S
Shaant
Guest
Because toughness can be the very thing that breaks us.
Photo by Bob Price on Pexels
Pain is a weird way to put someone in their place.
A close friend of mine woke up in the middle of the night, and what he felt was a piercing pain so terrible that he fainted before he could even call for help.
When he got to the hospital, the doctors told him it was testicular torsion. The kind of life-threatening medical condition that most men joke about, but if he did not go within the hour, he may have lost his chance to become a father.
I hated watching him go through that. The fact that it could happen to me shook me to my foundations, because our bodies are so fragile.
Then thereβs the prostate. The more I read about it, the more creepy it is.
The truly horrible part is you cannot even feel the pain directly from your prostate. It radiates somewhere else in a confusing and vague manner.
One in eight men will suffer from prostate cancer. And if you donβt get cancer, the prostate grows when you age, delivering you into sleepless nights and bathroom trips that never seem to end.
There is a quiet terror of when that is no longer the case, because once it is, there is a daily reminder of diminishing.
And then there are those silly moments only a man experiences.
Using a public toilet, sitting down, and suddenly realizing the water is too high and cold against your balls.
Or the drip after urinating. That embarrassing little stain no matter how much you shake or dab.
This may sound trivial until youβre living it day in and day out.
These anxieties wear away your confidence in silence.
The way people see me is often the hardest part
Each evening, I stroll through my neighbourhood.
It should be a relaxing experience, but I have learned to pay attention to the way women tense up when I walk past, or how someone holds their bag a little tighter.
Once, a girl who was ahead of me fell off her bike. She looked a bit rattled, but not seriously hurt. I thought about saying something, about approaching her to see if she needed assistance, but the thought of her becoming alarmed at the sight of a strangerβs hand in close proximity to her body was overwhelming.
So I kept walking.
I still feel the guilt of doing nothing to help.
Another time, I was shopping in a mall and there was a woman who moved very dramatically to the side and away, as if I was carrying some invisible plague.
Those moments, those small things, hurt.
I absolutely understand why women have to be careful, and I do not begrudge them their caution. But seldom treated as an actual threat for simply existing hurts in ways I might not be able to articulate.
Hiking alone really drives the point home. On trails, I can literally see fear flash across peopleβs faces when they notice me.
If I have my dog with me, that fear disappears instantly, which I find ironic and funny. But at the same time, it affirms how my presence as a man has been regarded as potentially suspicious.
I recall one time when a woman pulled a knife out of her sleeve as I approached, simply because I jingled my keys somewhat quietly behind her.
That was a surreal moment in which I was not angry at her, but rather puzzled about the precariousness of trust among strangers.
At times, it feels like I wear a mask and am permanently polite, smiling a lot more, softening my gestures, my body language, making myself smaller.
Just to explain to others that I am a safe person to be around.
The reality is Iβm just a man trying to be polite. And it is exhausting to have to manage that expectation every time I step out in public.
The silence around our struggles cuts the deepest
In my past experiences during times of distress, Iβve heard anything from βtoughen upβ to βwomen have it worse.β
Thus I found myself on a cruise tour, and it was a great cruise tour, but we did weather some wild storms that progressed from spectacular to horrific, and when I found myself outside one day, exhausted and dizzy with nosebleeds, I knew it was time to retire for the evening!
The campβs doctor literally told me to suck it up because women have it harder.
That made me furious, so I collected the tissues from the nosebleeds just so I had proof that I was serious and not exaggerating.
I have that feeling of humiliation. Of not being taken seriously.
This lack of empathy exists everywhere. People generally just assume men can withstand anything.
I remember a point in my twenties when I had to live alone abroad for my studies. It hit me how starved I was for human contact.
Because growing up as a child, you get hugs, pats, casual affection. But as a grown male, unless you are in a relationship, that all just goes away.
Nobody tells you how much something as simple as a hand on your shoulder means until you have gone years without it.
Even friendships can be precarious.
Iβve had friends tell me to simply move on from childhood trauma, as if pain is time-limited.
I had friends who ghosted me when I needed them most.
And when loneliness truly hits, society barely notices.
One simply needs to look to the streets filled with homeless men who are not even looked at twice.
It is a harsh reminder that once you have no use, you evaporate.
What makes it worse is that worth is equated to achievements.
Promotions, salaries, and things.
We wear it in subtle ways, even between colleagues, and if we are honest with ourselves, I think we feel that who we are matters less than what we can do.
There is a constant reminder to βbe somethingβ that never fully disappears.
Expectations and double standards no one admits aloud
There is always a sense of expectation that I will be the first initiator when it comes to dating. That I will be the leader for decisions. That I will have unwavering qualities of confidence.
The truth is, Iβm often not sure of what Iβm doing. But Iβm expected to lead everyone else.
Even the slightest hint of hesitation signifies weakness.
Then there is rejection, which seems to be even more stacked against us.
Approaching women comes with an almost certain expectation of rejection. And while I understand that that is just how it is, the emotional cost is significant.
Men facing rejection is cast as βwhat you deserve.β Move on. Grow a thicker skin.
Women who reject men are praised for holding their lines.
I can understand both efforts. But itβs a tough conundrum since I experience it.
And abuse towards men is seldom recognized.
I have witnessed calls for violence towards men, where they were screamed at, and even at times physically abused, where it was simply βno big deal.β
If the roles were reversed, there would be immediate outrage.
Once I dated a woman who screamed at me, lashed out verbally due to anger when any situation was not βideal.β
Then when I discussed my lament with friends, they downplayed my situation, telling me I was exaggerating.
This left me doubting my feelings and my own pain.
Add the cultural expectations.
To be taller, richer, more successful. To somehow be the embodiment of the impossible checklists of six feet tall, six-figure income, and six-pack abs.
Not measuring up slowly eats you inside, especially while youβre already fighting doubt.
Even when you are doing well, there is always a nagging whisper reminding you it is not enough.
What remains unseen still shapes us
The experience of the individual struggles of men rarely takes center stage in the media.
They are in the bathroom stalls, in the stillness of empty apartments, in the awkward stares of onlookers, in the suffocating aura of expectation.
None of these uniquely define manhood, but together they form deep scars on our life experience.
What I have learned, though, is many of our battles are intangible. And intangible burdens can be the heaviest ones to bear.
Every battle deserves to be seen.
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Why βMan Upβ Is the Cruelest Advice You Can Give a Man was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
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