It’s Monday, and I’m taking a sick day.
No, not a “mental health” day (although sometimes those are
desperately needed).
A legit, “I feel like absolute crap” sick day.
And I’m embarrassed by it. I’m embarrassed to express the
vulnerability – the weakness – of needing to say, “I can’t do this today.”
I’m a grown man, and so of course I should
soldier on and go to work. Right???
Because hey: “dad’s don’t take sick days”:
Part of the reason I don’t like taking sick days is because
there’s also this assumption/stereotype that when men get sick, they become
babies:
Why is that? Why all
the male-bashing?
Unfortunately, men have learned (the hard way) not to
open up. Not
to our friends, not to our
girlfriends & wives, etc. So we keep it in.
We keep everything in.
Because let's face it, a man isn't worth anything if he can't produce income, make something of himself (is this why Paul so that he who doesn't work is worse than a nonbeliever? 1 Timothy 5:8). We love the concept of a self-made man in America but everyone is a product of the company they keep.
Because let's face it, a man isn't worth anything if he can't produce income, make something of himself (is this why Paul so that he who doesn't work is worse than a nonbeliever? 1 Timothy 5:8). We love the concept of a self-made man in America but everyone is a product of the company they keep.
So could it be that, when we are sick and physically weak – when
we are finally allowed to be vulnerable – that the floodgates burst and
we become almost incapacitated (according to the stereotype)?
Here’s my question: How sick do I have to be to feel okay
about taking a day off? How weak do I need to be to confess, “I can’t come to
work today”?
- My head throbs with no movement and aches even worse with any movement whatsoever (for which taking headache meds).
- My nose runs so bad that it drips with little-to-no warning (taking pseudo-fed, using a vapor rub, and a Vick’s “inhaler” laced with menthol).
- My throat is so scratchy that I make every attempt possible to minimize talking in order to avoid coughing (so much so that it makes me want to throw back cough drops like nobody’s business).
(This is not me bragging; I’m simply listing the facts of my
health at the moment.)
But I also am not used to being vulnerable enough to allow
interdependence – to allow someone else to take care of me, to meet a need that
I can’t take care of on my own.
In the wounds we take while growing up (see link for “not to
our friends” above), we learn to become very guarded. We don’t open up because
we don’t want to become (even more) hurt (than we already are).
For men, taking care of everyone else with no one to take
care of us takes quite a toll on our hearts, our mental toughness. Always
trudging on because of discipline and not from a core of genuine strength
leaves us playing the part without feeling like we can.
So when we become sick, it allows us to truly be ourselves
in expressing that weakness. As Stu Sheppard said in
Phoneboooth:
“I’ve been dressing up as something I’m not for so long; I’m so afraid you won’t like what’s underneath. But here I am: I’m just flesh and blood. And weakness.”
So let’s stop shaming people for expressing weakness.
Let’s allow people to open up and be vulnerable to
receive the relational food – the love – that we all need.
Let’s find ways to empower others to be as
self-sufficient as possible.
And let’s look out for one another’s good enough where we
can become interdependent and actually need each other.
