Dusty Wentworth

You often hear people, after a major life event, talk about some kind of rebirth — how they’ve discovered a new passion for life and no longer want to waste a minute. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t reborn. I was broken. At first, I was confused, angry, suicidal. I grieved for the man I used to be — because he was gone. What was left felt like a shell: no identity, no sense of self, and the crushing weight of being a burden on my wife. I couldn’t see how life could hold any purpose or meaning anymore. The Day Everything Changed On 23rd October 2023, I collapsed at home and was rushed to hospital. Stroke was ruled out, but scans revealed I had an ACA aneurysm. Errors and delays meant that by the time doctors carried out a lumbar puncture, the 12-hour window for accurate results had already passed. It wasn’t done until 16 hours later, making it inconclusive. Instead, I was diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) — a debilitating condition that disrupts signals between ...

In the aftermath of war, injury, and illness, survival doesn't end on the battlefield. For men like me—veterans who returned home with invisible wounds such as PTSD, and who later developed chronic conditions like fibromyalgia and functional neurological disorder—the battle continues daily. It continues in the body, in the mind, and in the social expectations placed upon us. And increasingly, it continues in a cultural climate that frames masculinity not as complex, but as dangerous. Masculinity as Survival, Not Threat The term “toxic masculinity” has gained mainstream traction over the last decade, largely due to social campaigns highlighting domestic violence, workplace harassment, and male mental health. While these conversations are necessary, they often fail to draw distinctions between maladaptive behaviour and survival traits. Traits such as stoicism, assertiveness, and risk-taking—which are often labelled as “toxic”—are also the very traits that many men, partic...

A family day out to Lowestoft: masculinity, memory, disability, and sugar-fuelled mayhem. ☕ Morning Mayhem, Meds, and Mobilisation We woke to the unmistakable clatter of the bin men — too late for the garden waste, again. That sort of domestic defeat where you just sigh into your slippers and accept it. Coffee became the consolation prize. While the kettle hissed, I began my usual breakfast — 14 tablets, swallowed one by one in silence. Not exactly a fry-up, but my body has its own checklist before the rest of me is allowed to function. Still half-asleep, I cradled my coffee like a shield while the kids launched their morning offensive: Can we get chips? Are we having ice cream? Can we paddle? Their enthusiasm came in rapid bursts — relentless, chaotic, but hilarious. I negotiated a ceasefire long enough to pack the car. The power chair made the cut today — the manual’s fine when I’m steady, but energy is a currency I need to spend wisely. With snacks, sun cream, and a heal...