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I was having lunch with a group of guys recently when one of them, who I’d just met, brought up his recent depression diagnosis. Immediately, the energy of the table was sucked into a void. The two gentlemen at the other end of the table, intentionally or not, started their own conversation, while the remaining three of us continued to talk about depression.
I was fascinated this person felt comfortable enough to share this part of his life with me, a relative stranger. I couldn’t tell if this was his natural way of operating or, like me, he had arrived at a point in his life where keeping emotions inside just wasn’t worth the effort anymore. While I generally share my feelings openly and deliberately, I also know what it feels like to experience emotions so overwhelming they escape at every opportunity.
This conversation sticks in my mind as unique because of how infrequently it happens. One man, telling other men, about something he is struggling with emotionally.
While I didn’t always have the language for it, the intersection of masculinity and emotions has been something I have thought about since I was a child. From an early age, it was made clear any emotional expression beyond the norm would result in teasing or bullying from my peers. It was at least part of the reason I gravitated more towards friendships with females.
Looking back now I wonder how those boys felt about their own emotions. If they teased and bullied because it was what others did, or if they truly felt uncomfortable underneath. I wonder how those same boys feel today as adults.
While I have been fortunate to have close male friends in my life, those relationships have existed on a more complete spectrum than what is seen as traditionally masculine. When we look at the archetype of masculinity, there is no element involving the open discussion of fears and struggles.
My emotions have felt very close to the surface throughout my entire life. I have never been particularly good at hiding what I am feeling. The only way I could do so was to completely shut down, which was a good indicator I was struggling.
It can be easy to assume men are not emotional simply because we don’t express our emotions readily. But the absence of emotional expression does not mean there are no emotions to begin with.
Somebody recently told me: “I love how in touch with your emotions you are.” It was flattering. But thinking back on it now, the verbiage is fascinating.
What does it actually mean to be “in touch” with your emotions? Because those emotions are always there, perhaps visible, perhaps buried deep beneath layers of distraction and scar tissue. My experience has felt more like those emotions were reaching out to be in touch with me, than I was with them. They demanded my attention. My consideration.
Today they still reach for me, but they are slightly less foreign and mysterious, surprising me regularly. I want to understand why they impact so much of who I am and how I live my life. To ignore them is to be their puppet. A feeling I do not enjoy.
There is an awkwardness men feel in dealing with their emotions. Like a kitchen full of hot pans, we avoid touching any of the handles for fear of burning ourselves, thinking if we just let the pans cool off, eventually we will be able to handle them.
But the burners are always going and the pans never cool.
So how often do men get to talk about how they are really feeling? Sure we are asked all the time; “How are you?” But we don’t respond honestly. Our responses are brief adjectives meant to answer the question with as few words as possible. “Fine, good, hustling, working, busy.” Placeholders for actually opening up. And I get it. It is not always appropriate to discuss your feelings with everybody you encounter. But surely it need not be all or nothing. There must be some opportunities available for men to openly commune with others.
We as men think people aren’t interested in hearing about our problems. But problems and challenges are part of life. And there is a big difference between constantly complaining and having an open dialogue about struggles. We don’t share because we haven’t really learned how. And so we are fearful.
We behave the way we are taught, shown or think we should. We mirror and mimic. If we work in a company full of old white men, we behave like old white men. While it may seem hippy dippy to say how challenging it can be for anybody to be their authentic self, it is not untrue. Especially for men.
As men get older, the natural path is not to acquire more meaningful relationships full of open dialogue. Quite the opposite. The sole source for many men as they age is their partner or spouse. To rely on one person for that emotional support, if at all, is untenable.
Our lives demand expression of us, and to neglect that expression is not a symbol of strength as previously thought for thousands of years. This doesn’t mean every man needs to be sitting in a weekly kumbaya weep circle. But it seems that is how many men view emotions. A slippery slope towards catastrophe. It makes sense we avoid sharing.
Men are tremendous self-editors. It is really fascinating how much we leave out in conversation. The insecurities. The indecision. The worries. The failures. We are traditionally comfortable with very few emotions, anger, happiness, frustration. Period. Full stop.
The nonprofit Mental Health America says men are less likely than women to seek help for depression, substance abuse, and stressful life events due to: social norms, reluctance to talk, downplaying symptoms.
Think about that for a second. What isn’t a stressful life event? Everything causes us stress these days. We are absolutely inundated with stressors. To not be stressed would almost be a miracle.
There is also a desire in men, inherent or learned, to be fixers. And as a fixer, you are responsible for solutions. We try to fix our partners, our friends and we also believe we can fix ourselves. The problem with being a fixer is you are either fixing, or you aren’t. We listen with the intent to fix. We support with the intent to fix.
The mindset can quickly become, well, if I’m not fixing this situation, where do I derive my value? Sitting with emotions lacking resolution is not fun. It doesn’t feel like a form of strength, it feels like a weakness.
In an interview with Andy Hinds of The Atlantic, research professor and shame researcher Brene Brown said the following:
“Messages of shame are organized around gender.” For women, she said, “there are whole constellations of often contradictory expectations that, if not met, are sources of shame. But for men, the overarching message is that any weakness is shameful. And since vulnerability is often perceived as weakness, it is especially risky for men to practice vulnerability.”
And the key word there is practice. It is a practice. We must approach it as such. Something we will not always be good at. Something requiring persistence and consistency.
So the next time somebody brings up their depression over a meal, it doesn’t cause the conversation to fracture, but rather, strengthens it and the person sharing. This way each person will feel more comfortable sharing their own struggles going forward.
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Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash