One man who rejects wearing a mask looks at another man with no problem wearing a mask and calls the mask-wearer weak. The one without a mask derides how the other looks in one.
By going against advice, science and intelligence, he tries to make himself look tough and strong.
In doing so he puts his health and the health of his family and co-workers at risk.
What kind of strength is one that leads to not being able to protect yourself, your family and others around you, and worse, endangers them?
Strength is a tool — and should be used to keep yourself, your loved ones and the world safe
A woman castigates the same man for wearing a mask, associating wearing a face-covering with the feminine act of carrying a purse. She attempts to tear down his manliness by projecting womanly behavior upon him.
This is why men supposedly won’t use re-usable shopping bags. Or generally engage in any pro-environment, ecologically-friendly behavior. They think it makes them look feminine, not macho, unmanly.
As if an ethos of protecting our planet and natural surroundings is in conflict with masculinity.
As if it would be embarrassing or shameful to exude such values as caring about the natural world and wildlife, wasting less, recycling more, leaving a smaller footprint on the Earth.
As if pushing a cart with wheels grating against parking lot pavement is such a manly endeavor, or hauling multiple brown paper bags is so much more masculine than throwing a reusable one over your shoulder.
As if, even if one did come across as feminine, that would be bad.
We need to reimagine what it takes to exhibit strength as a man.
To start, I would kindly suggest not giving a fuck what other people think you look like when you’re doing things to protect your health, the health of others and our own damn planet.
. . .
Strength is a quality we look for in others.
It’s something we value of ourselves — and something we demand and expect from our leaders. The opposite of strength, weakness, is almost a slur.
Kids are taught this at a young age, encouraged to eat their vegetables so they can grow up to be big and strong.
Physical strength is a virtue for our health, and for men, our physical appearance: women are attracted to stronger looking men, and when men gauge how we look, our model is the muscular, fit, athletic build.
Men are also taught from a young age, and have expectations foisted upon us, to be mentally and psychologically strong.
Being able to take it, to man up, to be resilient and push through, are qualities that don’t just define masculine behavior, but comprise masculine identity.
One should not act weak, or show signs of weakness, because to do so is to be less of a man.
And here’s the thing. I don’t disagree. Strength and resilience (and really, what else is resilience other than emotional and psychological strength?) to me are worthy attributes to attain and qualities worth exhibiting.
But strength and resilience are not just attributes, neither are they values we hold and wish to apply to ourselves, to others, to our society as a whole.
They are tools. They help us accomplish things, they help us stay healthy, they help us help others get through life.
And like all tools, from fire to computer software, they are agnostic, employed by their owners in any number of ways, for good or ill.
To evolve our understanding of manhood, we must reimagine how men should exhibit strength and resilience.
What Does It Mean to Be Strong?
Physical strength is easy to define. The benefits of physical strength are good health and appearance, both which can contribute to men’s self-confidence and self-esteem.
But for people who work desk jobs like me, physical strength only comes in handy when doing chores, carrying suitcases and working out.
There are times when I wished I worked more with my body. Physical labor, even tending to a yard, can provide a gratification that sending e-mail can’t.
That’s all fine…right up to the point when physical strength (and appearance) becomes a stand-in for emotional, psychological and mental strength.
It’s no secret that humans extrapolate social skills, qualities and worth based on physical appearance. Beauty, strength, height, the shapes of our bodies…we assume those who project certain physical qualities are more trustworthy and worthy in general.
So physical strength, or even just a commanding appearance, such as being tall, can make one seem better equipped to be a leader or deserve authority.
And that’s how those who are physically strong but emotionally and intellectually weak get away with bullying others and using language of toughness and fighting.
When one man criticizes another person on their appearance, uses demeaning words to make them seem weak or small in order to make himself look strong or powerful, it’s a ruse — and it’s transparent.
That’s not strength, that’s insecurity.
A real man, a strong man, doesn’t need to insult or demean another person. He can make an argument with other words, and more importantly deeds, that prove his point for him.
Physical strength is great for appearance and health — but it’s not a stand-in for the strength that matters
I want strength to be part of manhood (and frankly, I’ve found that I’m drawn to strength in women, too). But not just physical strength.
It’s an inner strength that can power determination and commitment, a strength to act, talk and work for the values you believe in — and not to waver when challenged.
Strength is being able to face circumstances and reality and to handle them with honesty, hard work, compassion and understanding.
Strength is being able to believe in yourself so that you can listen and relate to others.
Strength is being comfortable with yourself so that you can do what you think is right, regardless how you may be perceived.
Strength is being able to push yourself forward without needing recognition and praise from others, while accepting recognition and praise with grace and gratitude.
It’s great to bench press your own weight. I was making my way towards that goal before I stopped going to gyms.
But what does that do for me other than making my chest look strong? How will that help me build a life after a break-up, during a pandemic, when I spend just about all my time alone?
Anyone can build muscles — and they should. But not anyone can build resilience and mental toughness to stay true to themselves through hard times.
Independence, but For What?
One of the toughest things about being a man is the perceived need to be wholly independent and self-reliant.
Like strength, independence and self-reliance are important qualities. They’ve helped me under current circumstances, when I have to fill so much time, when I alone must cook every single meal (or order it), get my groceries, clean my house, do my job, work out, be creative, somehow stay sane and most importantly, reach out to others so I can be part of something bigger than myself.
I don’t want to be a cowboy riding off into the sunset, sitting by the campfire alone. I do want to be able to take care of myself, though.
And here I’ll admit to one of the biggest insecurities I have about myself: I am not a handyman. At all. I can’t install a window air conditioning unit, like my ex-wife did in our New York City apartment.
I struggle with putting furniture together, leading an ex-girlfriend, who was far more adept at home maintenance projects than me, to banish me from the effort altogether and let her do it in peace.
In those moments, I felt useless, and less of a man. It didn’t bother me that the woman was doing it, but it did bother me that I couldn’t.
So I just had to deal with it. Being a handyman is not my strength…so be it.
Being reliable and trustworthy are my strengths. Finding a way to manage, and being able to communicate, and being willing and able to learn, are my strengths.
The thing is, in those moments, the women in my life did not look down on me the way I did on myself for not being able to do certain things. Maybe there was some surprise, but it was mostly a shrug of the shoulders. But they did respond to my own reactions.
They didn’t care so much that I’m not adept at using power tools. They did care that I let that affect my confidence.
It’s good to know how to take care of yourself, and to do…things.
But I can’t do everything. And for the things I can’t, I’m not afraid to ask for help.
It Wasn’t the Therapy, But Acknowledging the Need for It
I am not currently seeing a mental health counselor, but I have in the past.
Because I needed it. I was stuck, and depressed, and caught in endless loops in my head that wound up compounding feelings of depression.
I needed help in not just handling those feelings, but in coming to terms in understanding what had happened to cause those feelings in the first place — and how to not just move past them, but how to live with them.
I had a problem — and I sought out help to address it. Does that make me weak or any less of a man?
Men don’t go to the doctor as frequently as they should. They don’t want to admit there is a problem, they don’t want to face their own physical infallibility, they don’t want what could be a physical problem to expose them as weak or sick.
And just take a moment to appreciate how twisted it is to perceive sickness as a sign of weakness. As if any human can control how or when or to what extent they might get sick.
Pretending you are healthy won’t make it so. Ignoring problems won’t make them go away.
Tell me, what makes avoiding problems a sign of strength?
How strong are you really if you are afraid to acknowledge a problem, if you fear the truth?
A major down-side to our emphasis on self-reliance and independence is that it can block out and keep away the most important tool we have at our disposal to help us accomplish things and get through life: other people.
It takes immense emotional, psychological fortitude, and comfort within yourself, a strength and belief in yourself, to ask for help.
We should avoid using the word ‘admit’ that you need to ask for help, because that implies a weakness. Asking for help — from a doctor, from a friend, a lover, a co-worker — can and should be a sign of strength. It should be normal.
Of course you need to know how to do things on your own. And if there’s something you need help on now, perhaps you’ll know better how to do it yourself next time.
You should rely on yourself, but you should take advantage of the tremendous resource of other people.
If someone came to you, and asked you for help, wouldn’t you not just comply, but be honored by that request?
“I Alone Can Fix It” vs. “It Takes a Village”
There is a mythology behind the all-powerful superhero who can swoop in and rescue us from all travails.
But that kind of hero only exists in comic books and movies.
When a so-called leader says “I alone can fix it” in a vain attempt to promote himself into a position of authority, the brashness and bravado should be transparent, the claim nakedly fake.
We want to believe in Superman. Things would be much easier if he were around.
But while Superman can catch a thief or stop a train, he can’t create a social policy that delivers and guarantees health insurance to a nation’s citizens.
Superman did, once, in the movies, reverse the rotation of the Earth and therefore move back time so he could prevent an earthquake.
But here in the real world, there is no Superman to take us back in time and undo all the ecological damage humankind has foisted on the planet.
To create a society that better relates to wildlife and better manages our natural resources will take all of us working together.
To lead that kind of effort is difficult. It takes strength, and understanding, and listening, and compromise, and sacrifice, and persuasion. These are the skills we need out of our political leaders.
We put ourselves at risk when we perceive the “it takes a village” approach (that phrase coming from a Hillary Clinton book) as weak or as feminine.
There is nothing wrong with things being feminine — and there is no dichotomy between femininity and strength. Just the opposite — the two are often linked.
Strength crosses genders. To associate weakness as feminine insults women — and deprives men of a more expansive vision of strength.
There’s a reason countries led by women have fared better during the pandemic than those countries led by bombastic, self-aggrandizing politicians who can’t reconcile their feeble brains with science and truth.
I find it terribly weak to not being able to solve a problem, or work towards a solution of a problem.
I find it a sign of weakness to turn away from what can work, just because a certain method espouses values that question your sense of self, your sense of masculinity.
In relationships, men often make the mistake, when communicating with their partners, of being solution-oriented. His partner expresses a frustration with a problem — and he wants to fix it, instead of just listening and being empathetic.
Why isn’t that attitude reflected at the society, governmental level? Climate change is a problem. The pandemic is a problem. Police brutality and social and racial inequalities are problems.
Somehow the default stance to look for a solution for those problems, the ones that one person can’t fix, when one superhero can’t do the job, is to, like their own health, ignore it and wish it away.
What kind of strength is that? What kind of man exhibits strength by letting societal problems linger and fester, instead of working with others to address them and solve them?
Are You Strong Enough to Cry?
Crying is often seen as a sign of weakness. Boys are taught not to do it, men can appear weak if they do, exposing themselves to ridicule and being seen not just as un-manly, but feminine.
While there is much debate over the term “toxic masculinity,” there is certainly toxicity in associating feminine qualities as being negative. That is both demeaning to women — and constricts the types of behavior and emotional response that are deemed acceptable by and from men.
I’m a crier. I’ve cried in public and I’ve cried in front of friends and most especially lovers. Perhaps I’m lucky I had an upbringing that never stifled crying or made me feel bad about it. I realize that many boys and men have been criticized for it — and learned that crying is something men shouldn’t do, that it makes them look weak.
But the truth is that the opposite is true. Crying is a normal, human response to emotions. To express those emotions is not just to be open in communications, but to have strength in being open, honest, and yes, vulnerable — vulnerable to the charges of weakness, of being soft, of not being strong.
I cannot count the number of times I’ve cried, unfortunately alone, over the past eight months. Some of it has been in response to heartbreak, some of it from the never-ending effects of isolation and loneliness from physical distancing. Sometimes it’s both, sometimes I can’t tell the difference.
While it’s sad to cry alone, there’s no risk to me. No one is seeing me, I don’t have to worry about someone judging me. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t even have to admit to it because I don’t think it’s something to admit. I’ve been sad, I’ve been lonely, I’ve been hurt — and it’s made me cry.
If you think that makes me less strong, or less of a man, I frankly don’t care.
And I would encourage other men to adopt that attitude. If you don’t care as much what others think of you, you are freer to be yourself, which leads you to being more authentic. That shows.
The reason crying belongs in a discussion of strength is because men are conditioned not to cry, especially in front of others. How many times have you heard someone say, “I never saw my Dad cry” or comment, usually in a derisive way, about a male public figure crying.
Having the internal fortitude, nee strength, to cry in front of others exhibits the kind of strength that all of us should try to attain.
I’ve heard women bemoan the fact that they cried in the workplace, during a meeting, or on a call, or in front of a manager. They worried it would make them look weak, or soft, or somehow that it was unprofessional.
As if we shouldn’t bring the totality of ourselves, our own humanity and emotion, into the work we do.
Crying is a sign of hurt and pain, disappointment and sadness. Those emotions aren’t associative with strength.
Stifling your emotions out of shame or fear, however, is connected to weakness.
To Be Brave
When I started writing, it was hard for me to lay bare my honest emotions and thoughts. Some things I thought were maybe too private, or too difficult to share publicly.
But I realized if I was going to go down this road, I had to be that honest, and vulnerable, and show my true self. From the bravery it takes to do this comes the strength to let you open up and relate to others.
It’s not easy to show your full range of emotions, and expose yourself to perceptions of something other than stoic strength.
And it’s also not easy to work with others for the greater good. It is easy to say, I’ll just do it myself. But two people can do more than one, ad infinitum. To cede some power and authority is a sign of trust…and also strength.
We can’t change the face of masculinity without examining the very qualities that we expect and assume from it. And we need to stop denigrating qualities perceived to be feminine, because not only is that sexist and misogynistic, it closes off from masculinity some attributes men would be wise to adopt and take on, such as those that stress nurturing and building community.
For men, it starts with yourself. Not just in your actions, but in how you look at yourself. And how comfortable you are in how people see you. Dig deeper. Aim to behave and speak in ways that will express meaningful values. Over time, you’ll come to be seen as a strong man worth being with and listening to, but that won’t matter, because a man that is truly strong defines his value from and for himself, not through the admiration of others.
If you aren’t actually what you project in the world, you’ll be fake and inauthentic. And that’s weak.
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This post was previously published on Curious.
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