Monica,
I have procrastinated this response because I know I will be twisting myself into knots to avoid my own hypocrisy, so I am going to attempt to interrogate my reaction to your date with enough self-awareness to admit that your justification has, on many occasions, been mine, too.
I am, as always, better at telling women to deprioritize a man’s feelings than I am at deprioritizing a man’s feelings. Case in point, I wrote a flippant comment about the “musician” in the comments of last week’s column, and you asked me to delete it because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. When I told you, “I would delete my comment but was annoyed with you for asking me to do so,” you reminded me that, months ago, you had written something similarly “rude” about someone I had gone out with. Of course, I deleted your comment for the same reason you asked me to delete mine.
It’s a lot easier for me to throw punches at the men I don’t know. Or perhaps I want to call them out myself and feel it’s no one’s place but mine to speak about my experience with men I should have avoided to begin with.
When one has spent decades reclaiming her power with her narrative voice, even an outsider’s solidarity can feel like a violation. While I pride myself on coming to other women’s defense, there’s a part of me that feels threatened by anyone who comes to mine.
I feel the same way about receiving advice. I do not want to be less sad or angry. I want to be seen in my brokenness and witnessed as I rebuild.
This, by the way, is something I have never even acknowledged until this moment. And I think it’s why for many years I gravitated towards men who came to me for support and were unable to offer me the same. It’s why I married the man that I did—a man that needed me more than I needed him. A man unable to comfort me in times of distress. A man whose self-proclaimed love language was putting me down, downplaying my successes, and sabotaging me when I begged for his support.
It is also why I am hyper-aware of the immense capacity women have and how impossible it is to meet a man who can match it. Most women take on the role of both parents as soon as we realize that our partners feel “taken for granted” when we don’t congratulate them on the bare minimum.
Having the capacity to multitask and the desire to take everything on doesn’t mean we should. While I understand that you made a three hour trip to see this guy because you wanted to see him, not because he wanted to be seen, your desire to hook up usurped your willingness to discern the imbalance or even care that the man you were driving three hours to see would never meet you halfway.
This inequity does something to the soul of women, unbeknownst to the men who expect us to do ten times the work with one tenth the reward. Or in your case, all of the driving with nary an orgasm to be found once you arrived at your destination. And no, his doesn’t count.
* * *
If you were to ask my kids about my favorite word, they would roll their eyes and say, “Equity,” because I am annoyingly obsessed with talking about it.
Equity, to me, is key in every relationship, casual or serious, sexual or platonic. If I love you, you will never question how I feel about you—and I demand the same. This did not used to be the case. It has taken me many years of driving well out of my way for people who wouldn’t so much as think to do the same for me to finally wake the fuck up. Which explains my reaction to the boy in the band story.m
You happen to be partnered with the only man who deserves you. Most women I know are so far out of their husband’s league I want to scream. But Cory is extraordinary. The way he loves you and expresses that love for you is one of the things I love most about our relationship. I feel so grateful to both of you for modeling the kind of safe, expansive partnership I didn’t know was possible.
And while I know that every relationship has its challenges, you found someone who truly meets you in the middle—a man who loves you even when you’re broken, just like I do.
Cory would drive three hours for you and, in this case, he actually did. He went with you. To see a boy. Because he loves you and supports you and knows your worth. Because he knows that you would do the same for him. Just like I know you would do the same for me, and I would do the same for you and everyone I love.
The thing is, I don’t want anyone I care about to go out of their way for ANYONE who wouldn’t do the same for them. You are way too special to fuck with anyone, in any capacity, who doesn’t understand how lucky they are to be close to you.
To me, decentering men means deprioritizing their feelings over my own, not ignoring them entirely. This goes for the man I love most in the world: my son, and why I find terms like “boy moms” so problematic. When a woman identifies with a man’s needs over her own, she has enabled her own abandonment.
It is also why, anytime someone asks how my son feels about my writing, I tell them, “It isn’t my business, but I will never regret holding men accountable for their actions publicly.” And that doesn’t mean I don’t adore my son. It means that I do. It means that I believe in a world where good men are possible. But that world only exists if we acknowledge our inequities and how we uphold them. Change can only occur if women start prioritizing their truth over the feelings of the men they love. (There is a reason why masculinity is so fragile: Women have coddled men for far too long and, yes, that includes our sons.)
All mothers should call out problematic behavior in front of their children regardless of gender. Every time a woman swallows her voice to protect her husband, her son, her father, or any man, she becomes the patriarchy’s favorite accessory. This, too, goes for calling out friends who occasionally make questionable decisions because of a boy in a fucking band.
All it takes is one good story to convince oneself a three-hour drive to meet a man who would NEVER drive three hours to see you is actually… exactly what you want.
It doesn’t matter if you loved every minute of it. I will always be protective of women who give themselves—even willingly—without reciprocity.
And perhaps someday, I will be just as protective of myself.
xx,
Rebecca
