Christian Lyons writes on how we each define masculinity, ourselves, and how we have the power to learn and change.
—-
I was that boy.
I was the sensitive one who preferred a good book to playing cowboys and indians in the woods. I didn’t mind playing Barbies with my sisters, despite the punishment received for doing so. I was that boy who could not stand up to the beatings, the derision, being called a faggot. I cried when I felt deeply in spite of the “boys don’t cry” rule that everyone but me seemed to know. I was devastated by cruelty to animals. It hurt me intensely to see someone else hurting, crying, and experiencing the things I experienced on a daily basis.
But I learned. I learned to deceive, just like I was taught. I can be “manly.” A “big boy.” All I had to do was shove those feelings into the darkest corner of myself, tough it out, and never let anyone see when I was hurting. I could sneak off into the woods when tears overwhelmed me. Or I could turn them to anger and lash out at someone weaker than myself. And I did, despite the irreparable wounds I also inflicted on myself. A part of me died each time.
When I was older, there came hateful, hurtful words that rained down upon me like stones. It was added artillery, a means with which to show our own learned self-hate. Because of others’ fear of who I was, of whom I might become, I learned, most of all, to hate myself.
They misread my need to be with other boys as “gay,” an abomination, when all I was truly seeking was the companionship of others whose inherent sensitivity was a balm to my own wounded soul. And I came to believe that I was gay, that my need for masculine attention was unnatural, a disease. And I allowed them to hate me even more for it, to increase their ire, because it was all I was deserving of. I endured so much in seeking what I needed, not understanding the root of it, my eyes blinded by what they called love, but which was really fear.
I am the man who has learned what fear does. What hate does. I am the man who has come to understand what I need and how to ask for it. All those years of pain and blood and fear taught me these things. It has taken a lot of work, a lot of inner heavy lifting to get here.
|
I learned from them to draw attention from others, both positive and negative, by whoring myself and enduring the pain and disrespect because I didn’t know how to love, and didn’t know how to ask for love. Not sex. Not a biblical relationship. I didn’t trust those. But they were a means to an end. So for many years I…endured.
◊♦◊
I am the man who has learned what fear does. What hate does. I am the man who has come to understand what I need and how to ask for it. All those years of pain and blood and fear taught me these things. It has taken a lot of work, a lot of inner heavy lifting to get here. And it is not a perfect understanding. Not at all. But I understand that being sensitive does not mean I’m a faggot, or gay, or less than a man. I still enjoy books over sports. I enjoy deep conversations that don’t begin with, “How ’bout them Broncos?” each time I find myself in public, engaged in small talk with other men. I am not that hypermasculine guy who drinks beer or disrespects women and other men for not being “manly” enough. I don’t subscribe to the concept of “man up.” I endure. I survive. Sometimes I did things that I didn’t want to do. I became a chameleon, a psychic chimera. Until I learned:
Love.
To love myself, and respect myself for who and what I might be. To understand that others’ opinions do not define me. That it’s okay to love flowers, to cry at movies, to cultivate meaningful friendships with other men that do not involve sex, but does include social respect and admiration. I respect women, and feel for them when men act badly toward them, even when they’re not present to hear what is said. I understand that we, as men, feel the need to diminish others in order that we might feel more masculine, based on some strange and twisted concept of what being a man means. I have learned that I am not gay in that I do not enjoy sex with men. I do, however, enjoy the company of men. I cannot help that others misunderstand my intentions and try to twist it into sexuality.
I learned to love myself, and respect myself for who and what I might be. I have endured. I have survived. And I have learned that to be me is the most beautiful thing in the universe.
|
That’s not who I am.
I love being sensitive. I love being able to express myself creatively, whether that manifests in a way perceived as feminine or masculine, without it diminishing my core being, my true source of humanness. I have accepted that most people don’t trust me because they cannot “define” me easily. I am a mirror. They look at me and see themselves. They have fallen prey to society’s view that a man who prefers the company of other men “must” be gay. I don’t mind being perceived as gay, or bisexual, or feminine, because I am none of those things, and I am all of those things. I love that I do not conform to expected gender perceptions.
I am me.
I have endured. I have survived. And I have learned that to be me is the most beautiful thing in the universe. No one else defines me. I understand that falling outside the traditional definitions that so many have come to accept as truth are others’ attempts to diminish their own fear of not being able to comfortably define me. I am an explorer, and if I can create a starting point for even one other person to find their true selves without fear, then I’ve done good in this lifetime. I’ve done my best. I didn’t succumb just so you could understand me better, or so that you can feel more comfortable around me.
For I am a man. I am this man.
—Photo Elvert Barnes/Flickr
Thanks, it was really a gift to read this. Made me think if my little guy and his now. His future.
So pleased it took you to that place.
Good piece Christian. I can relate to much of what you said. I, perhaps, avoided some of your pain, because I loved books and sports. Rightly or wrongly I’ve never really cared much of what other people think of me. I’ve always been sensitive. I was a veterinarian so I can relate to the hurt felt seeing animals in pain – I cried alongside owners. I cry now more than ever when dealing with various matters, issues and sad movies. I used to teach aerobics at a time when if you were a guy teaching it was assumed you were… Read more »
Well said.
So beautiful.
Thank you.
Thank you. Thank you
🙂
Love it I wrote a poem about much the same thing. Its an amazing thing to discover the child you once were is still there and still as awesome as he once was. Where is that boy There is a five year old boy his world is full of wonder, with places to explore and things to discover Dreams all unrealized but filled with joy. For him beauty can not be unseen as nothing is impossible for this boy. His future beckons like a lighthouse and he becomes the man I should have been. The lighthouse lies dark and dire,… Read more »
That’s beautiful! Thank you for sharing!