Breaking the Silence: Redefining Masculinity and Emotion
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Chapter 1: The Weight of Expectations
In mid-April 1964, in a small Kentucky town, I was just five years old when my mother passed away. Amid the grief, I often heard, "You know, Johnnie hasn't even shed a tear." This was typically followed by the notion that boys shouldn't cry, as if not showing emotion was something commendable.
Despite the physical ache in my chest and the overwhelming urge to scream, I was told to be strong and make my mother proud. All I wanted was to express my sorrow. So, I found myself hiding—whether in the fields behind my grandmother’s house or in the closet of our trailer—crying silently, terrified of being discovered.
The memories of my childhood are as clear as a recent film. However, the moments shared with my father are clouded, filled with vague images that I try to forget, yet the emotional scars remain. I can still hear my older sister's cries during his outbursts and the sickening sounds of violence echoing through our home. At just seven years old, I would retreat to the closet, rocking back and forth, berating myself for not intervening.
After my sister fled, I was left alone, re-experiencing the pain of losing my mother. I began acting out, grappling with emotions that society told me boys shouldn't feel. To cope, I wrote poetry, but when my grandfather found my work, his violent reaction led me to bury my feelings even deeper.
Chapter 2: The Struggles of Adolescence
At twelve, I first contemplated self-harm, a silent scream for help that went unheard. By thirteen, a therapist warned me of the dangers of addiction. My teenage years were spent in incarceration, where jail became a refuge. Outside those walls, however, thoughts of suicide plagued me, and anyone who showed me kindness became a target for my anger.
Escaping my reality, I turned to substances to numb my pain. At twenty-one, I fled to Florida, where I found myself homeless and addicted, owning nothing but mismatched flip-flops and a couple of clothes.
The Cure - Boys Don't Cry explores the theme of emotional suppression in men, echoing the struggles I faced.
Chapter 3: The Turning Point
At twenty-six, I spent a weekend consuming life-threatening amounts of drugs, desperately wishing for death. I finally sought help at a twelve-step meeting, igniting a flicker of hope within me. That was in 1984, and while I relapsed in 1991, I returned to the recovery community and committed to healing through therapy and workshops.
In 2007, however, darkness returned, manifesting as panic attacks that shattered my façade of stability. Despite years of recovery, I faced suicidal thoughts again. But I learned that even grown men cry. The stigma of emotional vulnerability became irrelevant as I embraced my feelings, no longer ashamed.
Anitta – Boys Don't Cry [Official Music Video] captures the essence of emotional expression, reinforcing the importance of vulnerability.
Chapter 4: Healing and Transformation
After losing everything, I found hope in the belief that someday I would understand the gifts hidden within my suffering. With the right tools and medication, I began to rebuild my life. The process of changing my internal dialogue was arduous, but it transformed my existence.
Since my lowest point, I have not faced anxiety attacks or serious suicidal thoughts for over six years. While challenges persist, the difference is that I can manage my thoughts and recognize that I am not alone. Sharing my struggles became vital for my healing.
Today, I am an author, podcast host, certified Thought Coach, and mental health advocate. I run an air-conditioning business, but above all, I am a man who still deeply misses his mother and yearns for her pride.
Final Thoughts
If you find yourself in a similar struggle, reach out for help. Take charge of your mind and remember that there is a way to heal. Contrary to popular belief, real men and boys do cry—let's encourage emotional honesty instead of hiding it.