Masculinity when the protector needs protection

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A man in an orange wheelchair holds the front door open while his partner shelters him from the rain with an umbrella.


As a bodyguard, I knew where I was supposed to be if somebody was in danger. Between them and whatever was coming. I’d spent years in the infantry before that. I took it for granted that if someone I loved was in trouble, I’d be able to get to them.

Since my brain aneurysm ruptured, I’ve had to think about what happens if I’m the one they have to get to.

I can ask somebody to move something I can’t reach and get on with my day. What gets to me is the thought of being right there when someone I love needs me and being physically unable to help the way I once could. I miss the comfort of knowing I could step in if I had to.

I relied on other men all the time in the Army. I knew what I brought to the job, and so did they. If the bloke beside me gave me a hand, I knew I could do the same for him when he needed it.

It feels different when what you can do has changed for good. I’m grateful for the people who are there for me, and I still wonder when I’ll get to do for them what they’ve been doing for me.

I think plenty of men would recognise that, whatever they did for a living. Listen to how we talk about a good father or husband. ‘He always looked after us.’ There’s real affection in that. It might mean he came out in the middle of the night when the car broke down. It might mean he kept the bills paid when money was tight.

A man remembers those things when he asks himself whether he’s done right by his family. The trouble comes when they’re all he gives himself credit for. His family may have a longer list. They see how much effort goes into the jobs he once did without thinking. He’s busy comparing what he can do today with what he could do ten years ago.

I’d have my old physical ability back tomorrow if I could. I can spend all day thinking about what I’ve lost and be none the wiser about what my family needs from me now.

They might need me to talk through a decision with them, speak up when something’s wrong or take my share of a worry they’ve been carrying. I can do those things. They’re easy to overlook if I’m still thinking about whether I could get up and put myself between somebody and trouble.

I still want my family to feel safer for having me around. That’s a large part of what being a man has meant to me, and I expect it always will. Some of what I used to do for them may fall to somebody else now. Some of it may fall to them. I find that hard to swallow.

If I’m serious about looking after them, I have to ask what they need from me. Their answer has to count for more than my idea of what a protector ought to look like.


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