Oh, the energies we spend to maintain our facades.

When it all comes down to it, we all are like our parents in the end. For men, this often means living up to the facades that our fathers had to don—those stoic, stone-faced men who learned to live and lead in family settings without owning up to emotions.

I remember when my father took me outside on a visit more than a decade ago. He’d just turned 70, and he wanted to tell me something important. “You know,” he said, “I’m not going to be around forever. And when I die, it will be on you to take care of your mother.”

I nodded. Of course I understood this reality. We all are mortal. And we all have responsibilities to our families.

It wasn’t the first time my father had spoken directly of his eventual death and my role as the “man of the family.” What he said next, though, stung. It was a very simple expectation. “When I’m gone,” he said, “Take an hour and walk out into the field behind the house. Cry. Scream. Do whatever you have to do. But get it out of your system and be done with it so you can come back and be strong.”

There’s no real response to this kind of admonition. There’s only a nod. But in the weeks, months, and now years since, I’ve thought about that command and how it speaks to an underlying flaw in a lot of men. We’re not supposed to be vulnerable. We’re not supposed to show weakness. We’re not supposed to be emotional.

We don’t feel. We don’t cry.

We wall up.

We remain strong.

After all, we have been taught that dignity is strength.

The problem with this approach, though, is that it’s all a lie. Walling ourselves off isn’t strength. Our dignity isn’t maintained by a lack of emotion. And our vulnerability isn’t defined by a stone-set jaw.

It’s taken me years to understand that openness and transparency are a kind of currency.

My disposition and personality are deeper because of my rejection of my father’s paradigm.

I am not locked away. I am not hidden.

So this is the advice I have to men, regardless of their role in life. It’s ok to fall. It isn’t weak to be swept off our feet. It’s good to have someone surprise us and consume our thoughts; to drive our passions. We don’t have to pretend we’re unaffected by emotion. We don’t have to maintain our composure or keep our cool.

Just. Let. Go.

It’s liberating.

For years, I’ve kept myself compartmentalized. I’ve worked to control my surroundings, my friends, my relationships. I worked to avoid messy overlap. I worked to keep things in easily identifiable and easily managed segments, which also meant an avoidance of commitments, trusts, and loves.

Stop fighting it. It’s okay to fall for someone, and appear weaker or more vulnerable in the process. The stern, firm face we show in our dynamics will be more powerful as a result of it. And the person staring back at us will appreciate the depth of our expressions so much more, having glimpsed our openness.

In the end, our relationships are based in our own self-control, which does not mean remaining guarded or distant. Opening ourselves is not a sign of weakness.

I’m speaking as someone who has fallen, as someone who continues to fall.

As we plummet, we take flight.

Author: Robert F. James

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: Karl Fredrickson at Unsplash