Western men and women often evince the "I don't need nobody to care for me" look but all they really want is to feel connection. A new column about toughness by psychotherapist Timothy Tate
The American West often lionizes the myth of cowboys too tough to feel any pain (physical or emotional). While the silhouette of a solo rider on the open prairie is romantic, nobody really wants to become a lonesome cowboy, Timothy Tate says. Image licensed through Shutterstock. Not for use elsewhere.
by Timothy Tate
It’s a Sunday afternoon in our Northern Rockies, late winter, and we are bracing for an arctic front charging our way. We boldly name such fast-moving weather phenomena “Alberta Clippers.” This one has her sails full, whipping down across Montana’s northern prairie, where life hides on a good day in the sagebrush but on a day like today it hunkers like a wounded prairie chicken.
Yesterday it was 52 degrees F and by Tuesday night it is forecast to be -20. That 72 degree temperature swing in 72 hours sets the stage for human endurance—what might be called a “Montana tough” attitude. Not unlike the whiplashes that can happen in our daily existence.
I pride myself in being tough and raised kids to be the same way. Handling adversity is about more than confronting foul weather. It takes its own form in mountain towns. Whether it’s expressed in rock climbing, death march backpacking, hard-core workouts, or a stubborn work ethic that guts out challenges as if they were enemies, we are a tough clan. But we are not alone in our hardiness; you find it in every region.
As a practicing therapist, the navigational challenges of the mind can be as formidable as physical terrain and in innumerable ways the Covid pandemic has tested each of us with fear, uncertainty, isolation and, in some cases, differing kinds of loss.
As I was preparing for the cold snap during this just-passed winter, plugging in my 2005 F150 pickup’s block heater, asking for help from my son and son-in-law with chopping enough wood for our primary heat source—a spiffy red enamel airtight Norwegian wood stove—or securing windows that might be partially stuck open, I mused about the projection of stoic toughness.
I’m talking here about the “cowboy up” brand, not the Greek or Roman version of Marcus Aurelius—but the mythologized John Wayne American West big screen variety of never showing vulnerability out of fear someone else will interpret it as a weakness in character and use it against you.
When I reflect on what being physically tough is, and maybe a corresponding psychological component, at the top of that list is women giving birth. Toughness is not forcing my body through life, come what may; rather it is an expression of determination, regardless of the physical pain experienced, in accomplishing a task, endeavor or sacrifice that can, with the right focus, be personally meaningful.
Witnessing my wife deliver our daughter, the “resting fatigue” between pushes, my being unable to wholly soothe her, and her final exertion of giving birth, I bet many men would buckle under.
That is one solid example of toughness that mothers understand. But opening ourselves up, allowing other people in, being willing to brave possible rejection; that, too, can be just as daunting when you’re programmed by family and culture to be just the opposite, and it’s why some people have trouble allowing themselves to go there.
Experiencing emotional pain, especially early in our lives, can leave us scarred and affect our partners, kids, and friendships throughout adulthood. Instead of leaning into vulnerability, which is the tough thing to do, we retreat into ourselves. Tell me you’ve never done this or been involved with someone, some hardened tough person, who goes into a bunker.
My parents schooled me with stoic values crafted through the Great Depression, The Great War, and their missionary work in northern Saskatchewan. A father born near Belfast, Ireland and a mother born of parents who arrived from Gothenburg, Sweden, my core embedded value being to persevere. Translation: show-up, deliver, tough it out, never ever whine, cry or evince your feelings.
My kids got the brunt of my toughness as distilled and expressed in an indefatigable work ethic. Some of it seems to have carried over to our grandchildren as well. Is it owed to generational or familial factors that pass toughness along? Is it healthy? I would say it depends.
I know “Montana Tough” is not a Ford commercial. Out here in the rural West, there’s the image of the “self-reliant” cowboy so tough as to not need anyone else, too tough to acknowledge fault, not admitting weakness or yearning for someone else to provide comfort. This kind of behavior has its own shadow. The shadow is the part of our conscious personality that our egos will not indulge and most of the time it cannot be suppressed.
I’ve spent time in rural Montana and had men and women as clients who were raised to repress their feelings. Both genders possessed what could be called hard-working, hard-drinking, hard personalities—the “don’t you dare complain” attitude that sometimes masks a deeper bitter loneliness, an ache for connection. Occasionally, uncontainable, it can erupt into fits of rage or self-isolation.
I’ve seen plenty of women from cities fall in love in wranglers whose allure is that they appear rawhidy, silent and mysterious only to be disappointed when they discover their guys on the horse haven’t learned how to emotionally communicate. Ironically, people realize that they want and need to change but they don’t know how. Like a pickup mired to the top of the wheel well in the ooze of a spring gumbo road, getting stuck fortunately is not something you can’t escape.
I’ve seen plenty of women from cities fall in love with wranglers whose allure is that they appear rawhidy, silent and mysterious only to be disappointed when they discover their guys on the horse haven’t learned how to emotionally communicate. Ironically, people realize that they want and need to change but they don’t know how. Like a pickup mired to the top of the wheel well in the ooze of a spring gumbo road, getting stuck fortunately is not something you can’t escape.
It’s okay, after all, to feel vulnerable and to show it to others. Few realize the irony is that this actually is an avenue for building emotional strength and a life with more solid ground. Admitting that each us is flawed and working to understand why can be a foundation for resilience. Emotional resilience means being able to adapt and remain calm when stressful situations present themselves.
The pandemic has left many of us exhausted trying to persevere through stress. With warm weather approaching, with the extended period of social exile hopefully coming to an end, connecting again is more important than ever as a stress reliever. Think of it also as a time to reconnect with our own self.
As a psychotherapist I hear first-hand the struggles that community members face and events that lead them to seeking counsel. Often, what they really want is someone who will listen as they drop their guard and allow themselves to breathe.
Usually, most people don’t counsel or workshop or self-help-book themselves to being tougher in a more resilient kind of way. This requires doing the work of tending self-care and mindfulness, pursuing it with the same vigor we devote to staying fit for physical exertion. Investing time in ourselves is worth it, trust me.
In contrast to heart-pumping exercise and external stimuli, with mindfulness we give ourselves permission to slow things down. What psychotherapy can do is help enable people to encounter what we have kept hidden or unrealized. Mindfulness can deliver us to experiencing a fuller world that is there for us, present even in single moments.
Being entrenched in a false sense of toughness—of claiming you don’t need anyone else— requires real toughness to overcome. I have found that practicing mindfulness can be an excellent tool for realizing this but it means shedding our fear of being seen as vulnerable. Men and women both cope with that apprehension.
Eventually, no matter how physically fit most of us are, the tough body gives way and, sometimes, the mind, too. When this happens, it's those around us who need to be tough.
Life events make all of us feel vulnerable and what we’re after is what I call meaningful toughness—fortified with skills of better coping that can carry us forward through adversity. It involves facing life directly, embracing our weakness as opportunities to emerge stronger and doing it without making excuses. No one is too tough to cry or admit that what we’re all seeking—and able to dispense no matter how tough we are—is love.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Based in part on the popularity of his column for Mountain Journal, Timothy Tate recently was asked to give a TEDx talk at the 2022 Big Sky Big Ideas Fest. You can watch it below.
About Timothy Tate
Community Psyche columnist Timothy J. Tate, who lives in Bozeman, Montana, has been a practicing professional psychotherapist for more than 30 years. For decades, he had an office on Main Street behind The Blue Door. He still works with clients downtown.
