The quiet, crushing burden of masculinity

Letter #35

Photo by henri meilhac on Unsplash

Hey Dad!

I’m pleased to see we’ve written 6 straight letters back and forth since December. It feels nice to get back on the horse again.

I feel we’ve tread a lot of ground recently about the political divide, and I wanted to take this week’s letter in a new direction.

It starts with an apology to you.

This is what you wrote in your last edition:

“When I first read the title of your last letter, I have to admit I was a little offended. But then I read the letter in its entirety, and I understood where you were coming from.”

After I read this, I sent a message apologizing to you. You weren’t really upset about it it seemed, but since these letters are public, I wanted to make sure our audience knew that I’m sorry.

My headlines have gotten me in trouble before, and I tend to overdose on using strong words in them.

And I’m sorry about that.

You wrote the other day about how humility can solve a lot of the world’s problems.

Well, let me live by that, then. I am sorry.

This situation gets me thinking about masculinity a little, and how some men find it impossible to apologize for things.

I was watching a video from

Blake Roberts, Psychotherapist

the other day about the male loneliness epidemic. It is a fascinating 19-minute video, and in it he gives a few ideas for how to connect more with other people. For him, vulnerability is an essential ingredient to creating genuine friendships.

In this video he says “We can have lots of friends. We can have lots of people around us, but loneliness isn’t just the absence of somebody’s presence. I can be lonely with you. If I’m not sharing all of who I am, that can be lonely.”

So male loneliness isn’t always literal loneliness. It’s also emotional loneliness. Research conducted in 2021 found that 15% of men claim that they have no close friends, a staggering 12% increase since 1990.

What in the hell is going on here?

The truth is, many men don’t know how to say what needs to be said. We just don’t. For all our courage and grit, we shrink under the pressure of saying a handful of words that could change the course of our relationship with someone.

I called you last week to say “I’m sorry,” and you were really good about not making me feel bad, Dad. Thank you for that, but at the same time I screwed up, and it’s okay to be upset about it. I can handle it. I know I’m not perfect, and that I’m not any better than anyone.

Why all this hoopla about an apology?

Because I think saying sorry is the greatest manifestation of vulnerability, which is what Blake just told us was missing in a lot of men’s lives. We’re just not vulnerable enough with other people.

You know, Dad, I write a lot online and sometimes people praise me for getting “vulnerable” here, but it’s shocking how much I really don’t say. Quite frankly, I got some really dark thoughts sometimes and disclosing them to people online is terrifying to me. But in a certain sense it’s easier to write about this stuff to strangers than to say them to your friends or family. With strangers, there are no repercussions. With friends and family, you can get ostracized. So in a way, my “vulnerability” online isn’t all courage—it’s also a cop out.

A few months ago, I had a reader visit me here in Mexico City. He was with his wife and children for a week, and he sat me down at a taco restaurant and, after thirty minutes, started talking to me about how they really came to Mexico so his wife could basically cheat on him with some old friend she had feelings for to see if she wanted to act on those feelings.

It was horrifying. But it was also such a raw, real conversation. I got freaked out by it, honestly, because I was just expecting a light-hearted conversation, but it also was so beautiful in its own way to see a guy being so honest with me. I don’t think I’ve ever had a male be that honest with me ever. “Hey guess what? My wife’s cheating on me and we came here with our kids in what looks like a vacation to aid her in her cheating.” I mean, damn.

But it was so real, you know? Maybe he felt lonely and needed someone to talk to. But I think he was also courageous to say these things to me. I mean, what if, when a marriage is falling apart, both spouses decide to be 100% completely honest with each other to the point where they openly discuss infidelity, and they’re okay with it?

Say what you want, but 99.9% of spouses would bury that crap in a hole 30,000 feet beneath the ground and never speak of it again.

I know it was a horrible situation with fault on both sides, but you got to admire the honesty from him at least. And I can’t help but think this is a great example of what Blake talked about it in his video. We need more men to be more honest. It’s uncomfortable to listen to, and it’s uncomfortable to talk about these things, but it’s necessary for real friendships to blossom and for life to feel less lonely.

I loved the recent show Shōgun, and there’s a great quote in there about vulnerability:

“It's a saying they have (in Japan), that a man has a false heart in his mouth for the world to see, another in his breast to show to his special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except to himself alone, hidden only God knows where.”

―James Clavell, Shōgun

How many of us have truly shown our real selves to anybody?

There’s so much pressure to just be “okay” all the time. But when is it ever “okay” to deal with universally negative emotions like sorrow and grief? We all feel these things, but it’s looked down on to express these emotions in public.

I watched a movie called A Real Pain recently, which is one of the best films of the year. In it, two Jewish American cousins go on a tour of Poland to honor their late grandmother. The two cousins are polar opposites. One is quiet and reserved, and the other is extroverted and adventurous. The extroverted one bonds with everybody in their tour group, and isn’t afraid to face his grief about their grandmother head on in front of everybody.

At one point the introverted cousin says “It just seems like there’s a time and a place to grieve, and maybe it’s not here.”

To which the extroverted cousin responds, “Dave, we're on a fuckin Holocaust tour. If now isn't the time and place to grieve, to open up, then I don't know what to tell you, man.”

Modern society has shrunken the size of “acceptable” situations to express negative emotions in to the size of a pinhead, particularly for men. We don’t get to express any sadness whatso-fucking-ever. Maybe, just maybe, that’s the reason why so many males feel so lonely these days. It’s just so unnaturally out of the ordinary to be a human being with a full range of emotions that when we do come across a man like that, it’s like seeing a unicorn.

Our reading family doesn’t know this, but Dad you’ve had a problem the last few weeks with Tinnitus. There was a moment where cancer was on the table as a possible cause. We now know that it isn’t cancer, but I would have liked for you to feel comfortable enough to talk to me about that fear. I can handle it. I’m almost 32 years old.

I know a parent doesn’t want to make their child worry, but that can be an invalidation of your own emotions. You deserve to feel and express things, too. I am an adult now and don’t need protecting anymore. Maybe when I’m a parent I’ll feel differently, but that’s how I see it now.

And I’m not upset with you for not saying these things to me, but I want you to know, for the record, I’m fine to discuss this stuff moving forward.

I want to talk about masculinity with you, Dad. I think it’s long overdue that we talk about it, because while some traditional ideas of masculinity are necessary, there’s a whole lot more ingredients we need to add to this recipe to help men who are being crushed by the weight of societal expectations around the world.

I want to dive into that with you in the next few letters here.

I’ll leave the podium now and give you the microphone.