I'm Afraid of Men

Might you then free me at last of my fear, and of your own?

Consider how often you have dismissed your own appearance, behaviours, emotions, and aspirations for being too feminine or masculine.

It’s not enough to let go of the misplaced hope for a good or a better man. It’s not enough to honour femininity. Both of these options might offer a momentary respite from the dangers of masculinity, but in the end they only perpetuate a binary and the pressure that bears down when we live at different ends of the spectrum.

I’m especially afraid of women because my history has taught me that I can’t fully rely upon other women for sisterhood, or allyship, or protection from men.

I wish that instead of the coaching I received to take up space, I had been taught to be respectful of space.

the return of the goddess, the displacement of god as a man, and the establishment of god as a woman. It’s about the return of women’s dominion to women; I think “man” deserves to be put in his place.

Whether it’s through an emphasis on being large and muscular, or asserting power by an extended or intimidating stride on sidewalks, being loud in bars, manspreading on public transit, or enacting harm or violence on others, taking up space is a form of misogyny because so often the space that men try to seize and dominate belongs to women and gender-nonconforming people.

Just as those who exhibit racist tendencies wouldn’t classify themselves as racist, few men would admit to hating women or believe they hate women.

It is this low bar that also renders the experiences I’ve shared unexceptional and therefore so often unnoticed. Sexist comments, intimidation, groping, violating boundaries, and aggression are seen as merely “typical” for men. But “typical” is dangerously interchangeable with “acceptable.” “Boys will be boys,” after all.

good is a nebulous standard, and our desire for something that can’t really be measured outside of religious teachings and morality only sets us up for disappointment, and sets up every gender for failure.

I’M AFRAID OF MEN not because of any singular encounter with a man. I’m afraid of men because of the cumulative damage caused by the everyday experiences I’ve recounted here, and by those untold, and by those I continue to face.

“No. It kind of bothers me that ‘I love you’ is treated like the destination in a relationship. I told you because that’s how I feel and I wanted you to know.”

This is because queerness is associated with freedom from boundaries. Thus, any boundary is inherently un-queer.

I’m also afraid of the ways in which the threat of violence from men has shaped, or even damaged, my sexuality.

I avoid making eye contact with men, so that no man will think I might be attracted to him and won’t be able to resist the urge to act upon this attraction. I squeeze my shoulders inward if a man sits next to me, so that I don’t accidentally touch him.

In the morning, as I get ready for work, I avoid choosing clothes or accessories that will highlight my femininity and draw unwanted attention. On the hierarchy of harassment, staring is the least violent consequence for my gender nonconformity that I could hope for.

I’m afraid of men because it was men who taught me to hate and eventually destroy my femininity.

FALLING IN LOVE WITH another human is terrifying. As our language insists, romantic love is always preceded by a fall, the necessity of losing control and potentially hurting yourself in the process of connecting with another.

I also love that wearing my mother’s jacket makes me feel closer to her.