TW: This essay touches on the topic of mental health, especially suicide in men. It is largely inspired by SNL’s recent “Medcast” skit, wherein men are tricked into receiving healthcare by providers disguising their services as a hypermasculine podcast.
Last week I had my annual physical. I didn’t expect any surprises, but I was looking forward to seeing how much improvement I’d made in some of my problematic areas. In the last year, I worked really hard to get as fit as possible when I hit age 40. Your 40s, as men my age and older will no doubt already know, are when your annual physicals come with a few new surprises in the form of colon and prostate cancer screenings. Fortunately for me, as it turns out, colon cancer screenings begin at age 45 (unless you have a family history, in which case they begin screening at 40) and prostate cancer screenings begin at 50 (unless you have family history, in which case the screenings begin at 45).
My bloodwork all came back normal, which means the handful of potential issues I had have all been resolved (NICE). The above screening practices also mean my nature’s pocket stayed empty and will continue to be for the next five years. And when that time comes, let’s be honest … it’s going to be uncomfortable as I’ll need to do both. Digital rectal examinations and colonoscopies aren’t on anyone’s bucket list, but you know what? I’m going to do them when the time comes. Let’s talk about why.
Back in 2017, my life had gotten very chaotic and dark. I was in the middle of a divorce, didn’t have a place to live, had my entire savings stolen and had no idea what to do or where to go. I was dating an alcoholic train wreck, was drinking too much myself, and felt like I had disappointed every person in my family. Many of my friends from that era distanced themselves from me, the church I had been attending turned me away and I received a bit of mail in my P.O. box from an old friend informing me that I was certainly going to hell1.
I was in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad chapter and I wanted nothing more than for the noise to stop; for the pain to go away; for those feelings of dread, disappointment and depression to evaporate. Yet I woke up every day angry that I was alive. I spent every day believing in my soul that every single bad emotion I was feeling was earned and I started working 18-hour days to keep my mind busy. Still, every night I laid in bed angry and confused.
To make matters more complicated, I was married to my side job at the boxing gym where I led group classes multiple times per week and took personal training clients daily. I was the head trainer and a role model for many people who walked through our doors. I was known for my authenticity and energy, for making fitness accessible and relatable. I helped countless people get their lives together and watched so many folks transform for the better. But during this season, despite putting on this show, I was bitter and full of self-hatred. This made me feel like I was some kind of poseur and no longer deserving of my position of authority.
Eventually, I decided I’d had enough. For my birthday that year, I’d planned on doing a road trip by myself where I’d get multiple tattoos. I’d start with a tattoo here in Knoxville, then go visit my family in Kingsport where I’d get another. From there, I’d drive to Mount Airy, North Carolina, where I’d visit the grave of Chang and Eng Bunker and spend the night before heading to Fayetteville for my third tattoo. I’d then head south to visit the Lizardman Museum in Bishopville, South Carolina, then spend two days in Greenville with one of my best friends, Jon. Finally, I’d drive west into Georgia and spend the night in Marietta where I’d get my fourth-and-final tattoo before heading home.
Except, my plan was to never make it to South Carolina. With the liberation of being away from all friends and family, my goal was to find an intentional way of never waking up again and consequently putting to rest my misery and shame.
I had gotten my tattoo that day – a firefly on my left hip – and made it back to my hotel when things changed. Check-in texts I’d received from my friends Mandy and Sarah made me feel valuable for the first time in months. Having met them both at the boxing gym, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people I’d be letting down if I didn’t come home. I ditched my plan and decided to drive on.
While in Greenville, Jon and I went out for what may have been the most sushi I’ve ever eaten. We had a very intimate conversation where I told him everything: How I was feeling, why I felt that way and what I had recently talked myself out of doing about it. He listened to it all before asking if I’d ever considered getting professional help. The idea of getting therapy wasn’t out of the question, but I confessed that I had a hard time accepting it as a possibility because I was a coach. Before I could continue, Jon interrupted, “And you wonder how can I help anyone if I’m so broken, myself?”
He was right. He used to be a trainer as well. He understood.
Culture has raised generations of men to believe that if you’re emotionally broken or willing to be vulnerable in such a way is to not only be effeminate but to be anti-masculine. Men are supposed to be stoic, emotionally hardened and stone-faced when confronted by danger and pain. Depression is a weak man’s condition and any man worth his bollocks will “man up” instead of addressing it. How could I justify admitting to having weakness while trying to help others address theirs?
In the United States, men represent 79% of annual suicides, which equates to about 36,000 per year2. It’s the second most common cause of death in men under 453 and 90% of the deaths are attributed to mental health struggles or addictions4. Yet, despite these alarming numbers, it’s estimated that only 35% of American men are willing to seek help5.
This is true with regard to mental and physical health alike. I know many men who refuse to go to the doctor for any reason because to do so could reveal a weakness that needs to be acknowledged and addressed. Our society has created men who would rather lose their lives prematurely to something that could have been prevented instead of taking necessary precautions and admitting they need help. And let’s not even get into the millions of people who died during the COVID-19 pandemic because of misinformation that stemmed from a hyper-masculine desire to avoid masks, social distancing and vaccines.
That night at the sushi restaurant, Jon said something to me that changed my life. After accurately pinpointing my fear of being seen as a fake or a weakling if I admitted that I needed help with my mental health, he continued, “Getting help isn’t a sign of weakness. In fact, true weakness is identifying something that needs help and intentionally ignoring or avoiding it.”
Woah.
In the same way that avoiding leg day for fear of looking weak is a sure-fire way to make sure your legs never get any stronger, deteriorating health – be it mental or physical – can only be considered weakness if we choose to ignore it.
How about another metaphor? Being a vehicle owner is more than simply getting from point A to point B – we must service our vehicles so they run properly and avoid malfunction, allowing us to visit our families and friends, go on vacations and get to work so we can provide for our families. To do otherwise would be negligent and careless. If you never change the oil and your truck blows up, what happens? You can’t get your kids to school, you can’t go on a date, you can’t get to work so you can get paid and now you’re stuck with an enormous bill. All of this could have been avoided with proper routine maintenance.
In a society that says masculinity is all about providing and protecting, wouldn’t it make sense to make sure our bodies, minds and spirits are in proper running order so they can efficiently provide and protect? In the same way routine maintenance is paramount for our vehicles so they can serve us appropriately, we must provide routine maintenance for ourselves so we can be there for those who depend on us. We’re not very good providers and protectors if we’re fat, sick and nearly dead6 from injuries and diseases we could have prevented.
Shortly after coming home with my four new tattoos, I started going to therapy. It was personal, it was private and very few people even knew that I was going or had gone. Make no mistake, I had to swallow a gallon of pride to get myself through the door for those appointments, but as I implemented what I was learning, I saw my life changing. I was able to reframe my circumstances and dig myself out of my ditch of depression. Not only that, I was able to effectively stand up for myself, got out of that trash relationship and started making huge progress in improving my life.
As a result, I’m sitting here writing this essay in a beautiful home I secured for myself, married to a superstar woman for whom I would do anything and getting much fulfillment from using my words to help other people. It wasn’t that long ago I not only had nothing but also believed nothing is exactly what I deserved. Those feelings are gone now. The depression, the dread, the self-hatred. And when they rear their ugly heads these days, I know how to handle them. I now have tools I would have never acquired had I not dropped the hypermasculine front and sought help.
There’s no shame in getting a therapist.
It doesn’t make you less of a man if you change your lifestyle for your health.
Make that appointment. Talk to that therapist. Get that prostate checked.
If your fear of what this may mean for your masculinity outweighs your devotion to those you love, you have failed as a provider and protector.
“Man up,” as they say, and stand up to the stigma. Someone somewhere is counting on you.
-JS
This really happened. To make it even more apropos and even kind of hilarious: he was the preacher at an old church I went to as a child.
Center for Disease Control and Prevention. [2022] Changes in Suicide Rates — United States, 2019 and 2020
Center for Disease Control and Prevention. [2022] Leading causes of Death: WISQARS Leading Causes of Death Visualization Tool
Weir, E., & Wallington, T. [2001]. Suicide: The Hidden Epidemic. CMAJ: Canadian Medical Association Journal
Luoma, J.B., Martin, C.E., Pearson, J.L. [2022]. Contact With Mental Health and Primary Care Providers Before Suicide: A Review of the Evidence. The American Journal of Psychiatry, Volume 159, Number 6
Yes, I stole this phrase from the documentary of the same name. No, I do not recommend it. In fact, I strongly urge my readers to avoid it like the plague … a plague of poor health information and outrageous quack medical advice.
Therapy is THE BEST. Also, I'm so glad you're still here.
Man, I never knew you were having those thoughts even while we were doing the full biggie! I am so happy you got the help you needed and that you're in a much better place now.
Now, about that photo of you with Mickey.........