Dusty Wentworth

When I was told to “man up” after my subarachnoid haemorrhage, I just looked at my wheelchair and wondered: what does that even mean now? For as long as I can remember, “man up” has been one of those phrases thrown around casually—on parade squares, in workplaces, in pubs. It sounds simple, even motivational. But in reality, it’s loaded with expectation. It doesn’t just ask a man to be strong; it demands silence, emotional suppression, and the illusion of control. After my aneurysm ruptured, I woke up in a body that no longer played by the rules. PTSD, Functional Neurological Disorder, Fibromyalgia, and brain injury became daily realities. Pain, fatigue, tremors, memory lapses—none of it fits the cultural script of “unshakeable masculinity.” And yet, people still said it: “man up.” But here’s the truth: I’ve discovered more strength in vulnerability than I ever did in hiding behind a mask. Real courage has been admitting when I can’t do something, asking for help, or sittin...

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...