Dusty Wentworth

  Modern masculinity is caught between conflicting messages. At one extreme, men are offered a loud, performative version of manhood built around aggression, dominance, wealth, physical appearance and the need to be seen as powerful. At the other, traditionally masculine qualities are treated with such suspicion that strength is confused with aggression, restraint with emotional repression, authority with oppression and protectiveness with control. Neither extreme offers men, particularly young men, a useful model by which to live. One tells them that manhood must be constantly proved. The other can leave them wondering whether manhood itself is something for which they should apologise. Perhaps that is why an old saying continues to carry so much weight: Manners maketh man. The language belongs to another age. The principle does not. The wisdom behind old words Many traditional sayings contain ideas that remain relevant even when their wording needs updating. “A man’s word is his ...

  When Disability Becomes Content: Who Gets to Tell the Truth? I am not a disability creator. I am a writer who happens to be disabled, lives with chronic illness and pain, and uses a wheelchair. That distinction matters to me. Disability informs much of my writing because it affects almost every area of my life. It influences how I travel, work, spend money, access public spaces and plan even the most ordinary day. But it is not the entirety of who I am, nor do I want everything I produce to be reduced to symptoms, seizures and suffering. My blog allows me to explore the complexity that social media often strips away. It is now read in 47 countries across six continents. My articles have also been published elsewhere, including in The Male Psychology Magazine . That is where I do the heavy lifting. Social media is primarily how I publicise that writing. It also gives me a way to share shorter pieces of honest lived experience, particularly for people trying to understand a new dia...

  The Public Loves Resilience Because It Costs Them Nothing Resilience is one of those words people like to use about disabled people. They say it with admiration. They say it with warmth. They say it as though it is always a compliment. But I have become wary of the word. Not because resilience is false. Disabled people are often resilient. Chronically ill people are often resilient. People living with pain, trauma, neurological conditions, fatigue, mobility loss, and bodies that no longer obey instruction often have to adapt in ways most people never see. The problem is not resilience itself. The problem is how easily society praises it while refusing to ask why so much of it is necessary in the first place. Resilience is praised most loudly by people who do not have to pay the cost of it. That is the uncomfortable truth. When a disabled person manages to leave the house, people see determination. They do not see the planning behind it. They do not see the medication, the pacing,...

  Why Disability Pride Month Isn't for Me July marks Disability Pride Month. For many disabled people, it is a time to celebrate identity, community and acceptance. I genuinely respect that. Everyone has the right to decide what disability means to them. Personally, however, it is not something I identify with. If I could wake up tomorrow free from Functional Neurological Disorder, Fibromyalgia, PTSD, the lasting effects of a ruptured brain aneurysm, and the limitations that made me a full-time wheelchair user, I would do so without hesitation. I do not feel pride in becoming disabled. I feel pride in adapting to it. There is an important difference. My disability has changed how I live my life, but it has never changed who I am. I am a husband, a father, a writer, a veteran and a friend. I happen to be disabled. It is part of my life, not the definition of my identity. That is why Disability Pride Month has never resonated with me. None of this is a criticism of those who find mea...

There is a quiet, painful irony in modern writing: the very mark of punctuation once used to capture the rhythm of human thought—the em dash—is now often treated as a tell-tale sign of artificial intelligence. It seems strange that a simple line could lead to an accusation of machine writing, yet in our rush for ‘content’, rhythm and expression are now met with suspicion. I remember when writing was taught with care. We learnt about structure, tone and the weight of a pause. Penmanship mattered. Words were crafted with intention, not mass-produced. Those of us who came before Google, before mobile phones and home computers, grew up with typewriters, pens and paper. We thought electric typewriters were cutting-edge. Writing meant thought and effort, not algorithms and templates—a distinction young writers now struggle to grasp. The em dash was once a writer’s most faithful ally. It carried a change of thought, a shift in emotion, a breath between words. It wasn’t decoration;...

Two years ago, my life changed in an instant. I had no idea that one ordinary morning would mark the beginning of a journey that would test every part of who I am. October 23rd, 2023 — a date that changed my life forever. It began like any other day, until suddenly it wasn’t. I collapsed without warning at home. When the ambulance arrived, stroke was ruled out, but that was only the beginning of what would become a long and life-altering journey. Doctors didn’t think I’d survive. Yet somehow, I did. ‎ The Eleven-Month Inpatient Battle What followed were eleven long months as an inpatient — three different hospitals, two stints at a Neurological Rehabilitation Centre, and countless challenges along the way. I was fighting battles not only for my health, but for my identity, my independence, and ultimately, my future. Those months were some of the hardest of my life. Every day brought new challenges: learning to move again, to speak clearly, to remember, to rebuild. The neuro...