Many Sides of a Man
Self-Portraits & One Man's Arc into Heart-Opening
Fatherhood can’t be separated from manhood.
For a long time, I’ve been diving in deep to understand my relationship to manhood, gender expectations for men, and the limitations on expression that I learned from an early age.
Two related observations:
Since the “me too” movement, more men have began examining the “entitled/domination” culture that compels men to see women as nothing more than sex objects. This has encouraged some men to wonder what kind of man they wish to be, outside of cultural pressures.
The benefit of men’s groups and men’s work is gaining attention—these are spaces where men can name the cultural pressures and feel the same kind of relief women may feel when they gather. That is, relief from the shame of not living up to someone else’s standard based on their gender.
These days, I am playing a part in bringing the following sentiment to life…
May there be many kinds of manhood, not just a new standard for all men.
As I’ve discovered in my own growth, and witnessing other men, there are so many sides to each man. Over the next few weeks, I will share several self-portraits—each depicting a unique side of a myself as a man for your reflection…
Which ones make you uncomfortable?
What labels emerge in your thoughts upon seeing an image of a man in a certain light?
How might you be curious about your reaction?
Let’s begin…
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Once upon a time, a boy was born in the West. He grew to manhood but never felt like a man. Instead, he felt he had to hide his tenderness. Men in the West who showed tenderness were punished.
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Hiding his tenderness brought a feeling of shame. But shame was also not allowed for a man in the West. Shame would make him not a man. So rather than lose his status as a man, he pushed the shame away, deep inside.
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The young man grew to longing for things outside himself. Nothing was enough. Just another hit. Just another swipe. Just another video. Just another sale. Just another slice. Just another woman. Just another win.
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Friendships were too hard and messy. Relationships,... nevermind. Nobody was good enough for him. He wanted to feel connected, but he didn’t know how. And besides, even if he tried, they just wouldn’t understand him. So he stayed far away.
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He found a talent. He could get what he wanted by limiting the choices of others. Everyone he met was either with him or against him. He found a tribe. They glorified his ability to be in control of that one thing. So he kept going.
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Once he got close to the tribe, they sent him off to battle. They told him he could be a hero. And then he discovered that he was being used. They just needed a body in the war. They didn’t want a human being. Human beings have a soul. Bodies are just meat. They didn’t care if he got tossed aside.
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So he ran away. Again. He built a fortress. This time with rock. Nobody will get to me, he said. Nobody will be able to hurt me. Nobody will make me feel worthless or weak. Nope. I’ve got big walls.
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He can’t exist alone. He goes looking for fights. He wanted so badly to matter. He wanted to feel strong. Powerful. He wanted to teach others a lesson. He wanted others to feel what he had felt… cast out.
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As the fights grew to be the same, he grew bored. Instead, he grew more careful and calculated. He enjoyed the planning. He enjoyed the steps we would take to enact revenge. Little by little, he inched his way closer. They never saw it coming. He was there. And then he was gone.
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But there’s so much to be angry about. So many people doing the wrong things, saying the wrong things, endangering the rest of us. The young man wanted to bust out of his shell. He wanted to feel his entire body engaged in a battle of good and evil. His voice grew louder.
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In the quiet moments, after his anger had been exhausted, he found a voice inside. A voice of curiosity. A voice that he could not make go away. The voice challenged him but also sounded loving. Who was this voice? The voice was powerful—not because it controlled him. But because it loved him. And showed him how loving in itself was a power greater than hate.
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He took his anger with him. He took his shame. He laid it on the table. And some other young men joined him. They laid their anger and shame on the table beside his. They weren’t exactly the same, but they were similar. For the first time, his loneliness could be named. His tenderness could be named. His judgment. His guarded heart. It was all okay to have these many sides inside him. The men stood together. And they felt relief.
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At times, the man felt his heart swell and then shrink again. He could feel that little boy in him returning. The boy with a light heartedness to life. That side was still there, amidst the rest. That little boy came back to play.
. . .
(to be continued)
Follow me on Substack Notes to see the next images and story appear in this post weekly, all the way to image #16.
I’m really excited : ) My illustrated book, Hiding Inside a Man: Finding Strength in Self-Compassion, is on IndieGogo: https://igg.me/at/hiding-inside-a-man 🩵
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