What the Cowboys Taught Me About Men Who Can’t Cry
I'm always a sucker for family movies or series. Since my adolescent years, I've been trying to find the happy ending in those movies or series. And most of them (for me back then) always gave me the happy ending. And every time I finished watching, I wondered if my own family could have the same happy ending as theirs.
I've been comparing my own family to my friends' families. And most of my friends (then and now) have this perfect image I'm jealous of. Until I witnessed the "machine" behind the doors. That's when I learned that everyone has their own version of a dysfunctional family — yet still thrives, still alive in their own way.
Roughly three weeks ago, I finished five seasons of Yellowstone, and last week I started watching Landman. Both are written and created by Taylor Sheridan, a real-life cowboy who, for me personally, romanticizes everything about the cowboy's path of life — and the oil and gas industry too. And boy, do I hook that deep with these two series. I've always had this kinda thing with cowboys and their southern-gentleman attitude, you know. I'm one of those Indonesian women who got brainwashed by the whole Hollywood white-picket-fence fantasy.
But I'm not writing this to worship those two series. I want to share my POV on this slice of the men's world they portray so strongly — because we're in June already, which means it's Men's Mental Health Awareness Month.
I'm fully aware of the male loneliness epidemic. I'm fully aware of what men are capable of when they're losing their shit — physically, mentally, spiritually, and financially. I've witnessed one too many men's downfalls and rises, so I understand how this world works. For men, women, and other genders, I can't speak to them. But I can't claim I understand the men's world 100% from the inside. I've witnessed it as an outside factor; sometimes I've had the privilege to witness it from within — but not as a whole being born a man, if you get what I mean.
It's a tough world because most men have been taught to swallow their emotions — any kind, you name it. They have to keep up the strong facade all the time. They mustn't cry, mustn't articulate their feelings openly, and if they do, they get mocked and belittled. They've had to bottle all of it up by themselves, because their parents didn't bother to guide them, or maybe didn't have the capacity to, since they were struggling with their own emotions too. Men don't want the world to see their tears, don't want the world to witness their yearning for affection, don't want the world to hear their shattered souls when they hit rock bottom, with no guidance at all. This is one of too many reasons men are terrified to open up. They've been fixated on these bullshit social constructs and unwritten rules since the day they were born. I get that.
Maybe that's why my late grandfather chose me instead of my cousin as his sidekick when we had to do our kejawen ceremonies back in my childhood. Not because of our gender, but because he saw something in both of us that could carry our family customs into the next generation. My cousin is the one who carries that generation by building and nurturing her family. I'm the one who carries the war armor anywhere I have to go, to win and conquer the battlefield. Both of us were the starting line for our lineage, with different duties and responsibilities to serve our family's obligations in this society. We're the first female grandchildren my grandparents taught and shaped into who we are today. And he was a loyal, devoted Air Force man back in the day. He raised me like he led his platoon. So yeah, I have quite a deep understanding of how the men's world works.
There's one line from John Dutton (played by Kevin Costner) on Yellowstone that reminds me of my grandfather: "Your grandfather used to say, you can't fix a broken wagon wheel, but you can use the parts to make a new one." That's exactly how my family still works today. When something breaks in our household, we don't toss it. We check it, save the parts that can serve another purpose, and only throw out what's truly dead. My siblings and I treat our things like our own body parts — we use them until we can't anymore. We get creative with what's broken; we'll always find a way.
So is that a green flag or a red flag? People love sorting everything into one or the other these days. But not everything fits a label, and people, least of all. We're not flags. We're just human, trying our best to live our lives.
And then there's this one specific line from Tommy Norris (played by Billy Bob Thornton) on Landman, said to his son, Cooper (played by Jacob Lofland): "However you raise your son is how he's gonna raise his son. And that cycle is almost impossible to break." That line gave me goosebumps.
But what got me even more was Cooper's answer. He doesn't agree with his dad. He looks at him and says, "I love you, Dad. You did your best, and your best is good enough for me." And Tommy — a man who never lets anyone see him break — has to blink the tears away. That's the whole thing, right there. The cycle is broken in real time, in a single sentence, by a son who refused to inherit it.
It reminds me of my little brother and my three stepbrothers. Because I've witnessed how most of my male best friends and ex-partners got so fucked up by the way their fathers raised them. No matter how hard I try to raise my siblings, or how many times I brainwash them out of the expired beliefs about how men are "supposed" to behave nowadays, they'll always look up to their fathers as their first role model — the benchmark for how they treat the women around them. And I'm fucking worried, to be completely honest.
We need to break the patterns and the vicious cycles we inherited from our grandparents and parents — regardless of our gender. That's for sure.
Hats off, always, to the grandparents out there.
Hats off, always, to the parents out there.
Hats off, always, to the eldest daughters or sons out there.
Hats off, always, to all of us who keep moving forward, no matter how hard life's been trying to fold us.
There's nothing wrong with a man trying to open up about his feelings and emotions — as long as he does it in a healthy way. It's not too late for a man to learn new things, relearn current ones, and unlearn the things that don't serve our times anymore. I know it's hard, from my POV as a woman, because you — men — were taught to live in ways that are so outdated, so out of step with now.
Go try it, man. Talk to someone you trust. Open up. Be vulnerable with your person. You need it. Don't bottle things up — learn how to regulate your feelings and emotions in the healthiest way possible. Check out the men's circle, here and here; it could be your lifeline. You deserve a healthy, safe space — mentally, physically, spiritually, and financially. When you take good care of yourself, you'll be able to take good care of your loved ones. And you can finally break the cycle.
I support men who are responsible, reliable, who own their flaws and mistakes, and try to be better — not for the performance, but for themselves first. And don't get me wrong: I'm not gonna hold back when you make a mistake. I'll point it out, I'll ask questions, so I get the why and the how of what you did. This does not apply to abusers, rapists, misogynists, or pedophiles. For those kinda men, you'd better wish you'd never met me on your street. I'll knock you down with my bare hands.
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