Boys don't cry, but they really should

Before you read any further, please watch the video below. It is both the context and inspiration of this post.

Now for my story...

It would probably surprise most people who know me to hear that I used to get angry. I mean really angry. I never got into any fights, but I'm sure it would've been on the cards if I hadn't learnt to deal with my feelings. (Although my gentle nature may have still stood in the way.)

Sometimes I got scared. I mean really scared—about what you might collectively call "the unknown," I suppose. Or sad, or lonely—you get the idea. I had feelings; they were powerful and they affected me.

But I didn't want to talk about them—probably didn't know how, anyway. Although I'm pretty sure my teachers and family—and to a lesser extent, my friends—encouraged me to express myself and talk through any problems I was having, I never really did.

I think part of it was that I have a natural tendency to put up walls and work things out for myself—be they emotional problems, life issues, calculus equations, solving a jigsaw puzzle, debugging software, or whatever else. But there's more to it.

There is a strong societal pressure in Australia (and elsewhere, but I grew up here)—sometimes implicit and subtle, sometimes explicit and overt—for men to be tough. Men don't show their feelings—that's for girls. Boys don't cry; they harden the fuck up. I don't know the research and statistics behind it, but I suspect the seriousness of the alcohol and violence problems in Australia owe a lot to this pressure for "men to be men"—which is, in effect, not women (whatever that means—see, this is why we have such a problem).

Any excuse to include a song by The Cure.

For me, the pressure to "harden up" came from two main sources: Myself, and everyone else. Let me explain.

I was always more sensitive than most of the other boys. I was also small, and shy, and I had somewhat effeminate facial features and mannerisms. Couple this with the fact that I apparently looked and sounded like a foreigner (your guess is as good as mine), and I stand out as different. Different can be good, but it can also be bad. It can lead to exclusion; it usually leads to labelling; and it doesn't get along well with peer pressure.

A passion for sport didn't seem to be enough. I felt compelled to give in to that crap about boys learning to keep their feelings and more womanly emotions in check, lest I be labelled a sissy. (I hate to phrase it that way, but that's really how it is—masculinity often gets defined in terms of what femininity is not.)

I remember being talked into throwing tanbark at a girl in my class. I don't recall whether my friend showed any remorse, but I felt awful. She was a lovely girl, who'd been nothing but nice to me, and I'd just let peer pressure force me into doing something mean and out of character. I tried to be tough about it, but I was pretty shaken up. The teachers were lenient because I'd clearly been led-on. But the look of disappointed hurt on the girl's face when she looked at me was punishment enough. I learned a very important lesson that day. I was eight years old.

As I got older, I found it easier and easier to resist peer pressure. But it—peer pressure, societal expectations, and prejudicial behaviour in general—made me angry. I always had a strong sense of justice; the world seemed exceedingly unjust. Unlike the (Australian) male stereotype, I didn't bottle up my feelings; I found another way to let them out (and it wasn't violence or alcohol abuse). Writing was my saviour.

If I felt angry, sad, scared, lonely, depressed, or hurt, I pulled out my journal and I wrote something. Often it was a poem or a song. Occasionally it was a (very) short story. Sometimes it was just general prose—a typical diary entry. I started doing this at 14. Gradually, the anger subsided (almost completely!). I worked through my fears and my instances of loneliness or depression by writing them out.

I suppose you could say I had conversations with myself. Given that I spend so much of my time wrapped up in dreams, I guess it's a natural extension that I use those dreams to understand myself. And as a result, I find it easier to talk to others about my problems. I feel prepared, I guess.

I've still got a way to go, but I share far more of my feelings now than I did when I was younger. I understand myself much better than I would without having done so much writing. Now I just need to get better at sharing my feelings with other people, rather than the page or the screen.