Men of Silence

TW: grief, death, suicide, sadness,

I’ve always considered myself as someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, unafraid to share my feelings and emotions. However, that changed back in 2013 when I lost my Dad to alcoholic liver disease.

Initially I just seized up, and attempted to carry on as usual, put that poker face on and go about my day. I’m not even good at poker, but I would continue to put off acknowledging the way I felt. The thing is, we all deal with our pain in different ways, it’s personal to us. Ways that we feel are best suited to us, often convincing ourselves that we are okay, even though inside, deep down we are one light breeze away from losing a game of Jenga. I know this because I’ve experienced it first-hand.

It is a well-known fact that the majority of suicides are committed by men. Now I’m not saying I’m suicidal so don’t worry about that. Just know and understand that grief takes people to dark places, and for some reason men seem to struggle with sharing their voice in that darkness. I have always felt that my Dad’s death was a result of this struggle. An alcohol induced suicide. So this is my two cents, sharing my experience and thoughts on the stigma surrounding men and our ability to open up and share what we’re really feeling.

I took a stroll with a close friend the other day and we discussed our dealings with grief and how we show our emotions. Unsurprisingly, we felt that grief is a private ordeal, and that everyone’s grief is unique. It is not up to anyone to tell someone else on how they should and should not grieve (aka don’t be dick). You can however, help that person open up, and help them know that their life is going to carry on, and that the world isn’t ending just yet.

The big thing with men’s grief, in my opinion, is that men just aren’t equipped to handle it. Yes this is a generalisation, but I stand by it. I’m talking about the figure of the brooding stoic alpha male, alone in his troubles who must not show any sign of weakness, otherwise he shall be ridiculed, and bullied. But I think that the idea that showing our emotion is weak, that being sad or upset is wrong, is absolute rubbish. You wouldn’t label someone weak for screaming out due to physical pain, would you? So why is our emotional strength measured by our silence?

After my Dad passed, I went to school and I didn’t want to tell a soul. I didn’t want to make it real, I didn’t want to be treated differently from the rest of the lads in the class, I didn’t want to become this taboo subject, or a damaged student. I was adamant that I didn’t want people’s sympathies, or condolences, and I definitely did not want to catch people staring at me awkwardly. I wanted to be invisible.

The more I look back on the path that followed from that fateful junction, I see how much it affected me and I never realised. Life went by in a blur, I finished school, I went away, I came back, I entered full time employment. I always found a way to avoid acknowledging how I really felt. Then university began. Meeting so many new people and making friends was amazing, but every now and then the conversation about people’s parents would come up and it slowly triggered something in me that I had been avoiding for so long. Hearing so many people talk about their families, I felt something that could only be described as jealousy. I would quickly snap out of it, but it left this sense of emptiness; I was this incomplete jigsaw with a huge chunk missing, and nothing left to fill the gap.

I wasn’t alone or empty though, I conditioned myself into believing I was because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone with my feelings, and how messed up I felt inside. It’s not exactly a great conversation starter, “Hi my name's Jack, my Dad’s dead and I feel pretty wrecked about it.” Although, in my final year that was in essence what I said at my first group counselling session. When, despite my concerns, I immediately felt welcomed and supported to share my story without fear of judgement. I’ve felt more open about my troubles with those around me and more at ease with myself ever since. It worked out alright in the end.

I think from a young age, boys are taught that it is wrong to cry, along with many other gender stereotypes; boys like blue, girls like pink, boys play with cars, girls play with dolls. Ultimately, we’re taught: crying equals bad. This is an ingrained societal construct that I honestly don’t think will ever really change. I hope it does though, I hope it can be phased out. We have a duty to our future selves and communities to make that happen.

There are many different theories surrounding grief, and I do feel my heart sink knowing how accurate those towards men’s grief are. Psychologist Judith Stillion argues there are four fundamental elements boys receive in childhood that contribute to their, “masculine” emotional response system:

Number 1. The stiff upper lip syndrome: Man must not be phased by a difficult situation, accept pain without complaint.

Number 2. Lone wolf: Man must be self-reliant and must not accept any help and be in control at all times in all situations.

Number 3. Protector: Man must keep safe those around him even from his own struggles and fears.

Number 4. Fearless: Man must overcome any challenge without fear.

These element’s, according to Stillion, highlight the importance of socialisation, the worry to show even a smidgen of vulnerability that can be perceived as weakness by other boys. Hence these boys grow up believing in this system, conditioning themselves to not share those feelings with other boys. It is so sad to see and to experience feeling so powerless, unable to share how we truly feel.

Thus, one of the most common results of this unfortunate equation is the use of alcohol and substances to numb the pain. The issue is that the problem doesn’t actually go away, and then more numbing is needed. I know this first hand. My Dad was so miserable and trapped in his inability to truly share his emotions that it ultimately led to the unthinkable. That is something I have become extremely aware of. I have imagined it a thousand times. I play it over and over in my head, how he must have felt, and it breaks my heart knowing that in his silence he really protected no one.

The absence of my Dad has made my grief manifest in ways I never thought. I feel that my ability to empathise with people has grown exponentially. I feel I have grown up so fast and yet not at all. I am trying to be this idea of an adult, a man, but I constantly feel like I am still sixteen, waiting for someone who is never going to return.

We all deal with the loss of loved ones differently, we grieve in ways that we feel are suited to us. Whether we let it all out in hails of sobbing or rage, or in quiet moments of reflection. It doesn’t go away, it evolves and changes as time passes. I’ve found that when I’ve shared my thoughts and feelings towards it, I can reconnect with those around me, and they can help me see things through new lenses.

I recently lost my ninety-six year old Grandad, and so far it has been such a different experience. I didn’t feel the anger, or agony that I felt when my Dad died. It felt bittersweet, the reality of him no longer being with us. And yet knowing that he is in a better place, I am grateful that he passed peacefully and had lived a life he was so proud of.

The mental health movement has changed the ways we are capable of sharing, and social media has shone a light on the issues surrounding men’s health. I find so much comfort in the thought that we have come on leaps and bounds in recent years. However, it is still as important as ever that we further break the stigma surrounding men’s grief and well-being. It is vital to break the silence of men.

I hope that those who read this can find courage in my story, to share your feelings with people around you, and allow yourselves to reconnect with your past so that you can live your future the way you deserve.

If you would like to get in touch and discuss anything further then please email me via our email: grieveandgroove@hotmail.com. Address it to Jack, with the subject line ‘Men’s Health’ and I will endeavour to get back to you as soon as possible for a chat.

Keep it groovy!

Lots of love,

Jack x

References:

Stillion, J. M. (1985). Death and the sexes: An examination of differential longevity, attitudes, behaviors, and coping skills. New York, NY: Hemisphere Publishing Corporation.