All I’ve ever wanted is for all of us to feel a little less alone. 

And I want a lot of things. 

But more than seeing my dog live to meet my first born and a 1967 Royal Blue eight cylinder Mustang, I want the people I know and the people I don’t to feel like they aren’t doing this whole life thing by themselves. You’ll never find me at a party talking about the weather for more than fifteen seconds and I’d like to think my native tongue equates the spinner on the Emotion Wheel (If you’ve never seen it, you’re welcome.) 

Last week I was on the oh so High-Staked-And-Moderately-Elusive-Second-Date with a boy. I had the completely biased honor of enlightening him with the best movie ever created: Greta Gerwig’s Ladybird (2017). 

Though I found myself meandering the thoughts of what his were, how my hair looked, how many more minutes I could get away with before having to get up and use the bathroom, etc. etc... I noted something I hadn’t before. If you haven’t seen the masterpiece, (which in that case, I will talk to you later because you’re immediately closing this app and opening Netflix) towards the middle of the movie a male character speaks with a female nurse about his declining mental health. He states he has never spoken to anyone about this part of himself before and was addled with confusion after being met with such empathy. Looking up from the blanket around my legs, I began to wonder what was going through the boy beside me’s mind. For the first time, I noticed a man in real life watch a man on a screen be vulnerable about his pain. And selfishly, I realized:

I’ve never had that problem. 

Because I am a girl, vulnerability is not an attribute weaponized against me. This isn’t a modern privilege. I just didn’t recognize it until recently.

November is Men’s Health Awareness Month.

But for me, and (generally speaking) most women, every day is allocated to being aware of our mental interior. I do not feel the pressure to hold back a hug or syllable in fear of being perceived as weak. Since I can remember I’ve always had the freedom to express my pain and joy through crying, touching and speaking. 

Often enough, I speak candidly about my belief that the power structures cultivated by males actively limit and restrict women’s experiences on this planet. But that night I realized it actively limits all of us. 

Everyone. 

Buildings fall on the architects too.

How many times can you recall on the playground overhearing a boy offend another by the comparative insult of “like a girl”?

How many times have you seen one man hold another while he grieves the loss of a loved one?

How many movies have you watched a son tell his dad he was anxious? Scared? Hurt?

These stereotypical scenarios found in comparing emotion to weakness, weakness to women versus stoicism to strength and strength to men contribute to the astronomical percentage of male suicide (Men died by suicide 3.6x more often than women in 2020) Girls are more likely to talk about their problems and seek help. Boys are encouraged to bite their tongue off or bite off another’s when they feel anything at all.

The indoctrination of sexism was bred into us. This isn’t anyone in particular’s fault. But lancing it out is all of our responsibility.

For my brother.

For my Dad.

For all the men I love and will come to love in this lifetime.

As intrepid journalist Elizabeth Gilbert once observed:

“It is my understanding that the health of the planet is affected by the health of every individual on it. As long as even two souls are locked in conflict, the whole of the world is contaminated by it. Similarly, if even one or two souls can be free from discord this will increase the general health of the whole world.”

What if we took all of our health into consideration?

What if we listened for the answer next time we ask a man how he’s doing?

Would relationships mend? Would violence decrease? Would wars stop? 

I don’t know.

But I’d like to raise a son in a world where his strength is found in his weakness, too.

If you or someone you love is suffering from depression or may be at risk for suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting TALK to 741741