I was raised in a very feminine world.
Most of my childhood was spent around my mother and my older sister,
with some time also around my grandmother and step-mother. My father
was in my life, but he was a very sensitive man, and I never had any
traditional “masculine” role models. My mother spanked me as a
young child (although sometimes it was a good swat to the thigh or a
yank on my arm.) My step-mother was dominating, controlling and
overbearing to the extent that I felt a constant tension in her
presence (and even still do to some extent today.)
Even
though my mother hit me, I still love her greatly today. One of my
most vivid early memories was about 7 years old. I was on the
staircase and I was playing too loud, acting out, and trying to get
attention. She got furious and charged at me to grab me and give me a
good spank. I swung back simultaneously and landed one on her arm. In
that moment, she looked at me and there was a mutual acknowledgment.
That phase of life was over. She never hit me again. Our relationship
after that was perhaps as good as any relationship could be. I admire
her and love her and look up to her.
My mother was an
incredible example of strength. When she was in college, she went to
an all girls college where they made her wear school uniforms that
included a skirt. She has always hated skirts and dresses, so she ran
for student body president. She won, and she rallied the girls in
protest against the dress code. That year, they changed the dress
code and allowed women to start wearing pants. She didn't just talk
about change, she made it happen.
When my sister and I were
older, I remember my mom told me that we weren't allowed to listen to
the song “Luka” by Suzanne Vega because it perpetuated a negative
image of domestic abuse. That's the kind of woman my mom was. She
never used the word feminism, that I remember, but she used the
phrase, “Women's Lib.” My dad was a big supporter also. Women's
lib, to my father, was women burning bras, throwing off the shackles,
entering the workforce, and proving that they could be strong and
powerful and unlimited. A beautiful sentiment, I must say.
My
mother also tried to challenge common gender stereotypes. My mom and
sister taught me that women like sensitive men, and they praised me
endlessly for my sensitivity, gentleness, and kindness. I would dress
up in girl's clothes from time to time for fun. I would cry when
watching chick flicks with my sister.
The one thing which was
traditional, is that my mother
also taught me how to BBQ, telling me that it was a man's job. It's
amazing how much I enjoyed lighting the BBQ, and doing my “man's
job.” Wow... I can't even describe how wonderful it was to feel
like I had this one little job. I can't say there was anything else
that I thought I was supposed to do as a man, but BBQ and be nice to
women.
My mother and my sister were also very clear that I
should not be a creep, or an asshole, or a dick, or a pervert, or a
shithead, or macho, or a bully, or sleazy, or slimy, or anything of
what “most men” were. To be honest, I was terrified. I absolutely
could not be that guy! I did everything I could to avoid being a
creepy asshole. I heard so many stories about the awful ways men
treat women and I was told again and again how bad men were, and how
important it was that I be different. I don't know if they realized
how much I was listening to them. It was incredibly influential as I
passively listened and quietly took it in. They were older than me,
and strong, and they were the authorities. I admired them both so
much.
My relationship with my step-mother, on the other hand, is
full of painful memories. She was intense, overbearing, and
controlling. She was proud of her anger and how well she could wield
it on others. I came home from my step-moms so many nights in tears.
My mother knew that whenever I came back from a weekend at my dad's,
the first words out of my mouth would be “I Hate Maria!” I hated
her with all my soul, and have probably never felt so much animosity
for any other human being in my life.
Every moment I spent
near her was a moment on edge, waiting for the next explosion,
waiting to be dominated. My only coping mechanism was to submit. I
was docile and silent in her presence, and then let out the steam
later, when in the safety of my mom's house, or when in the streets
on my skateboard.
My father was an incredible presence in my
life and a great role model. I never knew why he didn't stand up for
me and protect me from Maria. It took a lot for me to eventually
forgive him for that. I didn't realize until very recently what a
wonderful influence he was on me. He was quiet, and he considers
himself an introvert. He was a peacemaker, like my sister, avoiding
confrontation, and often trying to smooth things over.
Throughout
my entire childhood, there was a mysterious feeling I had, which I
wouldn't understand until much later. It was a pervasive attitude
that was subtle, yet never explicit. I have this vague memory of a
childhood TV show, maybe Nickelodeon. A girl beats a boy in a
contest, the girl is strong and victorious, the boy is face down in
mud or something of that sort. Everyone cheers and hurrahs and claps,
and the laugh track rolls, and everyone is so happy for “women's
lib” and “women's empowerment.” As a boy, this was influential
on me. The message I heard from such shows was: boys are bad, girls
are good. Beating boys is good. When girls win, people clap. When
boys win, it is unjust.
I saw this trope repeated again and
again in my childhood in different ways. It was never explicit, but
it felt like a heavy negativity pressing down on me. The other thing
my mother did was rant often against old white men. She had an
unending list of complaints with old white men. “White men are in
the white house, and that's why the government is incompetent.” Or,
“White men run all the businesses, that's why there is so much
greed and corruption,” etc.
She also taught us from a young age to
recognize the privilege we had as white upper-middle class Americans
living in a world with so much poverty. I'm grateful that she taught
us that, and I often feel so much gratitude for the good fortune I've
enjoyed in life.
At twelve, my grandfather died. At
sixteen, my mom started dating women: One less man, one more woman.
It is important to understand that a boy's world is almost entirely
made up of his family and his peers, and perhaps also his school
teachers (mostly female, too.) This was it for me. I didn't see any
patriarchy, I hardly saw any men anywhere, except from a distance. I
lived the first 18 years of my life inside a matriarchy, and a
matriarchy which was sometimes quite oppressive and dominating. Many other young boys are raised this way as well.
My
intimate relationships with women for the first part of my life were
horrible. I was always so confused why they didn't appreciate how
nice and sensitive and sweet I was. I would give them presents, and
write them poems, and offer to help them with anything, and I mostly
ended up alone.
I remember once when I was walking on the
beach and my girlfriend forgot something in the car. I literally ran
for 10 minutes in the sand back to the car to get her that thing and
bring it back to her. It is funny now, as I write about it: it sounds
like a well trained puppy dog. I thought this was what women wanted.
I had no clue that it could be any other way.
I was also
incredibly angry with the world and with life. I mostly spent my time
smoking weed and riding my skateboard. Ironically, when I wasn't
trying to impress women, they would see this skateboarding fiery
strong man and be attracted to the masculinity which I didn't even
yet recognize within myself.
At the age of 24, I discovered
the pickup artist scene, and that started another long chapter of my
life. It was so incredibly liberating, and life transforming and
brought me so much deep inner growth. People say bad things about
pickup-artists, but for whatever it's worth, it was a huge positive
influence for me. For the first time ever, I began to overcome my
shame of being a man. Hmmm... Yes. I want that one to sink in for a
second...
For the first time ever, I began to overcome my
shame of being a man.
Thank you, pickup community. I feel
tremendous gratitude.
At the same time that I discovered the
masculinity inside myself, I also discovered that there were so many
men in the world just like me. I was not alone, and somehow I had
always known that. Here was a community of other men who were also
breaking free from their shame of being men. Here were other men
walking fearlessly into the pain of rejection and ridicule and
inevitable failure, standing strong with the knowledge that “I am a
good person, no matter what women say about me.” How beautiful it
was to become a part of this community! How beautiful it was to begin
to share this with more men as they also had their minds blown in
learning something so new and fresh and alive.
I left the
pickup artist world after 6 years, and continued on with my life,
quite happy to have finally come out of my shell as an adult, as a
man, and as a person participating with life. I had finally been able
to integrate my very strong feminine side with my previously
unrecognized masculine side.
This whole time, I was still a
huge fan of strong women. I loved strong women, and dated many strong
women. I also fiercely questioned gender stereotypes. I was always a
supporter of women's rights, and women's empowerment, as my mom had
been. She is, to this day, such a big inspiration for me when it
comes to standing up for what I think is right. She taught me how to
be bold, and daring, and unapologetic.
If the story ended
here, I would have naively gone about the rest of my life happy to
support women, never thinking much of the word “feminism.” I
wasn't opposed to feminism (though I thought it was a silly word
etymologically speaking.) I thought that women's rights were
important, and so I supported it whenever I could, and continued to
defy the expectations of my own gender role, and that was that.
It
was only recently, when I was compelled to look deeper into the world
of Feminism proper. I was 36 years old at the time, and long past the
pickup artist part of my life. I was interested in the topic, and
joined a discussion on the topic of Feminism to see what people were
saying.
Within the discussion, I was surprised to discover
something which I had not been expecting to find. I was expecting a
talk of positivity toward women and liberation from the rigid demands
of an irrational society. Instead, what I found was that long lost
negativity that I had experienced as a kid. It was that same nebulous
cloud of what I now think is best described by the word "misandry."
Like I said, this misandry was never explicitly known to me,
but somehow I recognized it as something nebulous in this discussion
and got curious. Soon, the discussion blew up and one of my male
friends was kicked out of the discussion for expressing his views. I
was shocked. What was this thing that I just witnessed? I didn't
know.
It was reminiscent of that cloud that lingered over my
childhood, but what exactly was it? Thankfully, a good friend
directed me to a Warren Farrell video, which changed my life forever.
For the next month, I binged on Warren Farrell. He spoke to all those
things I had been feeling but couldn't name. I cried, and cried, and
then after quick breaks, I came back and would cry some more. My
heart was bursting open. So many memories, so much pain. So much
recognition. Such a wonderful feeling to discover that I wasn't
alone! I wasn't the only man hurting! Wow.
Warren Farrell was
a natural fit for my temperament. He was so much like me. He also
loved women. He also had long supported women. He also wanted the
best for women. He had been a member of N.O.W., and had been a very
early supporter of feminism even when it wasn't a popular thing for
men to do. He was sensitive, and soft spoken, empathetic and caring.
He was vulnerable, and open with his emotions. He stressed the
importance of listening to each other and creating space for
different perspectives. This is what sparked my initial investigation
into Feminism.
I spent the next few months after that reading
and digesting everything I could on the topic. I read from MRAs, and
from Feminists. I listened to the mainstream opinions, from Fox news
to MSNBC and in between. I looked at the blogs, and the foundational
books. I read Kate Millet, and bell hooks. I listened to the
anti-feminists, the equity feminists, the marxist feminists, the
radical feminists, the gamergaters, and more. There was no aspect of
the topic I wanted to leave unexplored.
As an adult, now, I
have a pretty good relationship with my family. I get along well with
my mom, although sometimes I space out when she's talking too much. I
love my dad, even though we sometimes argue about politics. My sister
is unbelievably strong and brilliant. I've even come to a greater
place of peace with my step-mother, Maria.
Most recently,
I've been discovering and healing some of the wounds from my
relationship with Maria. Some of them have lingered deep and even now
I continue to work to let them go. One thing that Maria did often was
to argue that her opinion was correct and she would bully me with her
anger until I would submit. I was not allowed to disagree with her
because she was right and I was wrong. (I can even imagine her
arguing with me now about what I just wrote.) It is a sentiment which
I see reflected in modern day Feminism and in general views of
misandry which pervade our culture.
Sometimes it takes me a great deal of
patience and inner fortitude to stay centered in such heated
conversations. I recognize that this can be one of my “triggers.”
That's right, I get triggered around certain topics of gender. I get
angry. I have even fumed with rage. But, recognizing that I am not a
child anymore, and no one is actually overpowering me anymore, I keep
trying to open my heart. In the pain, I try to breath into the pain,
love through the pain. I try, and when it is too difficult, I take a
break and do something else. Then, I try again. It is too important
not to open my heart.
But, it is not only my triggers which
keeps me talking about topics of gender. My heart also opens because
many more people are hurting, and not just men like me. I have seen
how misandry hurts women too. There are certain aspects of our
culture (and unfortunately they are often perpetuated by Feminist
ideology) which are creating so much tension and violence, and
hatred, and pain for people who I care about. I see how pervasive it
is, and how mainstream.
Obviously, gender issues get a lot of
air time in modern discourse. My focus often goes to the issue of
misandry, which seems to be one issue which does not get a lot of air
time. Perhaps it also interest me because it is so personal to my own
life.
I recognize that Feminism is a vast
range of ideologies and movements, and some of it can bring
tremendous benefit for human beings. I love women. I love men. I love
that people ask important questions. I love that people stand up for
each other. I am a vocal men's rights activist and a vocal women's
rights activist. I want to help people. I want to stand up. I
imagine, sometimes, that this is my chance to carry on the torch that
my mother once lit when she was rallying against that school dress
code way back then.
This is the time to speak up. People are
hurting: men, women, families, our culture. To me, it seems too
important to argue over the meaning of words, or some theoretical
ideologies. It's too important to dismiss each other and bicker. The
pain is very real, and I personally think that now is a good time to
start addressing it. I am not a Feminist, and I am not an MRA. I
never liked labeling myself like that anyway. If anything, I guess I
will call myself a gender rebel.
