I should be more vulnerable, they say. I should learn to express my feelings and be comfortable with having a wider variety of emotions than just anger. I should drop my gruff guard, let people in, and really connect with them on a deep level. I should open up about my problems and communicate them well. I should cry. I should not try to ‘man up’ at all costs, I should not be afraid to ask for help, and above all, I should stop trying to prove my masculinity and strength all the time.

I should be more vulnerable, they say. I should learn to express my feelings and be comfortable with having a wider variety of emotions than just anger. I should drop my gruff guard, let people in, and really connect with them on a deep level. I should open up about my problems and communicate them well. I should cry. I should not try to ‘man up’ at all costs, I should not be afraid to ask for help, and above all, I should stop trying to prove my masculinity and strength all the time.

I should drop my hard shell and show my soft belly.

So I do. I talk about the things that matter to me, the things I struggle with, about the daily challenges I face. I say how horrible it feels to be constantly ignored and rejected on the dating scene. How hard it can be to find strength and confidence when much of what society taught me about performing my gender is morally wrong. How depressing it is to be constantly sexually frustrated. How pathetic it is to feel desired so rarely, while constantly curating and curbing all the desire I’m bursting with. How dispiriting to be routinely treated as guilty until proven innocent, to have others see me as a potential threat just because of my gender.

And then it starts.

I know where they are coming from. I know they are right to be angry and that they say what they say because they have experienced harm. I know that on average, women still suffer more than men. I even know they are just a vocal minority, and most people don’t think that. And yes, I know there are bigger problems in the world than mine.

But does that mean my feelings can be invalidated?

There is always someone out there who has bigger problems, but the authors of those tweets would hardly be happy if I replied: ‘Oh boo-hoo, you got catcalled. People are dying in Ukraine; get some perspective!’ In fact, I believe that drawing attention to the importance of recognising and validating our feelings is one of the greatest achievements of feminism. And feminism, I hear, is about gender equality.

So, can I be vulnerable and talk about the things that actually matter to me? Can I cry without being ridiculed? Are my emotions valid? Or am I too male to be allowed my own feelings?

If I do expose my belly, how long until somebody kicks me?

It’s the saint/slut dilemma: male edition. Shell/belly. If you don’t get out of your shell to make yourself vulnerable and open about your feelings, they will bash you for perpetuating harmful male stereotypes and failing to change. If you do, they will smell your soft belly a mile away and come kick it in, invalidating your emotions and making you feel shit for having such pathetic and insignificant problems.

I am one of the lucky ones. I have an extremely supportive partner with whom I can be entirely open, a great circle of friends I can talk to about anything, men’s groups I can discuss things with. They are my shield. But what if you don’t have that?

People who get kicked in the belly have a curious tendency: they are too busy hiding back into their shells to think whether they deserved it or not, whether the kicker has a good point, is justified, or has a perspective worth considering. I might ponder those questions from behind my shield, but they are too busy learning to hate whoever kicks them. Learning never to expose their soft bellies again. Learning to hang out with people who tell them that whoever kicked them is evil. And it doesn’t matter if those people are right or wrong, because they have the undeniable advantage of not kicking you in the belly.

I am not writing this to criticise anyone or demand anything. We all have our reasons for acting the way we do, and I know nothing of the traumas that might cause somebody to lash out. I am writing this because I don’t think that there is much appreciation for how confusing it is to be a man these days. How many mixed messages we are getting. How difficult it is to negotiate our own feelings, desires, limitations, and weaknesses with what is expected of us. How much resolve it takes to persevere in becoming a better person. So often, calls for men to change make it sound as if this change was as easy as putting new socks on. In reality, it is very hard and, unfortunately, often made even harder by some of those who call for it the loudest.