Being a better lover in bed, being a better partner by sharing emotional and house-hold labor, learning how to better communicate, being able to ask for what you want and need, and to listen to what your partner wants and needs — all of these go into being a better man as it relates to having a significant other.
But those behaviors and manners of being are luxuries compared to the bare bones, black and white, lowest bar on the ladder of being any kind of man deserving of respect and of being with: not abusing your partner.
Life during COVID-19 is heavy. There is shock, anger, fear, anxiety and more levels of varieties of grief than I’ve ever seen collectively experienced. All that was fragile yet still holding us in place is fraying and deteriorating before your eyes, some things perhaps to never return.
Yet as we worry about how far away we are from the person approaching us on the walking path, as we deliberate about the meals we’ll be having two weeks from now, while feeling too overwhelmed about dinner tonight, and our concerns about rent, our jobs, and our families’ health stick to us like bruises freshly inflicted on us each time we read the news, there is the sad, sobering reality that in the place where they should be seeking shelter and safety like all of us, many women will suffer actual bruises and worse from their partners.
Perhaps people don’t want to talk about domestic violence because it makes them uncomfortable. Or because it’s so unpleasant and awful. This is probably true even in normal, non-pandemic times.
There are many societal failures to choose to talk and learn about these days: the vapidity, greed and cruelty in our health insurance system, the callousness and disregard for life in our justice system, our emphasis on the almighty dollar at the expense of our very existence.
I choose to highlight domestic violence because we as a society, and men in particular, cannot look away. In my exploration of what it means to be a better man, I’ve touched a lot on the fear of abuse, of the lingering, ever-present anxiety that women endure because of threats down the block, around the corner, where the car is parked, on dimly lit streets. Those fears are real.
But so too is the actual violence inflicted upon women not in an empty parking garage, but behind closed doors in the supposed sanctuary of home. It’s not a new problem, but it’s a problem made worse by the pandemic.
The pandemic has forced all of us into our homes, with our partners, for the entirety of the day except for walks and bike rides.
And for so many women, it has escalated not just the threats of abuse, but the real thing. It’s not theoretical, and, like the virus itself, is everywhere. From South Carolina to Fresno, from Portland, Ore. to southwest Florida, incidents and cases of domestic violence are up.
The explanations (nee: excuses) might seem obvious: more time at home means more opportunity for incidents to occur. Loss of job or income adds to stress, which leads to more violent behavior. The virus itself is stressful; our way of life has been turned upside down, almost instantly and indefinitely.
It disgusts me and it saddens me. As it should for all of us, men included. It has become so difficult to get through the day now. I can’t sleep. It’s hard to focus. Yet I’m so lucky. I have a stable job, I am food secure. While I am lonely and, at the moment, heartbroken, I am healthy — and I am safe inside my home.
I don’t know how many people will read this piece. I don’t know what good I think it will do. It doesn’t seem one likely to be shared, liked, curated. But no matter. If we’re going to have a social reckoning about all the pandemic has exposed about our society, let’s put domestic violence at or near the top of the list.
I am going through a break-up. It’s made me question my value and worth as a man. I recall all the times I failed my partner, even though she was able to articulate, repeatedly, what she wanted and needed from me. I just couldn’t change enough to make it work for us. All I think about is why I couldn’t, how I could have been better, my weaknesses at not doing those things.
But despite those, I want to make one thing perfectly clear, especially to any male readers. The fact I never physically abused her or any other woman in my life does not earn me a star or merit points. I’m not a good guy or was a good boyfriend or husband because I never did those things. Not being physically abusive is way below the bare fucking minimum we as men can and should be for our partners and to others.
So at times I get mad at men who have women and families in their lives, and in my jealousy, I wonder how they could act that way. Then at other times I just get disgusted at even putting domestic violence on any type of moral relativity scale. It is awful and shameful and should never happen. Period.
So there…I called this issue out. Earlier this week I became a sustaining donor to Safe Alliance. At least I’m putting my money where my mouth is, trying to support an organization that helps women, and makes my community stronger, better, more supportive.
It’s not enough. But like this article, it’s something.
The world is sick, literally and metaphorically. When this virus dies out, which it will, eventually, we’ll have a lot of reckoning to do. We’ll have to examine what it means to seek safety at home, to shelter in place…and realize how many people could do neither of those things.
When our lives get harder, men lash out. It’s unacceptable, and we must learn to be better. We must teach and model for young men and boys how to be better, how to process failure and fear so that we don’t harm ourselves or other people, especially those closest to us, both physically and emotionally.
There is no place for violence against women. Not out in the streets, and most certainly not at home.
More can be found at the National Domestic Violence Hotline.
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Previously Published on Medium
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