by Maureen Pollard

Maureen Pollard, Emotional Health Editor, MSW, RSW is a registered social worker with a private practice in Cobourg, Ontario. Visit her online at: maureenpollardmsw.com

February is celebrated as a time of love, and we like to snuggle in together to keep the cold of winter away. But love isn’t always easy. We learn this in all of the romantic comedies and dramas that show us the pitfalls and challenges of love. What we don’t see as often is that love is not always safe, either. 

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Some relationships turn dangerous. When one partner uses power and control to keep the other one isolated and vulnerable, it can sometimes lead to violence. As you get to know someone and your romantic relationship deepens, there are some red flags to watch for which suggest your partnership may not have a healthy balance:

They tell you you’re perfect and seem to put you on a pedestal. This can feel flattering at first, but, since perfection is an unrealistic expectation, eventually the person will realize you aren’t perfect. And since nobody’s perfect, that could be a problem.

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They don’t stop when you ask them to. Whether it’s making an annoying sound near you, tickling or some other generally unwelcome contact, if the person consistently ignores your boundaries once you’ve said, “stop,” that's a warning sign your needs and desires aren’t being considered important.

They want to keep the relationship secret or low profile. If your partner is really into you and all is well,  they should be happy to show the world that you’re together.

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They rush you through the stages of the relationship. They’re in a big, big hurry to spend every moment together, to move in together, or whatever the next step in your relationship might be. This can be a sign they don’t want to give you time to get to know them and reflect on how you feel.

They don’t like your family or friends. Sure, your boyfriend/girlfriend might dislike someone in your circle for some reason, but if they dislike everyone in your life, and don’t want you to spend time with anyone but them, it could be a sign they’re trying to isolate you from your support systems.

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They roll their eyes at you a lot, call you names, make fun of you or put you down. These behaviours all show serious disrespect toward you.  It may seem like they feel superior to you or that you are a burden. This sort of manipulation may make you feel they are doing you a favour by staying in the relationship, lowering your confidence and increasing your dependence on them.

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They’re incapable of apologizing. Or they apologize, but then they do the exact same thing again, which shows that they weren’t really remorseful, just trying to get you to calm down.

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They demand access to your phone, email and social media accounts. If they want to read all of your messages and need to know everything you’re doing, that’s a sign of some serious trust issues that could develop into a big problem.

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They use guilt, intimidation and threats to hurt you, or someone else (including themselves). If they use any of these tactics to try to get you to do things their way, or to do what they want you to do, there is a chance they could act on some of their threats by hitting you or becoming violent. If physical violence happens, it’s time to end the relationship. For more help with that, see our article “When it’s Time to Leave” in this issue. 

If you notice one of these red flags once in a while, someone could be having a bad day, or learning to be a better partner. If you are on the receiving end of any of these behaviours on a regular basis,  it’s time to reassess your relationship. And it is important to note that physical violence is never okay, not even one time.  If that happens, it’s time to end the relationship. Period. 

These tools can help:  

rhntc.org/sites/default/files/resources/fpntc_hlthy_rlshp_wheel_2019-03-01.pdf  

octevaw-cocvff.ca/dating-violence-a-safety-plan  

kidshelpphone.ca/topic/sex-relationships/dating-violence/

by Asante Haughton & Helena Nikitopoulos, ​for The 44 North

Foreword

by Helena 

While I am a woman myself, I empathize with the pressure society has instilled on our male population. I have never seen my father cry, nor have I seen a man cry without shame. What type of society is that? When women cry, we applaud them for their strength. Why can’t we do the same for our male counterparts — the men in our lives who are told to “stand up straight and smile,” even if they are silently carrying depression or the weight of everyday struggles? 

Why do we advocate for the freedom of expression except when it comes to men?

In rebuttal to this, I leave you with my thoughts on healthy masculinity in the hopes that we can open up more conversations about its impact and importance. 

Healthy masculinity is a term and practice that challenges harmful stereotypes, suggesting that men must be “tough” or conform to a narrow idea of what a man “should” be. Healthy masculinity encourages men to embrace all aspects of their true self, including their emotions of vulnerability, empathy, and authenticity. 

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While society might expect a man to shut down or hide his feelings from those around him, healthy masculinity takes an opposite stance; it makes space for vulnerability, for sharing one’s fears, grief, or hopes without shame. Supporting others who demonstrate healthy masculinity, encouraging their growth, and celebrating their successes are ways that men can show up for one another in healthy, positive ways. This can look like checking in on a friend who is struggling, listening without judgement, or complimenting a friend for putting their own well being first — all of which build a supportive, non-competitive environment.

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Another key element of healthy masculinity is rejecting the shame society places on men who do not conform to the ‘alpha male’ stereotype, refusing to let that narrative dictate their lives. Only by confronting these stereotypes directly and recognizing their harmfulness can one truly embody what healthy masculinity means. Emotional literacy — learning to identify, express, and regulate your feelings without fear of judgment — allows men to build stronger relationships and a deeper sense of self-awareness. Practice answering questions about yourself and your identity to hone in on who you are despite societal pressure: When do I feel most authentic in my actions and emotions? Which values truly guide my decisions? How do I express my emotions in my friendships and relationships? What strengths do I have beyond traditional ideas of masculinity?

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Of course, these ideas are easier to talk about than to put into practice. Many men grow up without seeing these qualities modeled in their homes, communities, or media which creates a gap between those who are exposed to healthy masculinity and those who are unsure of what it actually looks like. As a result, I encourage our male readers to discuss this article with your friends, your peers, and your mentors. I firmly believe that the more we have these conversations, the closer we get to defining — and embodying — “healthy masculinity.” Of course, be patient as you navigate these unsteady terrains. As Asante’s story reveals, you are meant to face trials and tribulations as you discover what healthy masculinity truly means, so do not let that discourage you. 

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As for us women, we should continue encouraging and supporting our male counterparts when they share something personal or vulnerable in order to create a space where men feel safe to open up without fear of judgement, ridicule, or dismissal. If feelings of discomfort or confusion come up the next time you see a man cry or express his vulnerability, ask yourself why. What beliefs or social “norms” might be shaping your reaction and do those beliefs truly align with the kind of empathy and equality you want to practice? After all, learning to be a more accepting and positive society does not just fall on the men but on us women as well—because only by coming together can we truly create a culture where everyone thrives. 

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A Brain Dump

from Asante 

I look behind me and cringe. There is a trail of hearts, broken and frayed, in my wake. The truth is jarring. I’m the one responsible. I never wanted to be a bad guy. But I was. And I often worry that I still am, even though I’m trying my best.

When I’ve caused harm I’ve often rested on the excuse that I was “trying”. I didn’t know any better. That is true. Well, partially. Sometimes I did know better, but prioritized my own feelings and desires anyway. I wonder if I made those decisions because of arrogance. Or immaturity. Or a lack of compassion. I placed myself above others, particularly many of the romantic partners — women — of my past. Of course, I’m not proud of this admission. But I must admit this nonetheless. I was the nice guy — manipulative in my generosity. I was the bad guy — dismissive, withdrawn, unreliable, willfully mysterious. I feigned goodness while living out many of the tropes of toxic masculinity. Don’t be sympathetic. I’m just being honest. 

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With respect to doing my best — I often told my romantic partners, who were upset with my behaviour, that I didn’t know how to be a partner. I didn’t witness any healthy romantic relationships in my household growing up. All of my friends came from single parent households. And my mother very intentionally raised me and my brothers away from the other men from my culture — Jamaica — hoping we wouldn’t become as bad as the men who had mistreated her and other women she’d known back home. Furthermore, the older men I was exposed to, regardless of ethnicity or nationality, weren’t exactly the kind of men I wanted to be like. They lied. They cheated. They conceptualized women as trophies, toys, and objects to conquer. I deigned to never be one of those guys. And yet…

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The media is a powerful force. Though I had very little contact with older men from whom to learn — good or bad, probably bad — as a very lonely child, a latchkey kid if you will, I was a copious consumer of media. And the guys in the media, even the good guys — the heroes in the story — upon closer examination are generally awful. So whether in real life, or in fiction, any examples of manhood I was exposed to lacked the features that a good man should hopefully exhibit. But these heroes, the good guys, became who I thought I should be.

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So, after intentionally shedding the most obvious of my bad boyfriend behaviours in my mid-20s, and after deciding to actually try my best as a partner and parent, I was still missing the mark. I wasn’t just off target, my darts weren’t even hitting the board. Each time I hurt someone I cared about, I committed to being better. I went on learning journeys consuming everything I could find on the internet about being a good guy — not the Andrew Tate, red pill, MGOTW type stuff but the actual supposed-to-be-helpful-stuff — and implemented it all as best I could. It worked marginally. Even when following all the advice I could find on the internet, I still sucked at being a good guy. The internet, as we know, provides surface level advice that lacks both depth and nuance (y’know, the stuff that truly defines personal relationships). More than that, the good guys authoring the content I consumed were likely “good” by their own estimation but not in reality. The quality of their advice wasn’t being measured by those in the best position to judge goodness, namely women. 

I had no teachers in real life who I trusted, none in media or works of fiction, and the advice section of the internet was inadequate. So where was I — am I — to learn how to be a good guy? I can’t keep putting the labour of teaching me on my partners, past and current. That’s not fair to them. 

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The missives explaining toxic masculinity tell you how not to be — but often don’t explain how to be. So I’m often left feeling lost, wondering where to turn for genuinely good wisdom and guidance on how to be the guy I want to be; the guy the people I love and people of all identities deserve. My compass is spinning. Where is my healthy masculinity north star?

On my quest to become a good guy I had to go farther. I explored many roads. The most important of which were lined with sign posts that pointed toward men like Jason Wilson, a martial arts teacher whose content centers around how he helps the boys and adolescent men in his dojo identify, process, and become accountable to their emotions and how they express them. The primary message? Experiencing negative emotions like hurt, shame, sadness, frustration and anger as a man is normal. They don’t make you weak. And it is better to feel them than to direct them toward others through violence and abuse in an effort to reclaim the false sense of masculinity men are conditioned to believe comes from dominance and displays of power that hurt others. Jason Wilson’s content has been immensely helpful in recognizing and unpacking the false ideas of masculinity that I was wearing like a cloak.

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Another sign post on my journey pointed me toward feminist scion, bell hooks. Particularly her work, “All About Love.” I was pointed toward this book by a friend who thought I would benefit from the wisdom within. It didn’t take long for me to get the message — love is comprised of actions that one commits to — it’s not a feeling. Love is to treat someone with kindness, respect, and gentleness. It is to consider someone’s past, present, and future condition and how one’s actions can either cause harm or bring solace across these dimensions. To be direct, to love someone is to treat them well and protect them from hurt derived from your actions. Love is action.

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The final signpost on my journey that I’ll mention is feminism itself. Disclaimer: I don’t purport to be a feminist. That is not a title any man should bestow upon himself. We, however, can learn from the experiences of women to listen and very deeply critically reflect on how constructions of manhood and patriarchy have been and continue to be harmful to women in all areas of life. The damage men have done and continue to do to women is pervasive. But here’s the kicker, the things we do that are harmful to women are also harmful to us as men as well. 

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Some expressions of masculinity men have come to accept as normal aspects of being a man — such as keeping one’s complex emotions to oneself, engaging in performative stoicism,  and utilizing violence to assert power — contribute to the loneliness more and more men are experiencing. It is difficult to maintain friendships and romantic relationships if one doesn’t approach others with thoughtful gestures, open communication, integrity, accountability, reliability, vulnerability, and actions that bring others closer as opposed to actions that create distance — the building blocks of intimacy.

With respect to the above, many men read these things as meaning they have to abandon any proclivities toward competition, healthy displays of physical strength, and the drive to protect their loved ones. This is not true. What we need to do is to integrate healthier modes of expression into our toolbox. In doing so, we gain the opportunity to fully express our humanity. And by creating less discord for others and within oneself, we will invite more love and happiness into our lives. 

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The journey toward being a good guy isn’t one of weakness, it is one of strength. To reflect on where I have failed and how I try to grow isn’t to garner sympathy or redemption points, it’s to help create more happiness for myself with the understanding that being a kind, compassionate, and emotionally healthy person will invite healthy relations from others. Most of all, my journey toward being a good guys is to be a good example for my two sons. My greatest priority as a parent is to raise good men. In order to do that I have to become a good man myself. I don’t know if I am yet — that’s not for me to decide. But I will keep trying every day. Because to be a good man and to raise good men, is to help create a better world for us all.

by Hailey Hechtman, ​for The 44 North

Contributing Writer X: @HaileyHechtman IG: @hailey.hechtman

Hailey Hechtman is a social impact leader and mental health advocate. She is passionate about inspiring positive change through community collaboration, constant learning and self-reflection. Watch her interview on 'Life Outside the Box' here.

“You look great! How’d you do it?”, “You must have such discipline!” “I bet you feel amazing”, I smiled politely and dove into the recounting of half-truths. I spoke to the healthy foods I was consuming, the workout routine that left me feeling energized. It wasn’t that these things weren’t true, they were just part of a larger, unspoken story that had been ruling my life for years. When I think back at the steady stream of compliments that flowed so easily from the mouths of friends and strangers alike, I feel both a fond appreciation for their light and a deep despair for their unknowing contribution to my inner monologue. Fueling the voice of my eating disorder with each and every validation. 

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By that time in my life, ever tangled with the shame of not being good enough and the conditional confidence that came with flickers of admiration, I had already experienced countless years of focus on my body. Growing up in a larger body, I recall the opposite attention. The snide comments from young boys, the side glances at what I was wearing, the discomfort that came from having to use that little side desk attached to my lecture hall chair that despite the amount of pressure I applied, could not and would not sit flat. 

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In my early 20s, I started down what at the time felt like a noble journey, I wanted to feel better in my skin, I wanted to be able to move more swiftly and have more energy pulsing through my veins. Innocently, I started incorporating short walks and adding in vegetables. My body began to change in ways that I had never experienced and then the comments flipped. There was an appreciation for my efforts, there was confirmation that I was on the right path. People were cheering me on. This felt good, warm.

As time went on and as the encouragement turned to requests for knowing my secret or glorification of the beauty that I had now amassed from my so-called success, that is when the darkness started to set in. Food turned to poison, movement turned to a prerequisite following every bite. As I became smaller, I became obsessive too. Every moment recounting what I had swallowed, each day tallying up the final count to ensure my perfect score. My eyes were shut to the world around me, my attention laser focused on what I looked like and how I could keep inching towards the beauty standard that I had always envied. Even in this time of fixated ambition, I still felt as though I was failing. The stretch marks that covered my body were a reminder of who I used to be, the loose skin showcasing that once I was someone else. This body, despite its significant size change, didn’t match the before and after perfection I was anticipating. 

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Throughout these years, engulfed by the eating disorder monster in my head, with a few minor exceptions of those closest to me who kindly pleaded for me to see how deep the claws were embedded into my back and encouraged me to seek help, everyone else cheered. The praise was both addictive and draining. It activated that reward center while simultaneously building up a stockpile of anxiety, shame and self-consciousness. I know to this day that the vast majority of those who I spoke to at that time meant no harm, they like many in society, have been conditioned to see someone who has gone from a larger body to a smaller one as a prize to behold, and without thinking patted the eating disorder monster on its head triumphantly. 

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Throughout my recovery, I have thought about this: had I been in a smaller body from the start would the alarm bells have rung? If I had taken on the look typically associated with those struggling with ED would that have changed the narrative? Would it have led them to direct me towards help rather than towards the mirror to stare at what I had “achieved”? 

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What does it mean for us to perceive success without questioning the object of our admiration? How does assuming someone’s experience impact the safety they feel speaking honestly to their experience? 

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I think about that friend that we all have who is working around the clock. They are hustling, they are striving to climb the ladder, they are getting promotions or building their business or working more contracts than there are waking hours in the day. We look at them and we think “wow, they’ve made it.” Next time we see them we shower them with awe. That job, that apartment, that outfit—clearly, they are killing it. But what if they are not? What if they are past the point of burnout? What if they are waking up with a pit of worry, chronically overwhelmed with what lay ahead of them?

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Then there is that classmate that is always such a good time at parties. We see them out every night, they are drinking, dancing, crawling into bed at 5am. We run into them in the hallway of our building and invite them out, nudging them with “you are always the life of any party.” Did you know that they are working through addiction, that the days of constant drinking comes from a place of hurt that they cannot seem to shake, that alcohol has become a support system to numb the feelings that they are not yet ready to unpack? 

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None of them, not our friend bogged down by burnout, nor our classmate silently suffering with addiction or my 20-something self obsessed with every calorie want to disappoint you. None of them want to cut you off mid-compliment to let you know the sheer mental force of their pain. They want to shine brightly, they want to take your praise with pride and give you the thank you that you have been reaching for. They want to read you the formula for their so-called success or list of resources that have built those skills that you so look up to. 

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So how do we then reframe? How do we move away from these automatic responses, these impulses to assume without having the complete story? 

We take a moment to inquire. We ask the person how they are feeling.  We mention that we have noticed this big life event, this milestone or this trait that we are curious about. We normalize these conversations. We create space for each person to come out of that shame spiral and instead speak to the realness of their struggles so that those who are still buried deep below can see and hear it. We learn instead to compliment the qualities in the people around us--- “I love how kind you are”, “I really value your sense of humor”, “I enjoy your eclectic taste in music and your first-class book recommendations.” By seeing the core of someone as what they bring to the world rather than the way that they look or the checkboxes on their Game of Life milestones list, we hush the inner monologue and activate that inner child who just wants to be loved for who they are.

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Before you run out and apologize to anyone who you have ever showered with admiration before sense-checking their circumstances, first remember to give yourself grace. It is so ingrained in our humanity to praise based on what we see right in front of us. Instead of belittling those past interactions or over-analyzing the dialogue between yourself and your best friend at brunch last week, embrace that this is a new practice that you can take with you as you connect with others moving forward. It takes intentionality, it takes conscious thought to move away from a typical pattern. By adding these communication strategies, you are building not only your own conversational toolkit but modelling this way of connecting to all those you meet from here on out and that is something worth celebrating.