A little while ago I saw a movie called “Men.” It’s not what many would call a masterpiece, but the great thing about art is that what seems pointless to some, can hit a nerve with others. This movie did that for me. It hit a nerve that has been talking to me ever since. If you want to read more about my take away from it, you can find it in my blog “The duty of a woman.”
There is a scene where the woman, Harper, is standing face to face with the most vulnerable form of the man that has been stalking her. In this cinematically gorgeous moment, the man takes a dandelion and blows. It’s a slow motion shot and the woman is blown back by the force of all the “wishes” surrounding her. It’s not necessarily menacing, just overwhelming — and one of the wishes finds its way into her mouth. Then she turns in real time and runs into the house — but for one second, the man reaches for her and she has compassion and touches his hand. He seizes it and she has to get away.
Something about that scene was so powerful to me. I felt the weight of all those wishes. I have felt the weight of compassion followed by the duty to make a man feel whole, worthy, or healed — only to suffer abuse, neglect, and fear. That scene and all the feelings the movie itself brought to the surface, caused this thought to run through my mind on a ticker-tape ever since: Who am I outside of the needs of a man?
I was raised in an evangelical church. My whole life’s purpose revolved around being a helpmate — a kind and nurturing wife. Not only was my entire emotional focus supposed to be on my husband and children, but my body did not belong to me either. I thought I just owed it to my husband whenever he wanted it, and however he wanted. Even after losing my faith, my sexual boundaries were blurred and difficult. I was hung up on what was expected. I had sex too soon. I often wasn’t even attracted to the men. I was just driven by the perceived need of whoever I was with.
A few months ago, a relationship of 5 years ended. I was devastated, and did all the normal things people do when they are grieving a relationship. I went on Tinder, started keeping a journal, talked to friends and family — basically, just tended to my healing. But I realized I was becoming obsessed with the idea of a relationship, with dating. So, I bought self-help books and decided to go off of all my dating apps. Then my therapist talked to me about maybe keeping them open. Maybe having a more moderate approach to dating — just keeping options open. It seemed reasonable, so I put them back up and went on a date two nights ago.
First of all — this man was lovely. He was all the things: handsome, smart, accomplished, kind. But at the end of the date, he wanted to kiss me (well, make out really) and all I could think about was that movie, and the weight of his desire. I felt a rising panic; I wanted to be home — and more than that — I wanted to be alone. I stopped and asked to talk. And I explained as best as I could while on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, that not only was I not ready for any kind of relationship, but I wasn’t ready for anything physical either. Fortunately, this man has a history of working with trauma and recognized it for what it was. He didn’t accuse me of being a tease or try to bargain with me. He just communicated honestly and respectfully, immediately stopped, and drove me home.
I don’t know how to explain it, but that night something inside of me just snapped. I walked into my house and thought to myself — why do I want anyone else? I love my life. I am proud of my home. I feel at peace here. And that question ran through my head again: Who am I outside the needs of a Man? But this time the answer came easily and immediately: free.
I deleted my apps. Not because I thought I should, or because it was going to be some important part of a process that would lead me back into the right relationship. But because I wanted to. I didn’t want them anymore. I don’t know when or if I will ever want a relationship. All I know is that I can’t go back to that place where I feel fear and responsibility — or the weight of adding to someone else while taking and taking from myself. If I am ever in a relationship again, friendly or romantic, it will be because the person at the other end of it is adding quality to what I already have. And if I ever have sex again, or even kiss someone again, it will be because I really fucking want to.
I wrote this in my diary last night about the incident.
I just wanted to be home. The home I’ve made and that I sustain. The one that is full of beauty and love. I trust me. I love me. I am my home. And honestly, so far, I have not met a man I can trust with my home. No one who adds to it or doesn’t require more than I have. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I am finally alone because I choose to be. I am finally free.
Though I am relieved, and proud, of being in this place. It doesn’t mean that my work is done. Obviously, I have some things to work through and I am committed to doing that work. But the difference is that I am doing the work for me. So that I can be the best version of myself for myself. That is a first. And you know how I know it is real and right? Because I woke up this morning and felt peace — without a wish in sight.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
 White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism |
 Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box |
 The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer |
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Photo credit: Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash
