever since that day, Geof has occasionally reminded me that a very wise woman once told him that it was OK to be truly happy because this was not a betrayal of his brother … and that he loves this woman for giving him that.
♦◊♦
Sometimes my husband is too expressive, too insistent on emotional closeness when I need distance. I don’t know if I’ve ever said it out loud, but a line from The Man from La Mancha goes through my head: “Spare me your unbearable tenderness.” I catch myself in exquisite hypocrisy. How much of my time and my career as a psychologist and educator have I devoted to speaking, writing, and teaching that boys have a deep capacity for emotional expression that can be cultivated, and that society cruelly discourages? If we are to raise boys to be men who can access their feelings and express them without stigma or any perceived threat to their masculinity, aren’t we obligated to not only verbalize—but to also experience—comfort with this kind of man?
My new marriage has an emotional landscape that is deep, complex, and gender neutral. I am not the only one who wants to “talk about feelings.” I am not the only one who cries easily. I am not the only one who gets up during the night because there is “stuff” to think or talk about. Although this blog certainly is an open love letter to my husband, it must be more than that. It must also be a road map of emotional maturity and intelligence for all boys growing into men.
No one ever said that life is fair, but no one should have to travel the road Geof did to claim his own life. No young man should have to commit the exorbitant amount of time and money Geof did for over 25 years of psychotherapy to come to shaky terms with the suicide of a brother, the horror of that discovery, and the pressing need to unlearn the cultural norms that stipulate that intense emotional topics are best not discussed. He had to build a new structure from the bottom up for listening and speaking plainly about feelings.
Boys and men who experience severe trauma may of course need this intensity of intervention. Must they also be doomed to experience decades of depression, anger, and damaged and failed relationships, within or outside the family, essentially all products of a performance of self-hatred?
The toxicity of emotional disconnection creates the destructive cycle that invisibly affects careers, parenting, and interpersonal relationships. I should know. Take it from me—a former participant in marital emotional estrangement—this cycle does not only happen to boys and men. But it does happen to them disproportionately.
Perhaps there is one “intervention” boys could embrace, with adult guidance, that does not require subsequent decades of repressed pain and the eventual need to grab hold of it and press it to ones chest. For Geof, there could be no sustained joy in life until the pain was stripped of its power over him, but the obvious problem was in how big the pain had gotten because he did not talk about it sooner, in healthy ways, often enough. “Talking about feelings” with boys—routinely, from a young age—could redefine masculinity in important ways and prevent the incredible waste that may ensue in the absence of that one critical step. How many men would like to stop hearing “be a man” when they show vulnerability? I know plenty.
♦◊♦
The best job I ever had was working in a boys’ school. The boys made lots of mistakes, but as the Head of Middle School always explained, they made them within a framework of redemption. The idea was that no matter how misguided a boy’s behavior might be, there was always the possibility of a course change given the proper emotional tools and adult support for making it. A boy is not a fully formed adult. He is still becoming, to borrow an expression from Walt Whitman. Could you say the same for grown men? Likewise, for women? Yes, of course. We are all still becoming.
So is redemption something you earn by specific deeds that get recognized, evaluated and approved by others, or is it something that is given freely through compassion? I think the answer in each instance lies in the negative spaces between people’s comments. Often what is most wanted or most needed is what is not said.
Soon, but hopefully not too soon, Geof and I will be further bound to one another through the shared loss of younger brothers. His loss was sudden and long ago; mine is coming slowly and relentlessly.
Already I see who is talking, who is not talking, and what patterns are being laid down. I think every day about how I will hold this experience, so that it becomes an authentic and deeply personal part of me, while also writing about it publicly, because I will need to.
Geof gave me the trust, the love, and ultimately his permission to tell his story, believing that storytelling lifts us all up, beyond regret, irrespective of forgiveness, into that place where our shared humanity surpasses our individual pain.
We need to teach our boys that they can tell their stories; that they can bear suffering and loss without shame; that anger is a question that deserves deeper answers than punishment or silence; and that they can find others who will listen with empathy. We need to model the social acceptability of this kind of emotional journey for males within our families, within our schools, within our communities, and in all other places where boys can learn that this, this, enhances masculinity rather than erodes it.
We encourage our girls to give voice to their emotions. When they grow up, many want men in their lives who can support them as they do so, and who can do the same themselves. I had to wait decades to find this, and Geof had to work decades to get it, so that he could give it, and isn’t it funny…
Life doesn’t always give second chances, but the thing is, sometimes it does.
—Photo Keoni Cabral/Flickr
About Lori Day
Vocalyze
Lori, this is a truly amazing piece. How sad that we can’t talk more openly about these things that are so important. How great that Geof was able to this time. I hope stories like this become a catalyst, whereby people understand that sadness can be beautiful in its own way; that anything that is a part of a reality of life can be dealt with gracefully, that it is only by sharing and connecting around events like this that we can continue to live.
We’ve often said here that the best stories “change the teller and change the listener.” I know this changed me. Thank you and love to Geof and both your families.
Lisa, I’m uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Mostly, just thank you, thank you for the opportunity to write, and to be a part of such an inspiring mission. xo
Achingly beautiful.
Having known the intensity that a suicide of a sibling can create, I relate to the dark hole of this piece. My sister killed herself at 37 dramatically, horribly, and it left an abyss inside me that was like starring into hell. I am happy to say that that abyss eventually closed up after much processing, time, and acceptance of her last act on my part. It took about 5 years to stop crying. It’s been 12 years since her death and I’m now telling her story in front of audiences. Very cathartic.
Best to your husband and his recovery!!!
Thank you so much, and I’m so sorry for your own loss. It is so tough.
I lost a lover to suicide. He was a lost boy, himself. Makes me weep to think of it. I love the quotes as well, somehow made me think of Stephen King’s saying from Pet Sematary, “The soil of a man’s heart is stonier. He grows what he can, and he tends it.”
Secrets, stories never told. Hard.
Oh Julie, I remember those lines. Huge Stephen King fan here, and most people don’t realize that he write like that, at times. I am so sorry for your loss. Yes, it is hard. Thanks for commenting.
That book, and The Shining, are amazing pieces of work.
Beautiful piece, Lori. I think it took courage from both of you to push through Geof’s grief–another person would have walked away from Geof because of the stigma and shame of suicide and the sense that it is somehow “catching” or too terrible to speak of. My aunt shot herself with a shotgun, at home, leaving four children behind. The youngest was 15 and spent years drifting in a cult-like commune. She said her father was never really able to talk about what happened. If ever there were something that needed to be talked through, it’s suicide.
Oh boy. That is really tough. Yes, it so needs to be talked about. Thank you.
Thank you for this Lori. “Conversations that each chipped away small pieces of the hugeness of what could never be fully be explained,” seems to me to be the essence of love really.
I have come to realize quite recently that I have lived my whole life alone. The circumstances are different from your husband but the result has been the same. And I don’t think we are the only two.
But I don’t want to live alone. I love my wife deeply, passionately, and without reservation. I’ve done all I can to push her away and yet…and yet the feeling of holding her at night is the one thing that I know makes me feel whole even when the world is conspiring against me.
So like your husband, I have let her in to the extent I am capable, one conversation at a time. I have allowed myself not to be alone in the world. To love and be loved. In the end that is really all there is.
Thank you for reminding me of this and sharing your husband’s pain and the pathway to your mutual joy.
Tom, you really touched me.
Lori, thank you for writing this beautiful story about your husband. I’m sorry that you are also facing loss. It’s a terrible feeling, knowing what is coming and being unable to mitigate it in any way. I’m sorry that you are losing your little brother. That is heartbreaking, too.
I was told recently by a wise young woman that people who have not suffered grave trauma in childhood feel things just as deeply as other people; their emotions are not in a special category of intensity. Contemplating what this means about human suffering makes me think of the peaks and valleys of the mountain range where I live, and how they’re both on the same ground.
Justin, that imagery is really beautiful. Thank you for acknowledging my brother. It was a small and subtle part of the piece that few picked up on, but your noticing it really touched me, because yes, it is so difficult, and so pressing, and while I deliberately left it in the background of this piece, for me it was in the foreground. Many thanks.
Tom, that is so painful and powerful and, also, beautiful. “To love and be loved. In the end that is really all there is.” Yes that is true. And you are most welcome. All the best, always, in life and in love.
Boys are taught that men are the protectors. That it is our responsibility to protect victims and those weaker than ourselves. Part of that is keeping pain, soul crushing pain, from other people. How can we protect other people if we take our most agonizing pain and share it with others?
It is nearly impossible to put into words just 10% of what I endured as a child, so I don’t. The truth is so ugly, so hideously ugly, that I keep it to myself. Sharing the truth means admitting I was not strong enough — not man enough — to bear the burden on my shoulders alone. It is not fair to let someone else carry some of the weight of my burden.
If people knew the truth, they would view me differently; they would view me as better and stronger. The two people who do know most of the truth are awed and amazed by me, but I deserve no such evaluation. I am not better and stronger, because I am impeded by demons unvanquished. I failed, failed to vanquish them without being slowed down. It has been neither quick nor easy, and the scars are living proof that I was not good enough.
Sharing beasts so grotesque with the innocent is cruel, and so I fight alone. So many Pyrrhic victories, yet still more lie ahead. So many demons still lurk in the blackest recesses of my mind, waiting for their chance to hunt each and every night… and hunt they do. Yet I survive. The evidence of battle is with me every morning from the drenching sweat and exhaustion of exertion, to the twisted, knotted wreckage of the field of battle.
I am a warrior, and I am at war. No warrior truly escapes their war, and it is always brought back to the homefront to plague the innocent. I am a protector, and I will not bring my war and my demonic enemies to haunt the innocent so I push the innocent away. It is better to be alone than put an innocent person at risk.
Colin,
“Boys are taught that men are the protectors. That it is our responsibility to protect victims and those weaker than ourselves. Part of that is keeping pain, soul crushing pain, from other people. How can we protect other people if we take our most agonizing pain and share it with others? ”
Well, isn’t it just a tiny bit possible that that teaching is wrong? Who gets to protect you Colin? Only someone without any pain? There is no such person. You are carrying so very much, and I’m not asking you to share it, but I am asking you to consider the trap you find yourself in-you suffer and you believe you can’t share it, so you isolate yourself. You don’t accept support when finally give in and tell your story.
Only women can share crushing pain? Only women get to heal?
We belong in groups, we need to engage with each other, No one, NO ONE, is supposed to carry life and it’s pains alone.
If you ever want to talk you can contact me through my website Colin. I have lost a lot of people, watched my father die suddenly. Had an emotionally volatile and difficult family. You don’t have to contact me, but you can.
Julie:
Well, isn’t it just a tiny bit possible that that teaching is wrong? Who gets to protect you Colin? Only someone without any pain? There is no such person. You are carrying so very much, and I’m not asking you to share it, but I am asking you to consider the trap you find yourself in-you suffer and you believe you can’t share it, so you isolate yourself. You don’t accept support when finally give in and tell your story.
1. Of course its wrong, but like any teaching that is do deeply ingrained the healing process is long and hard and lost of us will be lost along the way.
2. A worthwhile question. Because as it stands when it comes to the script of being a man we’re expected to protect ourselves.
3. Again we are expected to be without pain, or at least without certain types of pain. (That probably something to do with why guys show off scars as marks of honor…)
Only women can share crushing pain? Only women get to heal?
1. In the roles men and women are raised into, yes.
2. Its not that only women get to heal, its that only women get to acknowledge their pain in the first place. The facade isn’t that the pain isn’t that bad or doesn’t need healing, the facade is that there is no pain in the first place.
It’s unfortunate. Not all women heal, either. Depending on one’s background, family dynamics etc, some women are the suck it up and don’t talk about it types. But your points are well taken. I’m a fan of any of us being able to express. That doesn’t’ mean weeping in a corner at every given problem, but it does mean being able to say…”wow, my arm is frickin’ broken and it hurts. I can’t protect my family as well with a broken arm, so I should find a way to heal it.:
FWIW.
Julie:
It’s unfortunate. Not all women heal, either. Depending on one’s background, family dynamics etc, some women are the suck it up and don’t talk about it types. But your points are well taken.
This is true. I was speaking more from the perspective of what a lot of boys are taught rather than as a representation of what any given girl is actually taught (apologies for the confusion). This would be such a woman who is the “suck it up and don’t talk about it type” may be frowned upon. According to what girls are “supposed’ to do such a woman would fall in the class of “flawed woman” ie not a “real” woman. (I’m betting there are lots of women who, when they were girls, were raised with certain beliefs about boys that clashed horribly with the realities of the men they’ve met.)
Such teachings are why I was actually a bit shocked over the idea of a stoic woman.
I’m a fan of any of us being able to express. That doesn’t’ mean weeping in a corner at every given problem, but it does mean being able to say…”wow, my arm is frickin’ broken and it hurts. I can’t protect my family as well with a broken arm, so I should find a way to heal it.:
Agreed. Being able to express and acknowledged the pain. No express and acknowldge it but to seek and accept help. As in……”wow, my arm is frickin’ broken and it hurts. I can’t protect my family as well with a broken arm, so I should find a way to heal it….and while its healing I may need the help of others to do what needs to be done.”
This is such a beautifully emotional piece, Lori. You have articulated a gut-wrenching topic with unbelievable finesse and lyrical detail. Thank you for sharing what I’m sure was difficult to write. And thanks to Geof as well–for allowing you to write it.
Thank you, Michele. It was difficult in some ways, and very easy in others. I wrote it in my head driving back from the Cape one day, and sometimes these things just fall in place, and it becomes a matter of keyboarding. I’d always wanted to try to get this down on paper. But then, when it was finished, it was like, gulp!
Wow. That was a terrible event in his life, but I’m still amazed that it screwed him up for a full thirty years–apparently, 25 of them with therapy!
You never forget something like that, but you DO learn to live with it and move on. It’s a shame it took Geof so long to get his life back.
What a beautifully insensitive comment, Copyleft. I sincerely hope, and I mean this I really do, that you never have to undergo something so terrible as discovering someone you love in that position. Scars affect the body for a long time. You might have a scar from surgery for your whole life and feel twinges of pain from that scar at various time. Phantom limb pain and all that. It’s a real thing.
Something like a suicide, well, let’s just say that it leaves a very particular scar. Geof did move on and he did live, but he carried, apparently, a terrible weight that took some very particular healing to lighten.
That’s a real thing, too, Copyleft. Everyone is different.
Julie, thank you for what you said, but it’s the “least un-nice” comment I’ve ever gotten from Copyleft, and I just wanted to try to make some lemonade! Your point is very well taken, however.
And as to phantom limb, Geof himself talks about it that way sometimes too, so that is clearly something you understand so well on an emotional level. Thank you, Julie.
I apologized to him below. I made an assumption and I truly have no idea his intent. Suicide hits home with me on a number of levels, having experienced one from a close love, and having several in my extended family. Weird, so much death in my life. Anyway, I apologize to you too, for falling into a stir-the-pot mode and derailing.
J
Thank you for reading, Copyleft. I guess it just took how long it took, and I’m so glad he did not give up, because I don’t know if we’d have been able to have the relationship we have if he’d given up. The main thing is the living, as you say. You can look back in certain ways, but counting the years doesn’t really help, you just have to go forward. Really appreciate the comment.
On introspection..Apologies Copyleft. I don’t know if you meant to be harsh or not. It’s early, I’m exhausted and it seems like I’ve had a few rounds with you and I made an assumption.
It read snarky to me, but it’s quite probable that you didn’t mean that to be that way.
So, for whatever it is worth, I sincerely apologize for assuming.
I do think though that emotional trauma that doesn’t get healed right the first time lingers. Like, if you had a bad leg break and it was triaged and set but not really well. You could walk ok, hobble around, get around your life, but not run or dance or maybe it aches late at night.
Sometimes you need therapy. Sometimes you need to get the entire leg broken again and reset and start the healing process over again.
I feel pretty certain emotional trauma is like that. It lingers if not set correctly the first time.
God knows my early family trauma was not dealt with until later in my life. It is about finding that place to reclaim fully living and that’s important.
All,
Some background perhaps is called for.
There were numerous extenuating circumstances. The “screwed up” part wasn’t just what happened after the death of my brother in the early eighties. We were all screwed up, more or less for all our teen years. And there was more than one tragedy, many years were lost to casual and not-so-casual drug abuse, depression, broken jobs, relationships, dreams, etc.
There is hope. It does get better. Sometimes listening is more important than fighting. Hearing is good, but listening, hearing those quiet parts, the things unsaid, what often cannot be said, is way better.
On the subject of loss – pain from an old wound is an easy analogy, but with a loss like what I’ve been through, the pain is different. It is as if it is from something that isn’t even there, that’s been gone so long that few knows it ever was there. Fortunately, Lori has come to understand. (Thank god or thank match.com!)
And, Tom, thanks for doing the good work to get & keep GMP going – it has become an important part of our lives – and I hope it can become part of many lives going forward.
And to Facebook friends, cousins, close family members, therapists, doctors, former people in my life who are there in some ways and not others, thank you to all of you – you know who you are.
Special thanks to Lori!
Keep listening, writing, talking, loving and letting love in. Cry when you have to. Sometimes silence is OK too.
No one said growing was going to be easy.
There is hope. It does get better. Better and better every day!
Ahh. Thanks for clarifying, Geof.
I came from a different place with a loving, but dysfunctional family, parents who did their best, siblings emotionally distant; all of us trying to be a “normal” family, as “normal” as the folks we saw on tv in the 1950′s; as “normal” as everybody pretended they were. The crash came when I turned 50; after years of questioning “what was wrong with us, what’s wrong with me?” Thanks to the grace of God, a wonderful wife and 2 daughters and a therapist who helped me find me, I have “moved on” as much as anyone does–with wounds healed into scars that sometimes still break open. And I have finally learned the words to reveal the feelings inside. From that broken-ness came a different kind of strength, seasoned with compassion. Thanks so much for telling your story.
RevD, I don’t really know what “normal” is. The older I get, the more I realize there really were no Cleavers. We all just did the best we could. Then we raise our own kids and do the best we can, imperfect human beings that we are…and know that somewhere down the road, our children and grandchildren will make their own evaluations.
Scars do weep, but the language for that helps sooo much. Thank *you* for telling your story. The storytelling brings us all together. Much appreciation for such a poignant and articulate and emotionally authentic comment.
I really appreciate articles like this, that delve into the hard truths that people have to deal with in living this hard uncertain world.
You hit on something important when you talk about the confusing messages that men get about displaying emotion – particularly crying. But I think it is, at least for me, very different than what you describe.
I grew up with “free to be you and me” and the whole “its ok to cry” message. I cry when I want to – and I’ve internalized the message that there is no shame in it, and for that I’m grateful – but like most men, I don’t cry often. As a boy a felt like crying less and less, and you start to wonder if there isn’t something wrong with you that you aren’t crying enough.
It even reaches a perverse level where they tell you that if you don’t cry then you are unmanly because you are “afraid of your feelings”.
I’ve learned since that its also ok not to cry.
We get other more damaging messages:
1. “your problems are not problems”. If you complain about something as a boy, and later as a man, your experiences are minimized, anything unjust that you experience didn’t happen. You should “man up”, “suck it up”, “don’t be a wuss”. Talking about men’s issues is derided as unmanly.
2. “there is something wrong with being a man”. We’ve heard the quip that men have “testosterone poisoning”. You’re told to fight your nature as an “oppressor”, a “rapist”, a “pedophile”. You’re taught that you have to be on your guard at all times. Give in to your impulses as a man and you will suddenly turn into a monster. You’re taught that if you ever demand something of someone else, or expect anything, or are assertive that you are being “controlling”, “aggressive”, you need “anger management”. You’re required to be completely passive. Manly activities are always associated with problems. You get the message that if you like wrestling, motorcycling, hunting or even football you might be a psycho. Like the myth that domestic violence increases during the superbowl.
It unfortunately took me well into my thirties before I stopped fighting against being a man, and just go with it. Go shoot some guns. Be loud if you want. Be dominant in bed. You don’t have to be “sensitive” all the time. You don’t have to cry.
The irony of course is that the very same women who encourage you to be “modern”, and not “macho”, trip all over themselves to be with men who are unapologetically masculine, especially if you embrace traditionally masculine virtues: being a provider, a protector, a leader, being confident, having drive.
On the money there Linguist. Its quite a minefield when comes to being a boy/man.
“I really appreciate articles like this, that delve into the hard truths that people have to deal with in living this hard uncertain world.” Beautiful and so true.
“You hit on something important when you talk about the confusing messages that men get about displaying emotion – particularly crying. But I think it is, at least for me, very different than what you describe.” I so hear you. My youngest brother, who I refer to in my post, and who is dying, speaks eloquently to his fact. The mixed messages must be so difficult and confusing, and I think that in the end, you have to be who you are–for yourself, not someone else. I also believe that to the degree men (and women) can feel free to choose their own comfort zones on that figurative spectrum of “masculine” to “feminine,” and not let others dictate it to them, the better. Thank you so much for weighing in.
Hi Lori, I am a first time visitor here – but I will be back.
What you wrote is so eloquent and loving, but also very wise. That decision , or natural process, to move out of overwhelming grief and live our lives in honour of people we have lost, isn’t always intuitive – so reading pieces like this, sharing stories, is so valuable and generous. Beautiful piece Lori.
Thank you so very much. I hope you enjoy the site. A lot of amazing work is being done here, and I’m really happy you found us!
Thank you Lori and all who have commented. This is a powerful piece, Lori, and it resonates deeply in ways I cannot put into words. Thanks to you and Geof for baring your souls, and thanks to all for the thoughtful replies.
You’re so welcome. It was hard, but all the commenters like you make it worth it.
I’ve only just recently discovered this website,and wasn’t prepared for the frankness and deep waters of this article. Well written, and thought provoking. Is there fulfillment for a man in the absence of monsters, war, and forging pathways to unexplored horizons?
I’m encouraged to read that you didn’t leave, that you endured. We should all be so fortunate to discover the same companionship in another.
Hi Greg and welcome. This is an amazing place. Thank you for your kind words. I hope you’ll explore and enjoy this site. Your question is a big piece of what The Good Men Project explores!
I really hope something changes in the way boys are socialized to express themselves. Two years ago, at age 12, one of my son’s friends hung himself. Twelve years old. What in the world could that boy have been carrying that was so heavy he felt he needed to take his life? Our community has seen a surge in young suicides – many of them boys. My son didn’t even know how to process it. I’m not even sure what to say about it – it’s just so shocking.
Boys like my son’s friend give us the impression they are fine – in school, in sports, with friends, etc., we didn’t see it coming. I say we because as parents and friends we all wish we could have looked more closely, asked more questions – anything that could have illuminated the source of the pain this boy may have been carrying.
In my volunteer work with at-risk youth, the girls will eventually talk and let me see inside but the boys don’t even show up. I find myself looking at adolescent boys and wondering if everything is okay in there.
Joss, what a painful story, and what you observe is what I also see. At the beginning of my career I worked in psychiatric hospitals with adolescents. Many of them had histories of severe trauma, often sexual, both boys and girls. It was so much harder to get the boys to open up. In “normal” populations, the same seems true. I see fathers telling their sons to stop crying, “be a man.” God, we have to change this. One other point: A lot of people are talking about how boys are falling behind educationally, and how college admissions is now skewed towards admitting women, and giving men an admissions preference. Here is a true story. When I was on the undergraduate admissions committee of a prominent engineering universty many years ago, before there was a gender imbalance, and in fact, when boys were usually admitted over girls, especially at engineering schools, it was a well-known fact that in one specific way, girls were less risky. Here’s how it went. If you have two equal candidates that are both on the weak side academically, but need to be considered because they are top athletic recruits, or the development folks want them, whatever, you go with the girl. Why? Because, at least at this particular school, girls were not afraid to ask for help. Boys were more likely to dig themselves into a hole, get behind, not go for help, and flunk the course. So because girls could open up, admit their weakness, and seek help from professors, and it was harder for boys to do that (and trust me, this was well documented–engineering schools do not screw around with subjective analysis! They have an algorithm for everything!!), they favored girls. So again, we must teach boys not to cover up weakness and to seek help…in all kinds of ways. Thank you for writing and sharing your story. I hope your son is ok.
Ask yourself this: how many times did that boy ask for help, only to be ignored.
This isn’t a ‘failure of masculinity’…this is a failure of society to give a rats ass about boys and men. This is willful blindness, and ‘man up’ attitudes…which is BY FAR more commonly espoused by women than men.
This is not a weakness of men, this is the result of years of indoctrination that men have it easy, and men who complain are whiners.
This article is so useful that I will ask my partner AND my 11 year old stepson to read it. Their (adult) friend killed himself 2 1/2 years ago, and it has caused great wounds in all three of the males in my family who knew him. Meanwhile, the 11 year old is really struggling with how to express his emotions, and a fear that how he is, right now, is the way he will always be. I can show him the section about the boys’ school, and point to what you said about boys still evolving (AND men and women still evolving!) and it might help him to accept himself and his possibilities for change. It is sometimes easier for him to accept things like that from others who are not his parents. So I thank you, many times over.
Dear Jennifer — and others suffering from the fallout of a recent suicide.
I speak from personal experience. I also have a sister named Jennifer.
Lori, my dear wife, wrote here about my brother, my family and about what we all learned the hard way.
Our hope is that others don’t have to have such a rough time of it.
One of the greatest, most helpful resources our family found was The Compassionate Friends.
http://www.compassionatefriends.org/home.aspx
My parents somehow learned of them and I went along with them, reluctantly, to a weekend workshop run by TCF and as soon as I got there, I was immediately sold on the organization. They understand. They have workshops, books, and all kinds of resources. At the weekend workshops we learned we were not alone, and we learned how to talk and listen to others in ways that were new and different, and very, very productive in helping us deal with the pain we were going through, both as a family, and individually.
I forget exactly when this was but it was a few years after the suicide.
I found people my own age who had learned how to talk about these things and this, along with the overall lessons in the workshops was invaluable. I met people who had recently become bereaved, and others who had been working at it a long time. All had something to say, encouraging words and an ability to talk about things that made a big difference.
While when you look at the website, it looks like they are focused on people maybe in a different situation than you are, or the situation of your young children.
Don’t let this bother you.
They understand this and have special groups to address each particular circumstances. For me, it was the loss of a brother through suicide. They had a special group for that. For my parents, it was the loss of a son through suicide. They had special group for that too – a well as groups for those who had experienced a sudden loss of an infant, of a parent, etc through means other than suicide.
There may be other resources out there now that do something similar. Our family also had a special bookshelf of resources – I can’t just call them books as there were newsletters, magazines, tapes and books – all of which came in handy at one time or another.
I found the workshops were the best for me – others might find a different way that helps. And to be truthful, I think I went to a total of 2 weekend long workshops. I haven’t been back, although as you can see, I very strongly believe in and support the organization.
You and your family will find your way. It will be difficult but there absolutely are other people out there to help you.
My parents also found solace through their church and volunteer work and I have to say I have too, although less from the church and more from the tradition of volunteering.
Everybody is different. Everyone lives in a different community where there might be useful resources other than TCF.
Good luck,
Geof Day
How rare this is.
I identify with Geof and this story so completely. In my case, it was a young man in my high school class I loved, almost a boyfriend, who shot himself in the head and died unexpectedly. My mother yelled harshly at me when I told her, to wipe the frown off my face and shape up NOW! (or be sent to “military school”). Typical response. I don’t know if my father said a word or even noticed, nor my school. So I never spoke of it for 20 years, but as you write, it cut me off from any close relationship with others. In many ways, I died with him. Or, didn’t die, but didn’t live either.
“We need to teach our boys that they can tell their stories; that they can bear suffering and loss without shame;”
This is a voice in the wilderness though. You write about a different world, and I wish you’d write about how that might begin to happen more broadly. How you’re received with that message as a consultant in education, because I expect there’s a lot of hostility and resistance to that.
Lot’s of things get in the way. I talk now a lot about my pain, my stories, my sexual trauma but mostly men don’t know how to deal with it, and women don’t want to hear it. Only women’s pain is allowed. As linguist said, “the very same women who encourage you to be “modern”, and not “macho”, trip all over themselves to be with men who are unapologetically masculine”.
It’s everywhere really…. Here at TGMP too quite a lot.
Allan, wow, thank you for writing and how upsetting it is to hear what happened to you, and that your own mother reacted that way to something as emotionally intense as a suicide. It is also surprising to hear there was no response from your school. When I was a school psychologist during the early years of my career, I was part of a “crisis intervention team” that kicked into gear whenever there was a student death. We helped the other students deal with their grief over suicides, sudden deaths in car accidents, deaths from cancer, etc. I always hoped that my schools were setting an example for parents on recognizing and supporting kids during these stressful events.
“In many ways, I died with him. Or, didn’t die, but didn’t live either.” So painful to read, yet so often the consequence for a suicide survivor.
Maybe I do write about a different world, especially for a lot of males, which is why I wrote about it. My husband had to do so much work to heal to the degree he has. I come from a different kind of family. My father and brothers emoted, cried, and were not shamed for it. It’s just kind of how it was. That may be why I appreciate this ability in a man and try to convey that this is healthier–for everyone. But one of my brothers does say what you say about women, and I’ve heard it from other men too. Yes, it is everywhere, and GMP is part of everywhere.
I do know other women like me. They are out there. But I think that the paradox of women saying men can/should be emotional, but going for the macho type, is very real. I can’t say I understand it, but I do see it.
Thank you for your kind words. I will think about how I can write “more broadly” about this. All good wishes to you Allan.
Thank you Lori. Thankfully, I know women like you too!
A couple things: What did you think of what you saw about the Penn State boys? I thought the candlelight vigil could easily be seen as being more about burying the dead, than “hearing their stories”. I worried a lot about how they’d feel about having a candlelight vigil for them. As you know, abuse like that puts them at much greater risk of suicide
Gosh, I think so many things about Penn State–wouldn’t even know where to begin. Your perspective on the candlelight vigil is a really interesting one. I’m not sure we’ll ever really hear their stories. I did have the worry that once this news story broke, it would snowball, more victims would come forward (or stay hidden by choice) and a lot of repressed memories would come back for the victims, setting them up for suicide even more than they already were, with all the publicity and everything. For those who have come forward, they will have a difficult road to travel. I am particularly concerned about the boy who was “Victim One” who was bullied at his high school for being the “cause” of Joe Paterno getting fired. He should really be on suicide watch. I hope he is getting enough support. I can’t express how angry I am about his further victimization. It is so sick.
The one fellow that killed himself when we were both youngsters did it because he lost his girlfriend and job in the same day.
He hinged his self worth on the ability to provide for a woman and that womans opinion of himself.
Boys are taught this at a young age forward.
A perfect example of why we need masculine studies in the schools from a very young age.
The brainwashing needs to stop now.
Your article never did say why the guy killed himself.I wonder if it was because of a woman or the related societal shame thereof.