The Men Who Have Redeemed Me

I never thought this day would come; a day where I would exalt men. Anyone who knows me knows of my treacherous leeriness of men. Wariness transformed into weariness, which blossomed into a beautiful and engulfing rage. From the time I was twenty, I bathed in the metaphorical penile blood of my enemies. A woman I could find offensive, but a man I always found a personal affront. A stain on the existence of life. A curse on the name of Lilith and all of her descendants.

Men, I found, did not enhance my life experience - further still, they demeaned it. The men I encountered from the time I was young, even those whom I thought hung the moon, ended their potential in such flaming tragedy. No man in my youth chose courage, compassion, or love. All men bequeathed to me was trauma wrapped with a neat bow of misogyny. Not only did they fail to measure up, they made it distinctly known that their shortcomings were somehow embellished through my innately warped female perception. In other words, I was just another silly girl who would grow up to become a silly woman who did not understand or recognize their inherent male genius. By the time I was nine, I figured out that inherent genius could be easily mussed with a well placed kick, either in the intellect, or the testicles. Men would spend the rest of their time either loathing me, or loathing themselves for desiring to enter my domain. Either way, a trying existence. Nevermore had I understood a Lilith, a Maleficent, or a forest sprite.

After giving birth to my first male child, it dawned on me at some point that one day he would become a man. My sweet baby, innocent and pure - morph into one of those things? My gritted teeth could not bear it. Yet, here we are in the present - more years closer to manhood than to childhood, my biggest secret fear.

Digging deeply, my logical brain has known for sometime that men are not born bad. Nothing within them seeks malevolence. As it has been for quite sometime, barbarism - in its current iteration of white supremacy and patriarchy - has shaped the minds of men for ages. Fighting this ideology proves difficult when the payoff only continues to be beneficial to those who are allowed to join the club. Toeing the line between teaching my kids to preserve whatever gentleness, whatever kindness they have while also teaching them to become advocates for themselves and for those without that opportunity to join the elite club is daunting. In fighting for what is right, we gain a sense of righteousness but lose a part of our softness in the battle. To be a man in today’s world most likely means, at best, you are an oblivious bystander to life. At worst, you’re the oppressing hand that feeds, and gives little to eat.

Emotionally, reconciling this prejudice with my beliefs and my parentage has been an almost impossibility. For a long time, I never thought I would overcome my compulsive affliction. Most days, I’m still likely to have that initial guttural burning, that wrenching stomach and grimaced face at the mention of men. Prejudicies do this to us. They remove our ability to see rationally, as our experiences of trauma have overridden our prefrontal cortex. Visceral reactions are not only common, but to be expected. Yet, I find having a prejudice unbearable - especially one I am cognizant of, one I am purposefully perpetuating under the guise of self-preservation. But, how will my son feel when I look at other men with obvious disgust? What message will I send to him spewing hateful words? What will he think of himself as he watches me move in the world with such overt contempt?

That’s where the story changes for me, finally. Two men in 2024 have taken everything my body knew to be true about men and flipped it all upside down.

One is a physical therapist; my physical therapist. The thought of men (other than my husband) touching me normally sends me into a state of deep discomfort, of physical nauseation, or a state of dissociation. A true nightmare. The other is my child’s special education teacher. Another area where I generally have experienced a lot of trauma, and a lot of deep distrust.

Funny enough, I’ve known both of these men for longer than two years now - almost three or longer, but because of the severity of my past traumas, I cannot cultivate trust for months or even years with men. It’s slow and steady, balancing one brick of trust upon another, praying there’s no domino effect waiting down the line in an attempt to build some sort of foundation.

The physical therapist has this aura; un-intimidating, welcoming even. Knowing him as I do now after years of casual conversation, it’s still astounding to me that for him, conversing isn’t a preferred activity. Learning this made me uneasy at first; he’s so good at making you feel comfortable, safe. It’s unreal to think this isn’t second nature. Deep down, I feel that it actually is, though he may not see it. His aura is quite soft, whether he intends for it to be so is another issue.

When I get nervous, I talk. A lot. I say things at times that may not even make sense. I pour out entirely too much of myself, and sometimes it can overwhelm. This is something I get mortally upset with myself over, but resign myself to knowing that this is just the way it is. If the doctor isn’t going to appropriately treat my anxiety, then it’s going to spill out in the most harmless of ways; as word vomit. The PT never made me feel silly for this. In fact, as I got more comfortable, conversations shifted to constructive discourse, and even shared interests. Our conversations range from healthcare, to video games, from politics, to parenting. He’s also very much into podcasts, as I also am but to a lesser degree, and is always further educating me on the landscape that is humanity in this moment.

One day it dawned on me that not only did I no longer mind attending the appointments, but I began to look forward to them. Not just because he will help fix my aching neck and back, but because I felt seen. I finally felt heard, from the standpoint of a human being, a patient. I realized he saw me as a whole individual, and not just another number like most medical providers. It helps, too, that he's an interesting character himself. I now look forward to these moments. What will I learn today? How will perspectives change? And maybe today I’ll just vent about my medical woes, and that’ll be okay too. I’ve never felt so respected by a healthcare professional. Breaking this all down within my mind and my feelings, I recognized that I feel safe with him as a provider, and as a fellow human. Safe; with a man. Safe, with someone who used to be and is still, in many ways, a stranger. Maybe, just maybe, this is how it was always supposed to be. Maybe we were supposed to feel safe and respected by one another all along.

The special education teacher I met in the summer of 2022. One of my children attended summer school for a few years as part of their IEP program for behavioral services. The first time I met this man, I thought, “Oh FUCK.”

It was a warm summer day. The sun made the sweat bead at the back of the neck and it was so intolerably bright that one might wish for night in perpetuity. As I waited for my child, a rather large man appeared and approached my vehicle. Bald, 6 something feet tall, tattoos, and a furrowed brow. The grip my hands held on the steering wheel caused my fingers to go white, which matched the current color of my face.

“Hey there, are you mom?” he asked politely, breaking out into a bright smile. He glared at the sun, using his hand to shield his eyes from the light. His once crinkled brow lay relaxed as the corners of his mouth turned upward.

“Yes,” I said slowly, “Where is he?”

“Oh he’s getting his things. He will be out shortly. Everything is fine,” he began, still smiling. My stomach only slightly relaxed.

“So, we had an incident today. He flipped a chair and threw it at me - no big deal, but we did evacuate the classroom and I talked to him about the expectations here at summer school and about how that isn’t safe for him,” he started. I couldn’t help but interrupt.

“Was that all? Were there any restraints?” I asked, forcing down the panic in my voice and chest. A questioning look appeared on his face.

“Restraint? No. No, I don’t do that.”

Where had I heard that before… 

“So what else happened,” I asked incredulously.

“That’s it. After he calmed some, everyone come back and ate snack and he was fine. It was a pretty good day, really,” he finished, seeming honest and so…calm?

“Well, great,” is about all I could muster. Despite all of my doubt this day, what I learned in subsequent weeks is that this man is honest, and holds himself to a high standard of accountability - unlike most educators I have come across in all my years of advocacy.

Getting to know him, I learned that you absolutely cannot judge a book by its cover. Something I’d already learned, but clearly needed a refresher course on, this alone left me feeling a sense of deep relief. For at least a year, I subconsciously thought I’d catch this man in a moment of disingenuous intent at the very least, and despite my harmful hopes that moment never came. Not a whisper of malintent, not even a hint at a white lie. Despite what I thought I knew about professional men, not all of them worry about covering their asses first. This man truly cares about the students in his care, and it comes across in the way he talks about them, using kindness in every word he chooses to describe their personalities, their strengths, and their weaknesses. It also comes across in his compassionate nature and empathetic approach.

This was the ‘a-ha’ moment. My kid feels safe, respected, and heard by this man. Not only that, he now has a male figure in his life other than his father who moves through the world with empathy, compassion, and love. Watching this man in his community, knowing that this man is such a driving force in my kid’s life left me broken and in tears a few weeks ago. How can I say that I hate men when I have one, who owes myself or my son nothing, working so hard to provide that safe space, that guidance, and that trust for children? But especially, arguably, the children who need it most? Sobs engulfed me, thinking about where we all might be without him now.

Gratitude fills me up to know these extraordinary men. The prejudices I had could never stand so tall against such evidence to the contrary; especially evidence of such ferocity. Knowing these two men has ultimately made me a better person, despite my active shortcomings and twenty-year commitment to my own need for validation in hatred. This admittance asks that all extend me grace in this process of evolution, of rewiring my brain to transcend past experiences, and to do the work to relearn and repair.

I am thankful for these lessons, for these good men in my life to show me that love and kindness is ubiquitous despite gender. That men out there can and do choose courage and softness. That men in the wild still have the capability to truly live in a state of harmony on the cornerstone belief of love.

Lastly, I wonder about the men I’ve overlooked in my haze of bigotry. My favorite dentist was a man. One man that I met at a bar is actually a pillar of a community, dedicating his life to helping underprivileged children. Each of them genuine. Each of them safe. Some of my most cherished entertainers are men, and they are also generous and compassionate. Fred Rogers. Donald Glover. Robin Williams. If this is what most men are now, or are becoming, then I have hope for the world; I have hope for the children. I now have hope for myself.