Old Wounds and Misandry

On a deep fundamental level, I don’t like men. Part of me regards them as Other. Threatening. Inherently dangerous. Suspect. There are sound reasons why I feel this way. I don’t judge this part of myself, and I haven’t succeeded in healing it yet. I acknowledge and allow it to be.

As I watched the men reading aloud vile statements to these women (see link), I saw them struggle. I saw them blanche and look uncomfortable. I saw that they felt pain. And for a brief flash, I felt tender toward men. I felt a tiny bit safer that there are good men in the world. I felt an ache for how culture beats empathy and anything feminine out of boys as they grow up.

If you want to comment, please use love as your guide. I am not looking for a debate about gender politics. What these women experience in their jobs is real. What I’ve experienced is real. I am married to a good, loving, empathetic man. It took me a long time to be ready to meet him.

I have a younger brother. I was eight when he was born. I loved him so intensely I would have died for him. When I am feeling a wave of misandry, I try to remember how beautiful we start out as, including males. But it’s difficult. I even feel this tension toward boys, as though they are the enemy-to-be.

Here is the link: ‘I Hope You Get Raped Again’: Women Sportswriters Listen to Men Read Vile Tweets About Them.

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