It is still a bit strange for me to witness a man crying. Not because there is anything strange about it, but because we don’t get to see it often. We are taught that men need to be strong, that crying makes them weak, and that they should be able to hold themselves together. But emotions are part of being human. They are not a “female” thing only.
My partner and I like holding deep conversations. We can have the lightest conversations and end up laughing at absolutely nothing, joking about ourselves, our experiences, and even each other. But when we get into the deep conversations, even with the jokes, there is a bit of seriousness and emotional tension that comes with them.
Personally, a while back, explaining something really hurtful, I used to smile a lot. I think part of me felt like I didn’t want to alarm people with my needs. I didn’t want my needs to sound too serious. But with my partner, I don’t smile. If it is hurting, it is hurting. I find myself just tearing myself open to him with no care in the world. Because he has created a space where I feel safe enough to be seen, even when I’m struggling. And I wanted to create the same space for him.
But with him, it is different.
It is difficult for him to open up. We have had conversations about this and he always says he will try, but I know it is easier said than done. Every time he is about to share something, I always remind him that he can depend on me. That he doesn’t need to feel shame about whatever he is struggling with. And that he doesn’t have to tear himself open to me all at once. It can be little by little.
Then we had one of those deep conversations.
September is Suicide Prevention Month, and September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day. We happened to be talking about how people misunderstand those who die by suicide. How people say, “They could have just talked to someone.” How some people say, “Me, I could never kill myself,” as though being able to imagine a way out of pain is something that can simply be decided. As though we understand what goes on in a person’s mind for them to reach a point where suicide is the only option.
At some point, he started talking about two distant relatives on his dad’s side who had died by suicide. He was talking about it, but not really.
He would touch on something and then move away from it quickly. Say something and then make a joke. It felt like he was about to share something deep, but then he would pull back.
So I asked him how he felt about it. He laughed and said he didn’t know. Then he went quiet.
I knew there was something there. Maybe he knew too. But I wasn’t going to tell him what he was feeling. I wanted him to say it himself.
So we sat there in silence for a few minutes.
Eventually, he said he felt an enormous amount of fear.
He talked about how easily he gets stressed and how that sometimes makes him wonder about himself. About what it means that suicide had happened in his family. About what it could mean for him in the future.
And while he was explaining it, a tear came out. He wiped it away quickly.
Then he laughed, a really empty laugh.
It was such a small thing, the tear. But I remember looking at him differently. Not because I had never seen him cry, but because I could see how quickly he wanted to hide it.
Then he said, “I hate when you do that.”
I asked him what he meant by that.
He said he hates when I look at him like that because it means I’m reading his emotions. And honestly, I didn’t know how to respond. Because part of me knew that was exactly what I was doing. I was looking at him. Really looking at him.
I reached over and wiped his tears and told him that he can be strong with the people outside, but with me, he doesn’t have to be.
And then he broke down.
I don’t know exactly what the crying was about. I started wondering if it was about more than his relatives. Maybe there was something else sitting inside him that he didn’t know how to put into words. But I didn’t ask.
I didn’t try to make him explain it, and I didn’t tell him not to cry. I just let him have the moment.
I have seen men cry on television and in movies, and way back, I wasn’t really the kind of person who knew how to comfort someone who was crying. I used to think there had to be something to say. Some right words that would make the person feel better.
But sometimes there isn’t anything to say. Sometimes you just let someone feel what they are feeling. And that is what vulnerability looks like too. Not just crying, but allowing someone to see that you are scared. Saying “I don’t know” when you actually don’t know. Admitting that something has been sitting in your mind and you don’t know what to do with it. Letting a tear fall without immediately pretending it didn’t.
What stayed on my mind most was not even that he cried. It was how quickly he tried to hide it. The wiping of the tear. The laugh. The discomfort when he realized I was looking at him and could tell that something was happening inside him. He was vulnerable, but he was still uncomfortable being seen as vulnerable.
Men are human beings too. They get scared. They get overwhelmed. They have things they don’t know how to say. Sometimes they don’t even know what they are feeling until their body says it for them.
All I know is vulnerability doesn’t mean that you are no longer strong. Sometimes it is recognizing when the pain has become too much to hold in, and allowing yourself to cry when something hurts instead of forcing yourself to prove that you can handle it.
