Let’s hear about Men - Hear I am

Hi, I’m Howard, I’m 43 and single, and this sounds like I’m about to be a contestant on Blind Date. Remember that show with Cilla Black? No, probably not. As it’s long gone, as is Cilla Black, as is my positive outlook on life. Sounds depressive already huh? Well read on, I might surprise you.

I’m a man. A guy. A bloke, whatever you want to call me. Got one of ‘them’ between my legs and an ability to watch nearly any sport. Think that’s what men are seen as in some ways no? Testosterone, sport loving, chivalrous brutes who drink beer and take on any task that involves tools. Get through the days without worrying about anything, always ready to take anything on, there and ready to help a lady when needed.. Ah, yes…the man. Or is that a man's man? Or any man? Or just some man? I don’t know anymore. I used to be, am, or was, all and some and nothing of the above. Yet, due to ‘that’ between my legs, I am still, just a man.

Men don’t feel pain. Men don’t need attention. Men walk through walls and don’t need affection. Dependable, ambitious, hard as a rock and full of banter. The mainstay of resolute and optimistic intention. Well that’s what the manual says. That’s what your outside world wants. To be a man is to be headstrong and robust. A strong captain of his own ship ready to colonise the world. Take all in his path to success and breeding. At least that’s what the manual says.

I was an only child and brought up under this sky. My father was what I call ‘old school’. Children should be seen and not heard. A wife’s role was to look after her man and nurture the young. To not work, but keep the household straight while he’s gone, kneading the dough that he brought back as bread. It was instilled from a young age that you work hard, listen at school and go to University and get a good job. Work hard so you can buy a house and repeat his process all over again. I rebelled from an early age. This only brought condemnation and ridicule, as well as a good thump for not doing as I was told. I was locked away in a spare bedroom when I was ‘naughty’, as a punishment and to ‘think

about what I had done’. Truth is, it only made me question the process more. One day, when in this spare room, one question really bugged me. Why is it that your parents, who are meant to love you the most, hurt me the most? I was 9. I cried to myself. I remember it well as it was quite a defining moment in the life of a 9 year old, and it has stuck with me all these years. That little boy had thought to think a big question. This isn't right. This wasn’t the norm. I didn’t get to the answer for a long time. Years in fact. I pressed on, did my best, sometimes! But I always struggled to find meaning in certain aspects and behaviours of life. I wanted to be just me. Be and do what I found pleasing, but my father had already laid my path for me, and this was the one I was forced to walk down.

Sometimes things are put in front of us because that’s the way it has been before and this is the way you should do it. So says the previous occupant. They tell you it’s not easy, that it’ll be hard, but you must do it anyway. I find this quite prevalent as a man. We have some, almost hidden, expectations laid before us. Ways and means of being that society and people around us expect. It’s a type of pier pressure and is thrust upon us like the birthday cake, but not always a gift well received.

I’d like to say my childhood was a happy one. It had its ups and downs, as I’m sure all do. Material things were there, and some people think that’s a good guide, but one factor. THE factor. Which I now know was missing, was love. Love in a true sense. The kind of love where you get big hugs often. The kind of love where they stop and say, ‘I love you’. The kind of love where you feel secure and don’t feel pain. That kind of love. It never visited my house. I used to go and play at friends' houses. It was there. I saw it. I used to wish that was me. I hated going home, the atmosphere was different, I felt unprotected and alone. Apart from my cat.

But as I grew up, I can’t deny I wasn’t given many different opportunities to gain skills and try many different things. Visit different countries on holidays and excel at many different sports. Everythings fine right? You’ve been given this opportunity, that opportunity. What’s the matter with you, get on it with it. So I did. I have. I’ve been released, long ago,

from mother’s apron strings into the wider world. I’ve set sail in my boat and been cast adrift into the tempest of this earth. New environments ahoy, new people to meet and see. Some of it’s been great, and some of it has caused pain like I felt all those years ago when I was 9. But that’s life isn’t it. Or so the manual says. So you carry on, you play your part. You’re moulded and made, you do what you have to. That’s what the manual says. I worked my way up some sort of ladder. I found the big City, with big eyes and sharp teeth. I made friends, I had love come and love go, I made mistakes, I made a life. It wasn’t what I always wanted for my life, but I’m a man don’t forget. That’s what men do.

Slowly over time I found things harder to be. I’m a man doing man things, but I was leaving part of my true self behind. The expectations of keeping up with the Jones’ and for not discussing or sharing your innermost secrets became a growing ember in my heart. I watched as other men were ridiculed and purged behind their backs for being weak and not part of the clan. It hurt me. I didn’t take to this macho image and found less and less interest in the workings of daily life. I found sanctuary in different vices. Mainly drink and drugs. An escape from the pressures of life and of what people expected of me. It worked for a while, I coped and carried on. Things trundled along. I didn’t feel the need to shout out, to ask for any help, I just wandered blindly along, doing what a man should do and when there was a problem I’d drink it away, with a couple of lines and some pills for good measure. No one noticed. It was easy. But I felt it inside.

Slowly the heart breaks down. Having a couple of failed relationships with women I truly loved didn’t help. That hurts. Really hurts, and one thing you can’t con in this life is your own heart. I wasn’t being true unto myself, and along with other heartbreak something had to give. I cracked, to a point. Not cracked as in complete breakdown, but cracked where I decided enough is enough, I need to stop. So I did. I have. I cracked in my mind where I saw no point. No one cared about me. My family and I had stopped talking, I was alone out here in this sea, and everything I had tried to be and found either left me or wasn’t what I believed in anymore. I still feel this way somewhat, and that’s ok. I still want love. I have an absolute abundance of that to give, because I’m an empath. Due to my own pain and suffering I just don’t want anyone else to have to feel the pain I have felt. I’d drop everything for my friends. I’d be there in an instant. No questions. But I don’t feel there are many there for me. I have a few, don’t get me wrong and I’m very appreciative of that, but the drive and will has gone from my life right now because I’ve been pressured and pushed a lot to be the man that I’m told everyone expects you to be. I’m seen in a different way because of this. I’ve chosen not to do certain things and don’t aspire to certain lifestyles. But that’s ok. Each to their own. It’s ok to think how you want, to be want you want to be, regardless of the pressures around you. I’m a complex soul for some. Deep scars but with a huge heart and one day I’ll meet someone who will take that. But for now, I’m ok with being the man I am, and for not bowing to society's pressures. I will speak up for other men, and women, and defend the fact that it’s ok to be different and to sometimes not feel ok in yourself. Pressure only pushes you back from the way you have come, and time only moves forwards.

I’m writing this to show that being a man isn’t about being macho, big and powerful. It’s about being open, honest, vulnerable and true. No matter what your story is. Mine is here for you all to read, and I wouldn't change any of it, nada. My life is my life, and it’s made me the man I am today. My conscience is clear and my heart is true. I just hope it inspires others to reach out and speak their minds too, because every man has his story behind the story, and it’s important we all listen, because there’s a little boy inside all of them, daring to ask the big questions. As long as he’s not sitting on his own in a locked room then there’s always somebody to listen. Maybe that could be you.