“Let down and hanging around
Crushed like a bug in the ground
Let down and hanging around
Shell smashed, juices flowing
Wings twitch, legs are going
Don't get sentimental
It always ends up drivel”
Let Down, OK Computer, Radiohead
My 18-year-old son played me an arresting video a few days ago after noting that too often I (or anyone else) would have absolutely no clue when someone is struggling with their mental health. He was responding to my evidently too cocky conviction that I would spot the earliest signs of mental health strain in my two teenage boys.
I defy anyone not to experience some emotion watching this INCREDIBLE awareness promo which Norwich City Football Club has produced in partnership with the Samaritans, shining a light on men’s mental health challenges. I also defy anyone not to feel profound empathy for men after watching it.
I have dedicated many months, if not years, of my life to researching and writing about women remaining invisible and being absent as central protagonists in the media and public life. Women are often hidden away from society’s view and too often feel invisible within societal power structures. However, men remain invisible too, but in a very different way. I am now realising that the flipside to men’s power dominance and high profile in society is their emotional invisibility.
A man can go through his whole life and never be truly seen by anyone because he has been taught the hard way not to reveal any vulnerability. He can go through life without knowing who he really is beyond a provider and an achiever. He can go through life without being asked any intimate questions by his male friends, unknown quantities to themselves too. In our world, showing interest in a man’s deeper thoughts is perceived as too soft, cringey and sometimes even nauseating. It is just not the “done” thing. I can see this from my own conversations with my two teenage sons about their friendships. Friendships are mostly centred around activities, practicalities and experiences, not feelings, personalities and identity dilemmas.
To know ourselves truly we must befriend our own vulnerability. There is simply no other way for us to discover who we really are. We must stare at the things that hurt us, at the aspects of our being that hurt others, at our uncomfortable feelings of sadness, helplessness or regret. To know ourselves we also need to see ourselves reflected in the eyes of someone who wants to find out all these deeper aspects of who we are. But too often, whether through the toxic positivity culture or the glossy superficial self-aggrandising culture filtered through social media, we learn to look away from our true selves and those of others. Moreover, the lowest levels of curiosity are reserved for discovering who men truly are inside their shell. This is in part a result of women being granted greater permission to be vulnerable than men.
My son was shown the Norwich City Football Club video in assembly at school, as part of the safeguarding programme that the school has around mental health awareness. When I asked him what advice he and his peers were given off the back of the video, he said that it was the “usual stuff” i.e. to speak to somebody if you feel depressed or hopeless. The message the promo pushes out is that “you are not alone”. The truth of the matter is that actually, too often we do feel alone. People, especially men, often feel that they are emotionally alone, partly because they have been locked out of their own emotional world and partly because the external world is not interested in who they really are, what they are feeling and whether they need help. Sad but true.
Watching the Norwich City video left me feeling a grief that lasted all day. I kept seeing the cheerful man from the video who was asking his friend questions about his day-to-day life, perhaps in the hope that his friend, clearly himself struggling to feel anything, would ask him a question or two in return. Questions that he was never asked. I felt ample empathy, but I also felt a bit lost. How do we help men who are socialised to be jaded? If someone is guarding their despair so masterfully, how do you connect with them? Is it enough to ask them a question?
I feel lost not least because when I ask my two sons questions about how they feel, they often find it irritating, too personal, somehow corny. They roll their eyes, feel smothered, withdraw. What do I do?
As you can see, I have a lot more questions than answers. But I do know that showing deep interest in those around me has got to be one way forward. “Check in on those around you”, Norwich City’s campaign invites us. I wholeheartedly concur. My next thought is to wonder what questions work and which ones are too invasive. I instinctively feel that they have got to be open-ended questions, and deeper than “How are you?” or “Are you good?”
How about: “How do you spend your free time”, “What’s on your mind at the moment?” or even “What keeps you awake at night these days?” Would these questions offer some comfort and unlock a truthful response? I’ll keep trying to find out…
