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Reflections on Masculinity and Mental Health

When my son, Robin, was 1 and a half, he had an accident. He fell out of his pram and bumped his head. It wasn’t anything serious; he got an egg on his head and a bit of bruising. The guilt I felt in that moment however was instantaneous and significant. I don’t doubt any parent probably would have felt my exact level of guilt and their inevitable response would be to hug their child and shed some tears alongside them.

That wasn’t my reaction. Yes, I absolutely wanted to express my emotions. I wanted to cry. I held my son as he wept but no tears came to me.

With no outlet for my sadness, my feelings changed to something I knew how to express: anger at myself. How could I be so stupid? Why the hell did I not check his straps? How could I do this to my son? I’m such a shit parent! I sat Robin down on the sofa and screamed all of this and more at myself. When I looked back up at Robin, he was crying even more now. I picked him up and held him once more. Still I couldn’t shed any tears but I promised myself I wouldn’t ever let him see me like that again and that I would find out- for my sake and his- why I couldn’t express that feeling of guilt in a normal manner, by crying.

Throughout the latter part of my teens and the entirety of my twenties I suffered from agoraphobia. Agoraphobia is a condition that is best described as suffering severe panic when leaving areas outside your comfort zone. My comfort zone has varied- at best it was my hometown of Edinburgh, at worst it was my house. It took me years, decades almost, to address this issue. In fact, only now as I approach the end of my thirties, do I feel like I have genuine control over it. The key reason for it taking so long is, quite simply, shame.

I felt shame to tell others what was wrong, much in the same way I felt shame to cry. To me, integral to being a man and feeling masculine, was being stoic and silencing certain emotions. Therefore, speaking about my feelings, telling others of my condition and exposing my ‘weaknesses’ was just unthinkable to me. Instead, I bottled it all up and in doing so, my mental health deteriorated further.

Shame has been far from an unfamiliar theme in my life. To this day, I’ve always struggled to look at myself in the mirror after a bath or a shower. I’ve been swimming only a handful of times in my life. In the past, I’ve suffered from eating disorders to try and change the way I look. Yet I’ve never had anyone really say anything negative about my body. But, in my mind, it’s not how a man should look like. It’s not a masculine body.

Late last year, our family of three became four when my daughter, River, was born. Growing up, I was led to believe that having a daughter changes you. You hear often from men that it was when they had a daughter that they began to see the inequalities in our society. It was then that they began to care more about women and girls and the impact that toxic masculinity has on them too in a world where so many women and girls experience violence at the hands of men. The anger and hurt I had was only ever directed at myself.

We’re led to believe that it is when you have a girl that you’re given a pass to show ‘a softer side’. But I had already shown this side, after all I had made a promise to my son.

I don’t know if I can pinpoint an exact instance where I realised how much of my life was governed by toxic masculinity. I assumed toxic masculinity was a form of sexism or similar. And while this can certainly be a part of it, it is more about the adherence to typical male gender roles and imagery that, in so doing, stigmatises and limits the emotions men comfortably want to express. Why are we not allowed to be vulnerable? Throughout my life I have been exposed to countless examples of this and it has seriously affected my feelings about myself and my body, my relationships with others and, ultimately, what I felt I could share with others.

But masculinity – and what it looks like, how it feels and how it manifests – is not inevitable. No matter the influences that impacted me, I became – and still am – absolutely determined to be an example of healthy masculinity for my son and my daughter.

This guest blog was written by Jamie, a blogger and mental health advocate. You can find his blog on Instagram @parentingandpanicattacks