Becoming a real man A man’s journey to freedom

In the world we live in today, there is a social construct built around the emotions of men. My name is Akashinga Maisiri and the pain I feel bypasses all logic and reason. My name means brave one in Shona; the language of my fathers yet I am the captive of my inhabited emotions. For many years, I had avoided the pain and suffering of my life to ensure my survival. Repressing my emotions seemed to be my perfect coping mechanism. I became a natural stoic with a pretty high pain threshold, yet I was struggling to make sense of the silent screams of anguish. My thoughts were more chaotic than poetry or soul; a whirling, swirling myriad of feelings and emotions that was hotter than a volcano and deeper than the oceans.

They say a bad parent was a traumatised child, caught in the fires of their own suffering, their thoughts more hurricane than poetry or soul. I guess that’s right. In that exists the arduous path that I was about to journey through, never realizing the bigger picture until I gazed at the purity in my newborn’s eyes. I didn’t want my childhood traumas to show up in my own parenting. There I was, holding my little girl in a harness, her squishy baby belly pressing against my chest while she grew heavy with sleep. I was entrapped in a beautiful protective web of emotions to give, nurture and guard her. It was propelling me to be the best version of myself, to rewind, to cast away the cynicism of the poisons that I had buried alive in my past.

As I stepped into the shade of our tree-lined street, it hit me: an incredibly warm, melty glow of euphoria. It began in my heart and rushed through every appendage, leaving me giddy yet deeply at peace — and on the verge of tears. Everything seemed to slow down. I almost stopped to catch my breath.

It was powerful, and it was weird. Yet at the time, I couldn’t write it off as just a nice moment. It was a feeling I wanted to hold on to for the rest of my life. I internalized it and consciously expressed what I felt with a smile. My wife and I had started a family, I was a father now, and it felt amazing.

It opened my eyes to understand something that I was learning to know to be true. There is a misconstrued meaning to masculinity. Most men in society fall into this endless circle, leading to high depression and suicide rates amongst men. Learning to show our emotions and express them can be difficult in a society that doesn’t think you should. At that moment, I let my baby girl’s shimmering eyes lead me. It became my compass, the needle spinning to help me find wholeness, her true north and mine.

I began to push through my life experiences; the murders of my three sisters, growing up with a narcissist father, and my mother’s mental illness. As a five-year-old, I was already indoctrinated to regard exploitation and disregard love. More than ever, I decided to push past every societal narrative and family myth that had dictated that emotions are wrong, shameful, or a sign of weakness.

Act like a man!

These words were screamed at me. I was only a child. How could I act like a man, or were they mistaken? Whenever I pondered on this; I broke out in cold sweat, my heart pounding in my ears and legs trembling as I tried so hard to fill the boots that were obviously too big for my feet. I was never allowed to see my own fear, for it was ever a disadvantage in the place where I was raised. To cry was to be beaten and scolded. If I cried I’d be “given something to cry about.” The act of crying for my own pain was literally beaten out of me. Suppressed completely. I was only allowed to show emotions that were associated with dominance or strength; those viewed as masculine. Whenever I tried to outwardly express contrary emotions, those words hit again: “Act like a man! Real men don’t cry”.

So, I began acting like a man

I became an apathetic thespian in this stage of life without an audience but myself. A strong and stoic man without a tear, well-composed, taking full responsibility for my actions and those of others. A man that masks his emotions and exhibits nothing but strength and agility, a man according to social constructs, and a man that fits the narrative: “Men don’t cry”.

Was I really a real man?

I know, in the serenity of solitude, when I am in my own company, and when the only heart beating in my house belonged to me, I am constantly tormented by my inner- demons. Sets changing, giving way for a new dialogue with myself. I’m sprawled by the side of my bed, head buried in the sheets soaked with the tears I hide from society. So, I question: if men don’t cry, am I a real man?

How could I be?

The ebbs and flows of all my bottled-up emotions were constantly weighing down on me. When the frustration builds and I think I might explode – I take a deep breath. I turn on the music, speakers on full blast, shower running, but I’m not in it. Masking the sound of my wails; I shout and scream, have a tantrum and beat my hands on the ground like a toddler. I vent, letting it all out in a full-force emotional hurricane. I am almost engulfed in its vortex and, with each jibe, I feel the winds clipping my core. But as tempting as it is to remain a prisoner, to maintain the stereotypical masculine image of toughness, I knew I had to fight my way through every barrier.

Men don’t cry

Then I asked: Is there an existing man who has never shed a tear, a man who never wept? Even Jesus wept. Show me a man born without emotions. Nobody could. So, I changed the narrative. It is hypocritical in every sense to let a man laugh but not cry. Real men do cry. Part of what makes us human is our ability to feel our feelings and process our emotions. When we’re happy, we want to smile and show excitement. When we’re angry, our body tenses up and our voice level rises. When we’re sad, we naturally want to cry.

Autumn equinox A reflective ritual

A few weeks after Tipkamol turned twenty-five, she visited her grandaunt, Ratana who lived in a popular riverside village located at the foot of a mountain. Tipkamol had rented a cabin 1km west of her grandaunt’s jungalow and 2km north of the Pia River because her grandaunt; Ratana was all for sweating it out; no air-conditioning. Tipkamol wasn’t ready for a long lecture stating how the world was burning, and air conditioning was undoubtedly a factor in that. She would be reminded that the hydrofluorocarbons, the refrigerants used in a/c units, are far more potent greenhouse gases than carbon dioxide or methane. Grandaunt Ratana was a preservationist; observing the effects of global warming on the tropical environment, and learning about the indigenous Thai people.

After a plate of mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, and noodles in a green sauce, they ate melted cheese served with sweet blue grapes as they sat on Ratana’s wooden floor. They casually drink tea while discussing and laughing out loud until deep into the night. At last, Ratana said, “maybe it’s about time you went to your cabin.” Tipkamol crawled up and walked to the door.

“It’s completely dark outside,” she shrieked and shut the door immediately. Grandaunt Ratana lit the lantern and said, “Why not take this?” Just as Tipkamol was about to take the lamp from her grandaunt’s hands, Ratana blew out the flame. Tipkamol was surprised but she suspected it could be a prelude to one of Ratana’s Zen teachings. Yes, she was right.

“It is not just another night; in a few hours, the sun will be exactly above the Equator and day and night will be of equal length. It’s another equinox Tipkamol!” Ratana announced excitedly.

Grandaunt Ratana held Tipkamol by the hand into the darkness and they walked along an unlit footpath through a field into an open scenery. “Darkness is a thing many have come to fear and shy away from. It has become a metaphor for evil and depression, a place held at bay by our electric-lit world. But we must not shut ourselves from our natural surroundings, we must embrace the novelty of the night. A deep unfamiliar sound roused Tipkamol from her reverie and Ratana told her it was the cronk call of a raven ahead. They continued walking as the breeze caressed their faces.

“The Autumn Equinox is a meaningful time of year to honor the harvest. Whether of a “real” harvest of the things planted in your garden or the harvest of efforts and intentions for your life path that you set earlier in the year,” explained Ratana.

Thick cloud cover prevented the moonlight from illuminating their way ahead. Yet, as their eyes began to get used to the darkness, the landscape around them revealed itself in a new light – albeit a shady one. “Walking at night is a powerful way of reconnecting. When your vision is reduced, your other senses are sharpened,” Ratana stated as the night became chilly and darker.

Tipkamol was so engrossed in her Grandaunt’s talk that she barely knew they were back at her Grandaunt’s half-timbered facade. “Like other seasonal transitions, the autumnal equinox is celebrated in cultures around the world. For instance, a few years ago, I witnessed the Mabon festival celebrated in Thornborough Henges in North Yorkshire. It was such a delight; it typically involved apple picking, feasting, and making an altar for the Celtic god of harvest. Also in Japan, practitioners of Buddhism honour the dead during the six-day holiday of Higan, celebrated during both equinoxes. Indigenous cultures recognized earth-based wisdom and understood that the four focal points of the year: the Winter Solstice, Spring Equinox, Summer Solstice, and Autumn Equinox; are illuminated stages of an inner spiritual journey – a spiritual cycle that the individual takes within themselves,” Ratana expounded passionately.

They both got onto the wooden porch and sat in the recliners as Ratana continued, “The changing seasons are key points in the cycle of life in nature, and within this cycle, many ancient cultures perceived a powerful deeper message for humanity. The many elements of autumn either intrinsically deliver happiness or trigger memories of past joy from which we can keep taking bites, as from a freshly baked apple pie. While we celebrate the seasonal joys, we should remind ourselves that they are blazes on a trail that goes deep into a beautiful forest of wisdom and meaning.”

“On the Autumn Equinox you may want to honour all that you have in your life and shift your consciousness from one of lack to one of prosperity and gratitude in some ways through a small ritual or ceremony,” she advised.

“Would you care to join me for my favorite ritual?” she asked. “I take the 15 minutes before and 15 minutes after the precise moment of the equinox to sit quietly on the ground in thoughtfulness and meditation and open my mind and my senses to the intelligence of nature all around,” Grandaunt Ratana disclosed. “In this time spent in thoughtfulness around the moment of equal light and equal dark, I acknowledge my personal growth cycle and ask for harmony and balance to be the fertilizer in the soil of my life’s garden,” she added.

Ratana went on to prepare the Autumn Equinox ritual on her perfectly rolled lawn. She placed a red candle in the center of a dish, made a circle of salt around the edge, then placed rose petals over the salt. Ratana repeated the process on another side. Some minutes later, she invited Tipkamol into one of the circles. They sat facing each other, cross-legged in a half-lotus position. They took some time to get comfortable, sitting peacefully and breathing in and out to calm their minds. They lit the candles and upon the Autumn Equinox, amid the chilly air, beneath the noble starry black, they observed the beauty of the moon giving thanks. They visualized their minds, bodies, and spirits being cleansed, with new doors opening for them as they transitioned with the planet.

So Absurd, It Must Be True Are spirit spouses responsible for sexsomnia?

My fiancé and I were driving home one evening as he had just picked me up from the hospital where I worked. His office was afew kilometres from mine. He turned on the car radio and tuned to a local radio station. A radio jingle from a well-known church in our city was playing. It was assiduously advertising a two-day deliverance crusade. The less-than-a-minute jingle insinuated that women who were over thirty and weren’t married had “spirit husbands”. It repeatedly echoed, “Come and bedelivered from your spirit husbands and be married within seven days.” It was so ridiculous that I started laughing. I found itabsurd that spirit husbands could be in any way a reason why women over thirty were unmarried. To my utmost dismay, my fiancé seemed to believe in the perception of spirit husbands and he was actually amazed that I had never heard about this phenomenon. He said it was common talk everywhere. So he took some time to enlighten me.

The concept of spirit spouse is a prevalent ideology of mysticism, dispersed through various cultures and religions around the world. Often, these spirit husbands or wives are primarily accused of sexually arousing and harassing their victims while they are asleep which often leads to subsequent ejaculation in men. They wake up to a hard penis that just ejaculated. For women, they are sexually aroused which leads to vaginal wetness and awaking to experience an orgasm.

Oh, really! Men do have spiritual wives too.

I giggled.

Of course, but spiritual husbands are more common. Some women sleep through their climax. The ones who have orgasms while sleeping are not able to say with certainty if they had orgasms during their sleep or not which makes it spookier because their spiritual husband wiped it off their memory through demonic manipulation.

Demonic manipulation?

I interrupted.

Do you truly believe in these kinds of superstitions? Why have you ruled out the thought that this said victim could be having a wet dream or is aroused by his or her mind recreating an event that happened during the day

I jolted his thoughts.

Basically, wet dreams do not occur with manual or spirit stimulation, but instead as a result of natural processes.

I said agitatedly, turning down the radio because the jingle was up again.

Natural as in the you-can’t-stop-thinking-about-how-hot-your-waiter-was-before-you-fell-asleep type of vibes.

Oh, come on! These things do happen and it’s normal. There is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, supernatural or demonic about sexual arousal in your sleep or even orgasm.

Sexual arousal happens during REM sleep: During the REM stage in sleep, the blood flow in the pelvic region gets boosted. This leads to erection in men and vaginal wetting in women. Sexual arousal can occur when one watches erotic films, masturbates or even after sexual intercourse. A lot of times, many people are brought awake to find themselves sexually aroused or having had/still having a sexual orgasm.

Aaaahhh! You haven’t seen or heard anything yet. These things are more than just wet dreams. I recently watched a video online of a lady making love to the air in her bed at night. She was actively doing every sexual move.

I have been a clinical psychologist for eight years and in all my years of practice at home and abroad, I haven’t heard anything this silly.

Look at you. It’s because you were schooled abroad and practised a few years there before returning. Now you’re practising in one of the biggest hospitals in the city where your clients are mostly the highest social strata. They wouldn’t come to you with the issues of spiritual spouses.

He teased.

These things do happen but there are no spirit husbands in the picture. The lady in question may have a sleep disorder.

Sleep disorder?

Yes sleep disorder. It is called sexsomnia also known as sleep sex. It is considered a type of parasomnia, an abnormal activity, behaviour, or experience that occurs during deep sleep. As with other parasomnias, such as sleepwalking, sleep talking, and sleep driving, sexsomnia could be caused by a disruption while the brain is moving between deep sleep cycles. These disturbances are often called confusion arousals (CAs).

See, the words you used to describe these behaviours were abnormal and confusion arousal yet you say it’s normal. Come off it my dear, spiritual things do exist and some women have spiritual husbands. Our God is not a God of confusion so this behaviour is from the pit of hell, the pit of hell I say.

He growled holding the steering wheel firmly.

Gosh! This is ridiculous. Ok, as a sociologist who has been a bank representative for a few years now and I know you’re a firm believer in Freud’s psychodynamic theories. Freud’s theory of dreams suggests that dreams represent unconscious desires, thoughts, wish fulfilment, and motivations. Even you should know that.

Freud’s theory contains some elements of truth. However, it is not wholly true. All dreams are not direct or indirect fulfilments. There are several counter arguments to Freud’s theories. So you better not

I better not what? You of all people should know better. These conditions are real and treatable but not by deliverance. One must first see a professional and get a diagno…

The car came to an abrupt stop. We were in front of my block of flats.

I love you, and I respect you. Let’s speak about this later when we are both kinder and ready to see each other’s point of view.

I will come over for lunch tomorrow

He said kissing my right hand.

The well-intentioned conversation had grown into an argument that was reductive, pointless and exhausting. So I stopped, stepped out of the car and walked into my apartment quietly.