Some poignant words about male loneliness

Let’s be blunt: much of what appears on social media is dross. But, very occasionally, something pops up which is poignant, thought-provoking and profound. One such item was a thread recently posted on X (formerly known as Twitter) by my friend Michael Merrick.

Michael has a background as a primary school teacher in the north of England. I thought I would share his words with you. They may resonate. At the very least, I think they highlight how our society has become far more atomised in recent years, and the personal challenges this has created for some men.

OK, Twitter, I’m going to write something here that I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing up until recently, and which I might end up regretting. It’s personal and going to make me feel vulnerable and might invite ridicule; please be charitable.

So, to be blunt: I feel really lonely. I don’t mean I’m alone. I have a wonderful wife and wonderful children and come across lots of wonderful people in my work. I am not in any way isolated. But, as a bloke, with all the appearances of doing OK, a lot of the time I feel lonely.

I think what I mean by this is: I miss male companionship. The kind of friendship and social routines I watched my dad and grandad have when I was growing up: the club, the cricket, the dominoes, the darts, the allotment, the bridge, the billiards, the worked-together-for-decades workmates.

My roots are more shallow: I have moved around a lot, followed the social mobility dream, and so have always felt like an outsider in a place. But, more than that, my world is different to theirs: my work and my family are my life. I work long hours to provide for them; I come home and try to be a good dad and husband and do my share; and to be honest there’s not much time left for anything else.

Which I don’t resent at all. I know how fortunate I am and how indulgent this may sound. I cringe as I write. And I think the only thing that gives me the courage to offer this up for the criticism it may well deserve is that I know I am not alone in feeling this way.

It’s hard to talk about – you invite feelings of self-doubt and open yourself up to criticism or ridicule. After all, one ready explanation is that you’re not very amiable – something those with unkind intent are more than ready to point out.

In addition, it’s an established trend in data on this that whilst men might give all the indicators of being lonely when asked questions in which that word is not used, their response rate drops dramatically as soon as you mention the word lonely. We don’t like to admit it. It strikes at something fundamental, our sense of self and status and duty.

After all, it’s our job, right? To be the strong one, uncomplaining, dutiful. You just get on with it, don’t you?

Still, over recent weeks a few things have happened that made me think it is worth being honest. First, I have had messages or conversations with people who feel similar. Blokes who seem to be doing all right in life. Who are, on the surface, well put-together – professionally successful, respectable, confident.

Secondly, seeing this video. It is beautiful.

Thirdly, this [chart] genuinely scares the sh*t out of me. Lots of blokes know someone who has been here. I don't have the words for it.

I don’t know what the answer is, but one small request: please don't try and help by explaining to men how their masculinity is the problem. Men don’t necessarily want to talk; they just want to do stuff together. In other words: they're lonely. It’s not about having people to talk to, but having a group of people to do stuff with. And for a whole host of different reasons – theories on this can wait for another day - there’s a bunch of blokes who don’t feel they have this.

As for my own feelings, of course some of it is context-specific. Treading carefully on this next bit, as I know this could provoke a reaction, but … I have complete sympathy for those women who say how difficult it can sometimes be as the only woman in the room; I believe them completely. Why? Because often I experience this from the other direction, and I understand that pointing this out is not at all to criticise the other people in the room, but is to try and put into words something inchoate that nonetheless seems to matter.

I also worry about opening up a can of worms here because you don’t want to get hijacked into tedious culture war nonsense, with angry people on the internet complaining about the abolition of male spaces or the demonisation of the working-class male or the degradation of the masculine.

For every charmer shrugging their shoulders unsympathetically at male challenges and pointing out they deserve it and women have it much worse, there’s a bloke doing the same from the opposite direction blaming women for the decline of man. I just think this is so silly and harmful and I have little time for either. We should care about the well-being of each other.

Anyway, it’s out there now, so here’s the final thing, and the reason I wrote this thread. I know there are others, perhaps in my own line of work, superficially doing OK, but who might feel the same, who have spent the years bottling it up or just getting on with it. So an open offer - if this has hit a nerve with you, I’d say: reach out. It doesn’t have to be me, but if you want to, my DMs are open. I don’t have a plan or any answers, but I can listen and at the very least chew the cud. And if you’re local, I’ll meet you for a beer some day.

Michael can be found on X/Twitter at: @michael_merrick.

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A reminder that you can follow me on X/Twitter: @PaulEmbery