What Movember Means To Me: Improving Men’s Health By Growing A Moustache

This year will be my 12th as a Mo Bro, the title given to men participating in Movember. It’s this month when my social media profiles become dedicated to the cause. The month when I openly advocate selfies to show my ‘mogress’. Movember also gives me something to focus on while the rest of my peers look to prematurely slip into the 12 Days of Christmas.

When I first began taking part in Movember in Australia in 2011, it seemed like a fun way to grow a moustache to raise some money for men’s health. Over time, Movember has become less of an effort and more of an obligation due to how much I need to look out for my own mental health. Gradually, I have learned how vital men’s health initiatives are to helping look out for men and their mental health.

Funding Men’s Health Initiatives

According to Movember, the world loses a man to suicide every minute of every day. Just let that sink in for a moment, maybe even 60 of them. As the annual event has evolved, there has been notable progress in how men’s health is discussed. That’s not to say enough is being done yet the work has started.

Movember recognises that by assisting men in building stronger social connections, they can get the help they need to reduce risk of suicide. These are typically ingenious projects that put men into a social support network. It could be a Men’s Pie Club which focuses on men in the middle age bracket who may otherwise struggle to form fulfilling friendships. Not the ones that spend most of their weekend in the pub but the ones where you openly discuss what’s going on in their lives, much like women do. They also take home delicious pies and I’m privately hoping the project makes its way south from the North East of England.

Of course, influencers are a great way in to getting people to listen. Crucially, Movember has reached out to men who garner a huge social media following. Men I actively admire like the former Manchester United left-back, Patrice Evra. In a series of nine videos entitled ‘Deep Issue Massage‘, the comedian, Munya Chawawa, helps to gently remove the stigma that can surround men’s health. The men are also getting a massage which is a clever way of both letting them relax and demonstrate how men can open up in certain situations.

Coping With My Mental Health

A few years ago, I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Essentially, when the clocks go back and the nights close in, my mental health suffers. I’m still poor at discussing it until I hit the lows of feeling worthless as depression takes a hold yet I am trying. It’s become easier to realise when SAD is making itself known yet it is important to recognise the signs amongst your fellow men. The gender tends to fixate on alpha personas and definitions of manhood that simply do not allow mental health to be discussed which is problematic and self-defeating in itself.

Movember look to challenge this issue with Spot The Signs, an online campaign dedicated to reaching out. These can be subtle indicators: increased irritability, losing interest in the things they are typically excited about, and a struggle to sleep. During winter, I pretty much tick every box yet it can seem that everything is A-ok when I know it isn’t. That’s the problem, as men mask their inner emotions their mental health is only going to deteriorate.

Since moving from Sheffield, I have left most of my male friends behind yet have become privy to a close, arty friendship group in my area. You can tell the difference with women as I have met so many strong and determined ones. They know how to check up on themselves and others which, I’m afraid, is a skill men are still evolving to learn. It can be something simple like pulling your mate away at a party just to simply ask them how they’re doing. Seeing if they want to go for a walk or maybe even consider if they are enjoying the match as much as usual.

There are some great initiatives out there yet knowing how to talk to a fellow man can be difficult. Even asking about their mental health can seem like an invasion of privacy and a judgemental inference into their manhood. I’ve been struck recently by the advert unveiled by the English football club, Norwich City. It’s only a couple of minutes long and the twist at the end gets me every time. Some men are far better at hiding their inner turmoil than others which seems like a skill in itself yet is often to the detriment of their mental health.

The Obligation To Move

One of the ways that I help improve my mental health is through movement. It’s this time of year when we all pretty much become gluttons. That tub of Quality Street sits on the table enticing you for a treat every time your eyes set upon it. A cheeseboard becomes a meal, we start the day with a piece of chocolate, and that extra glass of mulled wine tends to become the norm. It’s also the time of year when I succumb to creating an order of around ten beers just because they are festively themed and why the hell not it’s Christmas?

As much as I’m aware of this extra calorific intake, I try to combat it with more exercise. Thankfully, Movember has this as part of their offering too with ‘Move For Mental Health‘, The premise is quite simple, as 60 men are lost to suicide every hour, you cover 60km in the month. You can walk the distance or cover it by running, perhaps even a mixture of both. I’ve been a member of a local running club for the last couple of years and that does help get me out of the door. Not only do I get that 60km covered pretty quickly, I also get some fresh air, either make new friends, or catch up with the ones I know. In the space of just over an hour, I have covered 10km and feel a lot better about myself than I would lounging on the sofa.

There is a simple sense of accomplishment on every run I undertake at the moment. It may take me a little longer to get out of bed and leave the house during the winter yet once I take that first step, my mind clears and I start to see some sense in the world. Running may be one of those few occasions when my overthinking mind actually calms down as I focus on my route and my surroundings. I also start to come up with ideas as the creative side of my brain makes itself heard.

While the moustache has become the norm in November, it should act as a reminder to open up about men’s health. Though I do look good with it, this crucial bit of facial hair and the pin badge on my jacket are succinct reminders for men that it’s ok to not feel ok. Open up to your mates or be the one to check up on someone in your friendship group you may not have seen in a while.

If you want to keep track of my movements (in a non-creepy way) then you can check out my Strava. At the time of writing, I only have 16 more kilometres to go. You can also see my ‘mogress’ on Instagram. Finally, please donate at my Mospace to help fund men’s health initiatives and suicide prevention programs

SAD, Same As It Ever Was

There it is, with a gnawing inevitability. Less natural light, plumper jackets, and a change in the colour of the leaves on the trees. I should be used to this by now. My mind sensing the clouds becoming greyer, more pregnant with unease. The thoughts darkening my mood. The same day as Halloween sees the end of British Summer Time and with it the official start of my Seasonal Affective Disorder. 

Seasonal Affective Disorder

After almost a decade of being diagnosed with the condition, sometimes known as ‘winter depression’ or ‘winter blues’, the fact that I can now anticipate it should be a boon. Gradually, I’ve seen an increasingly welcome awareness of mental health that is slowly removing the stigma. For me, it means I don’t feel I have to hide and suffer in silence. 

Awareness is the first step and the symptoms can include; low mood, losing interest in physical contact (including sex), feeling agitated, difficulty concentrating, a loss of pleasure in activities you usually enjoy and unerring thoughts of despair and worthlessness. There are physical symptoms too ranging from sapping of energy and finding it hard to get up in the morning to a change in appetite and gaining weight (particularly easy as winter deepens). Accepting that you have the condition is a start, dealing with it can be in a myriad of ways.

Treat Yo’Self

Make a list of all the things you enjoy doing. Seriously, write them down. For me that’s; 

• going to the cinema, 
• listening to music, 
• drinking a beer, 
• going for a walk while listening to a podcast
• watching some local football or 
• a daytrip doing whatever the fuck I want. 

Try to find the time to include one of these things on each day. Write them out in a calendar so you have something to look forward to. Daily relaxation techniques such as yoga and meditation can boost your feeling of well-being too. Regular exercise also helps so aim for half an hour to an hour every day of anything from weights to rowing. I’ve joined a running club and will try to throw in a weekly Parkrun alongside daily long walks. Treating the soul and the body. 

Supplements

One of the natural causes of SAD is a lack of Vitamin D which can be naturally occuring in sunlight. From around March to October you can get sufficient Vitamin D from spending time outdoors yet in winter that sunlight is harder to come by. You can change your diet to include more Vitamin D from oily fish (salmon, sardines and mackerel), walnuts, flaxseeds and egg yolks yet the easiest form is dietary supplements. A craving for carbs is also a symptom so if you get a hankering opt for the complex variety; bananas, oats, brown bread and rice. These foods should boost your serotonin levels to improve your mood without the sugar crash.

SAD Lamp

As the nights draw in, the mornings become darker. If you are like most people you’ll be getting up at around the same time, for me that’s around 7am. On Halloween, the clocks go back and waking up in the dark brings a persistent sense of doom and gloom before the day has truly begun. Thankfully you can apply some science to the problem and invest in a SAD Lamp which provides light therapy, also known as phototherapy or heliotherapy. In natural terms this can include exposure to sunlight yet in the mornings a SAD Lamp can mimic the effect of a summer sunrise while you lay in bed as a reliable, daily treatment for Seasonal Affective Disorder.

My trusty SAD Lamp

It is somewhat easy to withdraw, even viewing the condition as a natural excuse to hibernate. One of the lessons I’ve learnt is not to allow dark thoughts to take over, instead I write a blog post when I know it’s time to get worried. Talk to people, ask them out for a Pumpkin Spice Latte (if you’re so inclined), let them know there will be occasions when you push people away when you need them the most. Check in with your mates who may be going through the same thing. Join a class. Volunteer. Get. Out. There. Of course, the weather might be inhospitable and staying in usually means reaching for the Irish Cream and a tub of ice-cream when Strictly comes on. That’s ok as a treat but all in moderation and ideally with friends. 

Reach Out 

If you’re struggling then help is out there. In the UK you can call the Mind Infoline on 0300 123 3393 and there are Depression Support Groups

Nothing To Plan During A Pandemic

Plans, do you remember them? Plans?

There used to be a time when you could simply go out to the pub with a mate, text some more and your night was set. Decide on another pub, then a club, whether you’d bring some company home or settle on some chips. Or book a holiday on a whim. Good times. Distant times.

Today, Sheffield has been announced as facing the toughest set of measures in the latest system to combat the spread of COVID-19. In total, around 55 million people in the UK are now banned from mixing with other households indoors after 2 December. Apart from Christmas, of course, it seems that the virus does indeed have a religious conscience.

For me, that means no pub, no cinema and no tangible escape from my own deteriorating mental health. November is an important month for me, when I grow a moustache to raise awareness and funds for vital men’s health projects. When I test the limits of my own self-esteem by forcing myself outside while sporting some ill-advised facial hair for Movember (follow the link to see my progress and please donate what you can).

This is also the month when I feel the rigours of Seasonal Affective Disorder coming on. As the evenings draw in and sunlight takes longer to appear, my mood darkens. The moustache is a welcome distraction, reminding me to keep my spirits up for those men who are finding it difficult.

The month is almost at an end and while I’d normally find respite in meeting a mate in the pub to vent down my local or to show off my moustache in public I know that’s not currently possible. Neither is losing myself in a film at the cinema, alone with a bag of sweets. Nor going to a football match to shout at some men running around a field made of painted white lines. My happy places are locked shut and my thoughts have little room to escape.

For anyone who doesn’t know what it’s like dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder, imagine your depression and anxiety ramped up. You suffer low moods without having any relevant reasoning as to why you might want to rip someone’s head off. Mornings are particularly difficult, you may wake up with a sense of dread so thick it clouds your own judgment and pins you under the sheets.

I no longer make plans. There’s no real point and not a lot to look forward to. I cannot decide on a night out nor a trip to the cinema so my morning routine has this tired, pathetic feel to it. Wake up. Get a brew. Read. Exercise. Shower. Get Dressed. Then what? On some days there’s a sense of pointlessness, that there really is little to bother getting up for (another symptom of SAD is losing joy in things you usually enjoy doing).

Even the most straightforward of plans now seems riddled with anguish. Running is a great way to escape your own mind. Yet in the current pandemic I find myself anxious simply trying to plan where I’ll run and at what time. There are three infant schools surrounding my flat so I can either get up eerily early and run in the dark (not the best of ideas when you have SAD) or plan to go after the school rush at which point the park will be busy and pedestrians will ensure I have to dip in the road to ensure social distancing.

Is social distancing still a thing? One of my primary worries is wondering quite when this will be over and when I don’t need to worry about getting close to someone. Hugs. I remember them.

Sheffield has always harboured a rebellious streak and part of me wonders that one of the reasons why the city has been lumped into Tier 3 is an attitude that in The People’s Republic of South Yorkshire we’ll do what we want and to hell with the consequences. While I’m the one running into the road, there are hundreds of other joggers who’d happily breeze through any gap they see, even if it means being within a centimeter of someone else, let alone an entire meter.

Food shopping rapidly sets off my anxiety. I scan the supermarket floor grimacing at people either without a mask or wearing one without covering their nose. As I scan the shelves I’m joined by people who seem eager to share my space, as if huddling for warmth while choosing their brand of ham in the cold meats section. I now have an abject fear of public transport as I worry how many people can wear a mask properly.

Another concern is if you’re not enforcing the rules, how can you force people to abide by them? I’ve followed how Melbourne has tackled their lockdown restrictions and been suitably impressed by the spirit of Victorians. I still have friends in Melbourne and have been told that for 111 days they were encased in a three mile bubble, that they could only escape with a permit.

How schools, businesses and places of worship were shut. How they could only go outside for an hour or so and faced a nightly curfew for weeks. The conditions were tough, but they prevailed. In July, cases reached a peak of over 700 a day. Now they’re reporting ‘Donut Days’ of 0 cases and 0 deaths.

I appreciate how so many families here would find it difficult to close schools. How businesses would suffer. Yet Melbourne found a resilience that I haven’t seen in this country. There’d be protests as to why our human rights and freedom of movement have been impinged on, simply by being told to wear a mask. How the government has no right to keep us indoors.

Perhaps if those difficult decisions had been made early enough, wondering if you’re going to infect your Nan come Christmas wouldn’t be such an issue. And yet, there’s a likelihood that cases will spike again in January when there’s a realisation of how nonsensical it is to mix three households over the festive season. As if the virus is cognizant enough to recognise an armistice.

I avoid the news as the view from my window is all I need to see. Not Matt Hancock and his visible lack of a spine. Nor the rambles of our Prime Minister as he struggles to explain the latest restrictions and why we’re STILL in this predicament. I’d much rather escape to The West Wing for my political heroes.

I now make lists instead of plans. Lists of podcasts to listen to, shows to watch, books to read, albums to listen to and recipes to try. Lists of holiday destinations, food shopping and things to do when all this is over. When you’re in lockdown, media, literature, music and cooking are your means of escape.

Plans. Do you remember them?

Self-Isolation Diary. Cheers, Dominic

What’s the easiest way to undermine lockdown restrictions? If you’re the Prime Minister’s chief aide then it’s driving 260 miles to visit your parents. In March. On the day that both the Prime Minister and Health Secretary test positive for coronavirus. While also likely showing symptoms of the virus yourself. Cheers, Dominic.

Did I miss the memo? While I’m struggling to retain my sanity there are several individuals quite flagrantly breaking the rules. It’s a glorious bank holiday weekend and while I’d love to pop to a friend’s house for a boozy bbq I know I can’t (or at least I really shouldn’t), even though it would immeasurably raise my spirits. People who know me should note that I’m a stickler for rules. They keep my brain and sense of decorum in check. Knowing that I CAN’T do something means I have a better understanding of what I CAN do. I can’t go to see my Mum or my friends. I can’t go out to see a girl, which has made the flat seem even more empty than it should have been during the last two nights.

But I can go on a morning walk with a cup of tea in a reusable vessel, call a friend, read outside, watch TV and films, go for a jog, join a friend on a bike ride, take photos of a deserted city centre, go to the supermarket and embark on a game of Pacman between aisles, shop online then anticipate the postman, bake then drop off a treat on someone’s doorstep. That’s pretty much it in the real world.

Discovering that a senior political adviser has broken the very rules he likely devised is a direct abuse of power. That he hasn’t lost his job only serves to show that if he can get away with it anyone can. Imagine how painful it must be for someone to suffer the loss of a loved one to the virus, not to be able to hold their hand, not to say goodbye. Then you see that news. I cannot.

For someone who’s been trying to so hard to adhere to the rules, that newsflash has only heightened my anxiety. Now I’m not even sure if the rules have any meaning anymore.

The last few days have been difficult. I’m trying to find the small joys while contained in my own mind (trying being the operative word when my mind seems to be getting darker). That film I’ve been meaning to watch on Netflix (Monos), a cold can of moderately priced lager with a well cooked homemade meal. Listening to a vinyl record while lying on my bed in the dark. Even a good night’s sleep, if I can get it.

Despite all this I’ve found myself on the brink of hot tears several times this weekend. I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps this is my mind’s own way of telling me it has had enough, that it’s fit to burst with worry. That stickly cough after eating dinner too fast might as well be COVID-19. Every slight is a blow to my very core of being and I must be better.

There’s also ‘productivity guilt’, that I should feel accomplished at doing the bare minimum though I admonish myself for not having done it sooner. That I should have completed a first draft of my book by now with all this spare time yet I’ve felt painfully out of sorts that creativity has largely escaped me.

Every action now seems coated in a veneer of disappointment. Going outside to read means shuddering from the shrieks of the neighbours’ kids or enduring an inane Zoom call. Going for a jog means having to give side eye to fellow joggers or pedestrian’s pathetic attempts at social distancing as I run in the road. As if the gesture itself, or even the notion of ‘single file’, has been forgotten. What’s the point anymore?

There’s a helplessness pertaining over my every move. A mental, if not physical, prison has been built that I cannot escape until I’m told it’s ok. I’ve shut myself off from friends, preferring to have my phone off or out of sight. If I don’t communicate I won’t make plans that people will renege on and I won’t read someone picking out the tiniest fault even though they mean well. Out of sight, out of mind.

At various times I’ve listened to a Spotify playlist. Every ten minutes or so Mark Strong breaks up my shuffle play with yet another ‘Message from the Government’. Despite his straight-laced, coldly professional voice there’s a fear that the words have been irretrievably weakened by Cummings’ actions.

Self-Isolation Diary. Day 4 – Baking For My Postcode

As my copywriting freelance work dictates, if I’ve completed my tasks by Friday I usually give myself a ‘day off’. Right now, every day feels like that yet it’s important to treat yourself and others in times like these. I’m trying to stick to a daily routine which goes something like this –

7.30 to 8.30am – Get up, make myself a brew and breakfast then read in bed

8.30 to 9.30 – Exercise, perhaps some ab exercises but mainly kettlebells. Shower. Shave.

9.30 to 1pm – Work on the laptop, cooking, something productive

1 to 2 – Lunch

2 to 5 – More work, maybe some chores

5 to 6 – Bit of TV/video games

6 to 7 – Dinner

7 to 11 – TV/Netflix, maybe a film, complete a daily diary entry

Keeping to a structured day means my mind doesn’t drift to the chaos outside my own walls. The gyms are finally being closed as well as the pubs and restaurants. The elderly are still walking the streets and the shelves are still bare. I went to the supermarket for some baking ingredients and OF COURSE there was no flour. I’m hoping that Great British Bake Off 2021 has some stellar contestants… As I’ve noted previously, the independent shops nearby are coming up trumps. The organic shop is now employing a strict policy of only a handful of customers in at any one time (I’ve never seen more than three in there at once but hey ho) and on the off chance that they had some flour I popped my head in. The shopkeeper asked which flour I was after and as if luck would have it the last delivery dropped off some strong white bread flour so now I have no excuse not to bake my bread from now on.

I’m also trying to play my part in the community so I baked as everyone needs a treat from now and then to keep their spirits up. Having noted a journalist from the local newspaper asking on Twitter what people were doing for their communities I couldn’t help myself and replied, ‘I’m baking tomorrow and giving most of it to anyone in my postcode who’s self-isolating or who just needs a treat to lift their spirits’. She dutifully replied and so I really couldn’t not produce the goods then. Thankfully, I need little encouragement and even if my hand is splitting from washing them so often may I present some Malted Milk Chocolate Cake Bites and Oaty Dunkers –

Malted Milk Chocolate Cake Bites

I’m not entirely sure how I’ll be distributing them but I’d be happy to drop them on people’s doorsteps.

The rest of the day was down to chores; cleaning the cupboard shelves, two loads of washing and hoovering (always done after baking). I even managed to contact a couple more people I might send research questions to for the book.

Right now I’m listening to a live broadcast of Offbeat, a club night at Sheffield University from back in the mid-noughties while replying to a #TwitterWinchester event which brings together people taking photos of whatever they’re drinking indoors and imagining they’re in the pub. It’s quite novel and this is what our community has been reduced to now; video chats, live broadcasts and Twitter events.  Who knew a possible quarantine could be so productive!?

 

Self-Isolation Diary. Day 1

For years I’ve wanted to keep a diary yet never felt that my daily experiences merited regular recorded entries. That changed a couple of weeks ago and not just for me, the coronavirus pandemic is changing the world as we know it.

I’m trying to be more optimistic and fix myself looking at that bright side of life. These are trying times, I catch myself thinking about where I’d like to go on holiday or simply for a daytrip then realising that all of those plans are on hold. Simply stepping outside is non-negotiable for hundreds of thousands of people, I’m lucky that I can leave the front door.

At times this feels like a prison of the mind and soul. My freedom of movement has been restricted and this has nothing to do with Brexit. Oh, how I miss the days when THAT clusterfuck was at the forefront of my mind.

Despite all this I am secretly hoping that the pandemic brings about real societal change. That society as a whole will come out of it having learnt to live and work in different ways. So many of us may realise we can work from home and manage our mental health better because of it. Pollution may reduce as needless travel into offices will be curtailed. We may finally realise which meetings really could have done over email.

All of that is a pipe dream at the moment as I’ve learnt that British society is belligerent to the point of self-harm. This should have been clear enough after the Brexit vote and the following general election. People voted for Leave and people voted for Tories (you just can’t trust people, Jeremy).

The greedy are stockpiling toilet paper leaving the vulnerable to scramble around empty shelves. The foolish are still going out on pub crawls as it’s St Patrick’s Day and woe betide they be denied their pint of Guinness. The rich are asking for bail outs, I’m looking at you Mr Branson. The powerful are screwing the proletariat, yes you Mr Cummings seeing this as an opportunity for a mass scale social cleansing experiment.

It’s fascinating and deeply distressful to learn how other countries are dealing with the same pandemic. Several countries have imposed lock-downs and school closures. The US President believes this is just a flu that’ll magically disappear, to the point that medical testing is being prohibited so as to mask the true scale of confirmed cases (if you’re not tested, you cannot be a confirmed case, makes sense). France’s President has suspended tax payments for the entire population while our Prime Minister has cynically thrown the entertainment industry under the bus by ‘advising’ that pubs, clubs, bars and restaurants close knowing full well that ordering them shut means paying out on insurance. That’s how politics works in this country, cruelly ensuring that the government is devoid of responsibility when they could take measures to prevent financial harm. They simply don’t want to.

Tomorrow I’ll begin to self-isolate. By that I mean work from home and only leave the flat if I really need to. By that I mean go for a run and do an early food shop so I can batch cook. By work I mean a bit of typing while I mainly play video games and binge watch The Sopranos. Who knows when this’ll end? (Likely Monday when I have to return to the office).

Why the moustache? Movember and men’s health in 2018

At its peak, my moustache resembled a cross between a 70s porn star and Fu Manchu. Not necessarily a bad combination yet it itched and I could not resist stroking it like a Bond villain. This is my seventh year as a Mo Bro, essentially the seventh time I have spent November growing a moustache to raise funds and awareness of men’s health. I may look ridiculous, the effect may be off-putting and I don’t care as it is such a worthy cause.

So far over 1,200 projects have been launched for the benefit of men’s health which includes vital funding for prostate and testicular cancer. However, men’s health is not just physical and of great personal interest is their research into mental health and suicide prevention. Considering that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, and in the past year have firsthand knowledge of the pitfalls from depression and anxiety, it needs to be said that men have to talk. Recently, public awareness has improved regarding the need to get mental health out into the open. This includes some thoughtfully made, thought provoking TV adverts and a plethora of academic studies as well as column inches. There is still work to be done.

Research conducted by the Movember Foundation is both staggering and alarming. Just in the UK;

One in eight men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime

Three out of four suicides are men.

That last statistic really jumped out at me. Men seem adept at holding in their emotions amid an effort to keep it together but to what end? To impress the opposite sex? To keep in line with what their father told them how to act? Whatever the reasons may be, such reluctance appears flawed, even tragic.

Thankfully, the taboo surrounding mental health is being lifted and men are starting to make their feelings known. On another personal note I can vouch for discussing emotional well-being to close friends and family to open up and let people know what’s going on. Support can be sought from those individuals as well as professional help in the form of therapy. The suffering can only be prolonged if left to manifest and though it takes courage and bravery to tell people, the pros far outweigh the cons.

My own personal effort in growing a moustache has presented me with an insider account of the benefits of tackling men’s health head on. Sure, the fuzz around my upper lip has meant bus drivers and bar staff have to stifle a laugh. The Half Mo Mast provoked one snide comment, one bemused conversion and several confused glances at The Good Food Show yet I have been quick to point to my 5 Year Mo Bro badge to explain that it’s for charidee. If growing an itchy, embarrassing moustache then shaving half of it off for a day means that more men talk, and even raises money to help the cause, then I’ve done my bit.

If you know someone who’s doing Movember then please donate what you can and search for their fundraising page at https://uk.movember.com/mospace/

If you’d like to donate to myself then you can at https://mobro.co/omarsoliman

Movember. The Importance of asking ‘how are you’?

This will be the fifth occasion I have participated in Movember and it gets more important every year. Some might say the growing of a moustache is some gimmicky, hipster tradition to show the world ‘Hey, I’ll grow some ridiculous facial hair and get away with it for charity’. If you do think that, you are grossly missing the point.

I truly grasped the importance of Movember in the country where the movement originates, Australia. Over there hipsters seemingly lurk on every corner and moustaches are far more readily spotted. There does not seem to be a taboo over comical upper facial hair, but there does seem to be a taboo over men’s health.

Whenever I think of an Australian, I think of the men I met while doing my farmwork. Tough men who would work in the field all day and come in to a steak dinner. One of the phrases I often heard (though barely aimed at me) was ‘Take a spoonful of concrete and harden the fuck up’. Down under, readily talking about men’s health was frowned upon. Men would not discuss how they were feeling, they’d get their head down and carry on. This is largely the case in the UK where suffering alone is a tangible concern.

Few people ask that simple question, ‘how are you?’ My boss asks me that every so often as she knows there are times when I am struggling, whether that be with my workload or battling Seasonal Affective Disorder. She will take me a quiet area and we will have a ten minute chat where I can offload. It makes a huge difference to know that there is someone checking in on you. When was the last time you asked someone ‘how are you?’ and got a truthful response? ‘I’m alright ta’, when really you have just seen them walk in looking as if they have the world on their shoulders.

Getting men to talk emotionally is a huge challenge and admittedly there are few men I speak to whom I know I can truly offload to. Ask yourself, if you were having a hard time mentally, who would you admit that to? The statistics make for distressing reading –

. One in eight men have experienced a mental health problem

. The biggest killer of men under 45 in the UK is suicide

Men cannot afford to keep it all in and to borrow one of the foundations slogans, ‘Suicide notes talk too late’. Aside from mental health, there are two physical illnesses which Stand Up To Cancer thankfully highlighted last week; prostate and testicular cancer.

. One in eight men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer at some point

. Testicular cancer is the most common form of cancer in men aged 25-49

And yet, do men talk about this? Not really, which is why the Movember Foundation is so vital. Simply talking about men’s health is one huge step and if that means me growing a moustache to raise awareness then great. Happy to.