Chapter 1: The Unspoken Expectations

As life progresses, I've come to recognize a profound truth: men rarely discuss the challenges of grieving.

“I’ll do my best,” I responded when told, “You’re now the man of the house. Look after everyone.”

“Stay strong for your family; don’t cry,” they insisted. Confused, I questioned why such statements were necessary.

“I’m sorry for your loss. How are your mom and sisters?” they asked. But what about my feelings? I longed to voice my anguish but remained silent.

Society equates strength with masculinity, expecting men to possess an inexhaustible reserve of it. Yet, they fail to convey that true strength is not merely about weathering life's storms. It involves grappling with internal tumult caused by grief.

The most challenging aspect of mourning as a man is not the loss itself; it’s the profound emptiness that follows. The world anticipates your stoicism, urging you to swallow your sorrow, believing it will fortify you.

However, no one instructs you on how to fill the void left by pain. Mourning often feels like a privilege you cannot afford. I vividly recall the moment we headed to cremate my father. While my mother and sisters openly wept, enveloped by the comfort of relatives and neighbors, I stood seemingly unfazed. I was the designated 'man of the house,' a role that dictated men should not cry—a message ingrained in me through relentless repetition.

But one fundamental truth remains unrecognized: grief cannot simply be hidden away. It does not remain dormant in the recesses of your mind, awaiting your attention.

No, grief is a relentless force, eroding you from within, demanding acknowledgment, expression, and release.

As days pass, you carry it with you through life’s mundane routines—going to work, managing finances, supporting the family, as instructed by societal norms. Yet, deep down, you may not even recognize your pain.

Cracks begin to appear in the facade you've meticulously maintained, prompting you to wonder how much longer you can hold everything together.

Time is said to heal all wounds, but few specify how long that healing takes. Because it often doesn’t.

No one prepares you for the days when grief feels suffocating. They don’t tell you how to cope when the world moves forward, while you remain anchored to a painful farewell.

As men, the expectation is to stand resolute, to be the support system for others, yet no one equips you to process the pain that accompanies loss.

You bury your sorrow deep, hoping it will fade into just another scar, a part of you no longer felt. However, repressed grief does not vanish. It becomes an ever-present shadow, transforming you in unimaginable ways, impacting both the significant and trivial aspects of your life.

The chair at his desk remains vacant… a stack of unread newspapers lies untouched… there’s no one to share stock tips with… you instinctively reach for the phone, only to be reminded that those conversations are no longer possible. Life feels more burdensome than before.

Yet, discussing these feelings is off-limits. To do so would imply that you’re not as strong as expected. So, you harbor this unexpressed pain, a reservoir of sorrow that follows you everywhere.

One of my most challenging moments occurred days after my father’s death. While planning the funeral, an old friend called, sobbing. “How are you, my brother? Don’t ever feel alone. I’m here for you. Let’s talk, let’s cry together.”

In that moment, I felt a release, as if he granted me the permission I so desperately needed. I wept openly, allowing myself to confront the storm.

I realized that perhaps true strength lies not in concealing your pain but in allowing yourself to feel it fully.

However, for men, such moments are scarce. The world seldom offers the time or space for open grieving. Instead, you’re expected to quickly rebound and remain a steadfast anchor for others.

Thus, you don your brave face and resume your responsibilities, burying your hurt beneath the surface. The world urges you to move on, but how do you overcome something that fundamentally alters your existence?

The reality is, you don’t. You carry that loss with you, a silent companion during the day and a constant presence at night.

Nights can be a respite, a time when you can weep unnoticed.

The most arduous aspect of grieving as a man is not just the loss itself, but the weight of societal expectations that accompany it. The pressure to always embody strength, to be the one who holds everything together when it feels like the ground is crumbling beneath you.

But what if true strength is about embracing vulnerability? What if it means allowing yourself to fall apart, to feel the depth of your sorrow, and from there, begin to rebuild?

Grief is not a sign of weakness.

I once read that grief is simply love unexpressed. It’s all the affection you wish to share but cannot. All that love pools in your eyes, the lump in your throat, and that hollow ache in your heart. Grief is love without a destination.

While the world may never grasp the deepest challenges of grieving as a man, perhaps that’s acceptable.

What truly matters is granting yourself permission to grieve in your unique way and time. Recognize that strength doesn’t mean suppressing your tears; it means having the courage to let them flow.

Ultimately, grief is a journey rather than a destination. It’s about learning to coexist with a loss that will forever be part of your story.

It’s about discovering how to carry your sorrow without allowing it to consume you, finding ways to live again, even when a piece of you feels absent.

To all men navigating grief: it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel disoriented, shattered, or unable to keep it all together. It’s okay to grieve on your terms.

Because grief is not a weakness. It’s a testament to the strength required to love deeply and endure the loss of that love.

And perhaps, the greatest challenge of grieving as a man is learning to be gentle with yourself throughout that process.

To embrace vulnerability, to share your tears with a friend, to permit others to experience their emotions without urging them to be strong.

Ultimately, the hardest part of grieving as a man is allowing yourself to feel, even when society discourages it.

True strength emerges not from suppressing your tears but from having the bravery to let them fall.

Grief evolves, yet it never truly disappears.

• Keanu Reeves

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