I'm just me

I've never felt in any way "masculine", and I'm not drawn to any of those things men are supposed to be passionate about. When men talk about being more masculine or more manly, I couldn't care less. It all goes right over my head. I have zero interest in

• Football
• Cricket
• Fast cars
• Gadgets
• Flirting with women
• Sexual prowess
• Heavy drinking
• DIY
• Action movies
• Technical stuff
• Being the "top dog"
• Extreme sports

Of course there are certain masculine behaviour patterns I'm obliged to follow to avoid being ostracised by polite society. And there are things I do quite unconsciously because they were endlessly drummed into me when I was growing up. All men are sexist to some degree, whether they realise it or not, just as white people are all racist. The trick is to suss out those sexist habits and suppress them.

It seems to me that being a civilised human being is more important than being masculine, especially if being masculine means harassing and mistreating women. Behaving decently does more good than trying to be on one end or the other of an entirely artificial spectrum. I'm just me and I can't be bothered to chase after some dubious behavioural norm.

Every so often there's a major debate about what it means to be masculine, how masculinity can be "detoxified", why men feel insecure and confused etc. To me these debates seem quite pointless, when the simple answer to all the confusion is surely, stop pursuing false goals, just behave like a normal intelligent human being and you'll be fine.

Fortunately I always gravitated to workplaces where the men had as little interest in being masculine as I did. They never thought me peculiar for being a light drinker, ignoring the big match, or not gawping at someone's tits. What they enjoyed was witty conversation, idle gossip, good food and weird haircuts.

Masculinity? You can keep it.

Worry wart

Like many other people, I'm prone to anxiety. I worry about all sorts of things I don't need to worry about, but I'm unable to stop. However much I try to reassure myself that I'm a capable person and everything will work out, the anxiety continues.

It seems an awful lot of people don't like to admit they're affected by anxiety. They find it embarrassing, or they think they'll be shunned, or they think nobody will understand. So they keep quiet and hide it behind a fake facade of confidence and poise.

But it's estimated that four in every hundred people are affected, and that social anxiety is the third most frequent psychological problem after depression and alcohol dependence. That's a pretty big hidden problem.

Luckily my anxiety is fairly mild. It's purely internal and I don't get the physical symptoms of sweating, shaking or nausea. I don't get paralysed. I don't get panic attacks. I just worry needlessly. And have bad dreams.

There were calls this week for more research into this widespread condition, as little is still known about the causes. In my case, it probably goes back to my insecure childhood, but my whole family is anxiety-prone so it may also be genetic.

One of my blogmates, who's a therapist, says that nowadays there are lots of techniques for curbing anxiety and nobody needs to suffer. There's a long waiting list for therapy on the NHS though, and long-term private therapy can be very expensive. But as my anxiety is quite mild, and as I've developed my own ways of overcoming it, I don't feel any urgent need for treatment. It's simply another personal foible that I deal with.

I wonder what it's like just to take things as they come?

Niggling doubts

However much we try to hide them, I think the most basic human emotions are insecurity and vulner-ability. That's how we feel when we come out of the womb, that's how we feel when we're old and fragile, and that's how we feel in between, despite the veneer of confidence we have to assume for the sake of our jobs, our families, our 101 responsibilities.

How often does some apparently poised, decisive, suave public figure confess that actually they don't feel that poised inside, they often feel nervous and stupid, or they feel like an undeserving impostor?

Deep down, however successful and happy people seem to be, I think there are always niggling doubts and fears - that our supposedly solid lives aren't as solid as they look, that our good fortune might not last, that an unlucky turn of events could unravel it all.

Deep down we crave reassurance, comforting words, signs that everything will continue, signs that we're truly loved and cherished, signs that the intricate scaffolding of our lives isn't about to collapse.

Of course we have to act confident to get things done, to keep other people's respect, to get what we want in life. But this air of confidence is something we learn, a cultivated show of strength that hides the vulnerability we don't want to display.

And we don't want to display it in case it's abused; in case we're seen as weak and submissive and ready to bow to someone else's will. So it's only sensible to keep it out of sight. But the vulnerability's still there, even if you can't see it. It doesn't magically disappear as we grow up. It hovers inside us like a chilly breeze, curtailing the sunshine.

Beware the seamless show of confidence. It might just be a confidence trick.

Be my guest

Short of guests for that all-important social event? Racking your brains for remote acquaintances you can barely remember? Easy - just hire some fake friends to plug the gap.

If you live in Tokyo, there's a company that does exactly that - hires out "friends" to make your birthday party or wedding go with a swing.

Simply attending costs £127, while there's an extra charge for making a speech, singing or dancing. They can pretend to be anything you want - a lover, a secretary or a distant relative. In fact whatever you think will impress the genuine guests.

But who on earth would be sufficiently devious or insecure or pretentious to go to such lengths? Are there that many people who're so desperate to keep up appearances and pretend they've got a huge social circle?

Surely they'd be found out pretty quickly when one of the bogus guests failed to know some elementary fact about the person throwing the party or housewarming? That's funny, they never heard about the car accident. Or the overdose....

Mind you, recollecting some of the dismal social events and vacuous conversations I've had to endure in the past, maybe a few fake guests would have livened them up a bit and sent me home pleasantly happy rather than wanting to shoot myself.
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Now we've moved to the other side of Belfast, Jenny has relaunched her blog as East Belfast Diary to write about her new neighbourhood.

Confidence trick

It's a truism that many apparently confident people are hiding a swarm of uncertainties, anxieties and even phobias under the cool facade. And it frustrates them that no one can see they're as vulnerable as everyone else.

It certainly applies to me sometimes. I may look confident enough when I'm throwing ideas into a meeting at work, or holding forth on a book I've just read, or briskly hanging the new curtains, but underneath I'm wondering just how long this fragile poise can last. How soon will I reveal my natural blundering, dithering self?

Therapists talk a lot about the impostor syndrome, where a person is actually quite competent at something but forever thinking they're just muddling through under false pretences and will be found out at any moment.

I think my whole life's a bit like the impostor syndrome. How long can it be before everyone realises I'm just an overgrown child whose sense of adult responsibility is wafer-thin, and that I'm barely capable of brushing my teeth let alone holding down a demanding job or maintaining a home?

Deep down I'm riddled with insecurities - about the future, money, old age, friendship, socialising, upsetting people, disappointing people, lack of generosity, you name it.

My relationships with other people are always fraught with doubts and hesitations about what they expect of me, how false or genuine I'm being, how normal or weird I appear, and whether they like me or loathe me. I find it hard to just be myself.

Then add to that my endless difficulties with masculinity. I've never felt masculine in my life but every day people expect me to behave like a man, so I have to fake it as best I can. Either that or some very puzzled faces of the 'So which gender is he?' variety.

The fact is that inside every confident person there's a panic-stricken nail-biter trying to get out - or just trying not be noticed.