On Building Feminist Relationships (And Why That Feels Fucking Impossible)

Equality is a practice. Because we don’t exist in a culture that is inherently equitable, we have to unpack and process all of the tropes we’ve absorbed without intention.

Except that, in my experience, guys haven’t really done that and aren’t terribly willing to.

I’ve mentioned that the self-proclaimed feminist guys I’ve met have largely used that as an identity to gain the trust and respect of strong, opinionated women that they’re most attracted to, without doing the work of what it means to really practice equality in their own relationships. On one extreme end, it ends up with this: a guy using feminist ideology to hurt women.

But the small ways that unexamined power is wielded is emotionally exhausting, crazy-making, and disappointing.

Convincing people (including women ourselves) to value traditionally female work has been a long, arduous road for feminists and continues to be a challenge for lots of (probably, mostly feminist) women in relationships. Largely we’re tasked with doing the emotional work, the housework, the social work, the communal work. As it turns out, that’s not only true in relationships, but in business as well.

I’ve watched so many amazing feminist women compromise their needs to compensate for that of their partners and kids. Women aren’t rewarded for that. It’s an expectation. Most of their very wonderful partners who practice feminist ideology for the most part don’t even realize their partners are doing those things; that is unexamined power.

How do we get guys to get that? To start examining their power and recognizing the ways it hurts us?

I remember when I first started dating the last guy I was seeing, we were talking about having sex for the first time and he mentioned something about wanting to “just let it happen.” All of my lady friends and I laughed, so hard. He really has no idea that those things don’t “just happen.”  Most guys don’t.

Waxing appointments. Changing the sheets. Cleaning my room. Having a breakfast plan for the next day. Those things don’t “just happen.”

That’s unexamined power–the idea that one doesn’t have to consider any of the process that goes on behind the scenes.

I’ve gotten to the place where I’m fairly angry about our break-up because so much of what happened between us was not about us at all. It wasn’t about our ability to be happy together; we didn’t even have the chance to find out if we could be.

I’ve spent an enormous amount of time being really hard on myself about wanting to find partnership.

Women are told that we’re pathetic and desperate and needy for wanting that and trying to secure it. In my dating experiences in recent years, not only is that true for me, but I am certain men have internalized that as well.

Yesterday there was an article in NY Magazine about freezing your eggs, and although I’m not interested in reproducing, some major points from the article struck a cord with me:

I continued to date, sipping listlessly at glasses of wine in bars chosen because I didn’t frequent them. Many of my closest female friends were doing the same. That they were excellent company to be in — smart, compelling, beautiful — did not change the fact that our collective situation was a drag. The people and situations were different but the broad outlines were all too often the same: The dude was cagey. He acted erratically, pursuing and then retreating. He was evasive when confronted with our wants and needs, or agitated, or defensive. Sometimes he simply disappeared. Of course, not all of the men we met and dated were commitment-phobes. But the numbers were significant enough to present a serious problem for those of us who wanted a partnership and children.

I watched one beautiful friend in her late 30s fight off attention at every party we attended, only to have each man who sought her number intentionally and epically self-destruct weeks later. “I don’t date,” declared one man I was seeing, irritated at my failure to take this in despite the fact that he had asked me on several dates. It was tempting to accept the line of argument that put the blame on me — obviously, at some level, you are seeking these commitment-phobes out — for then, it would become a problem I could potentially solve. But when another friend, a gorgeous, sardonic wit, was dumped by her yearlong boyfriend, who employed a communication strategy just one shade away from a Post-It, it woke me up. It’s not you. None of us were responsible for the fact that so many men see relationships as a giant albatross.

Even my single male friends, who I knew respected me and other women they were close to, seem to have absorbed cultural tropes about needy, pathetic women and the ever-alluring, ever-evasive single male. In conversations, they conflated masculinity with independence. A male friend of mine recently tilted his head proudly as he explained why he refused to call his longtime partner his girlfriend. “I know all she wants is a relationship; I don’t even have to bring it up,” he declared. I urged him to be more direct with her; he couldn’t know what she wanted unless they talked. “You don’t really mean that,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Of course some people simply don’t want a relationship, or want one now, or with a particular person. And that’s okay. Not everyone wants to be with everybody, or with anyone at all. (Men who communicated that kindly and honestly to me tended to become very good friends.) But the ambivalence —  the unambiguous acts of devotion followed swiftly by hand-wringing and confusion, the breakups followed by tortured emails, the everlasting stringing-along — it got old. It even became the subject of a well-received novel.

Let me point that out again, just in case you didn’t catch it:

Even my single male friends, who I knew respected me and other women they were close to, seem to have absorbed cultural tropes about needy, pathetic women and the ever-alluring, ever-evasive single male. In conversations, they conflated masculinity with independence.

And that’s what’s been happening, isn’t it? Every. Single. Goddamn. Time. I feel needy and pathetic because the guys I’m dating, on some level, whether conscious or not, believe that about me just by the very nature of my wanting to be in a relationship. It’s why they’re always avoidant. It’s deeply entrenched cultural norms and I haven’t met a guy yet who’s been able to unpack them.

And what happens when a guy wants a long-term committed relationship? He’s celebrated as mature, and one of the good ones.

The part that’s most frustrating about being made to feel like women are forcing men into relationships left and right is that relationships are actually a lot harder on women than they are on men. Research shows, over and over again, that men are actually the happiest when coupled long term. Even more so than women! Significantly! And women, as I talked about earlier, take on the brunt of the under-or-unvalued work in relationships.

How is it, then, that we’re the ones that experience the negative repercussions of men’s fear about being trapped in a relationship? Women are far more likely to actually (traditionally, historically) be trapped in relationships, yet we’re blamed for wanting them at all.

THAT is unexamined power. That is a sword wielded against single women to make us feel like we don’t deserve what we want. And even the best guys do it.

In one of the last conversations I had with the last guy, he told me he feels bad that he’s made me feel so sad and that he understands because he’s usually on this side of it. Which made me 1. go to the dark, bad place of “why am I not good enough” but, 2. eventually ignited my anger about the ways power and gender tropes play out in heterosexual relationships. Because he doesn’t actually understand what that feels like for me. Just as I don’t understand what it feels like to be exalted for being independent. I’d love to know the other side of that, because I’m sure that comes with its complications as well, but I haven’t met a guy to date who can articulate it.

I’m not even sure there is a way to fix this without men coming to the realization that it would be good for them as well.

Feminism, especially in heterosexual relationships, cannot continue to only be the work of women. Yet, here we are.

Living Out on a Limb

This week I ended up in the dark, bad place of “you’re not good enough.”

If he didn’t want to choose me, what is it about me that makes me not good enough or pretty enough or strong enough? What is it about me that made him not want to choose me? How much more can I do to just prove I’m worth loving?

Everyone knows that dark, bad place. It’s so easy, even for the most confident and secure among us, to fall into that place.

Too much. Not enough. Whatever it looks like, it means you’re not worthy. Someone didn’t choose you. There must be something wrong with you.

I took to my bed for a day. I needed to take care of myself.

I got out of bed today, taught a class, and talked to my mentor.

I don’t know how to describe her, other than one of the wisest and bravest women I’ve ever known. She went to Smith in the sixties. She worked with Cesar Chavez during the labor rights movement. She wrote romance novels for awhile. She’s nothing short of incredible and I’m constantly amazed and lucky that she likes me so much.

Anyway, she said to me, “Megan, you are a very brave person. And as a very brave person myself, we live life out on a limb. That’s where we’re most comfortable. Putting ourselves out there, to be vulnerable and exposed and shed light on what’s happening in the world. Not everyone is comfortable being out on a limb. Most people aren’t. And when you date someone who isn’t comfortable being out on a limb, they often think you’re asking them to expose themselves and be vulnerable in ways they may not even understand. Most people feel comfortable on the ground, or closer to the trunk. Very brave people are scary to people who don’t know what it feels like to be out on a limb or don’t want to be. It’s scary to them that you’re comfortable there, even if you’re not asking them to join you on the limb.”

That provided enormous comfort and pulled me out of my funk.

I like being a very brave person. It’s one of my favorite things about myself. And although how I navigate the world, vulnerable, and on a limb, is scary sometimes, even to me, it very much is where I feel most myself.

I don’t really want to be with someone who is necessarily on that limb with me; I’m fine there by myself. What I want is someone who is willing to support me while I am. Who can help to make sure that limb doesn’t break, or when it does, that I have a soft landing.

Vulnerability is so terrifying, but I need someone who understands the value of it and who can practice it with me, in little ways, and maybe sometimes in big ones, too.

Every guy I’ve dated seriously has been a person who strongly values self-protection over much else. They’re like turtles in their shells on the ground. Occasionally poking their head out to see what’s happening on that limb, because they like that I’m a person who’s willing to be up there, but they’re not really interested in exposing themselves.

Of course we can’t communicate well–there I am, out on a limb, exposed, and there he is, protected, on the ground, in his shell. I haven’t figured out a way to meet each other halfway yet, or found someone who’s willing to try.

I could probably stand to protect myself better sometimes, but not enough to leave my limb entirely.

Sometimes the Little Things People Say Just Really Help You Understand

This is the healthiest I’ve felt in a break-up, ever.

Granted, we only dated for two and a half months. But I’m 4 days into ending things and I genuinely feel great. I feel great about the choices I made, I feel great about how we’re treating each other, I don’t feel hurt or confused or ashamed of anything I’ve done.

I can actually let go and move on.

There are, of course, some things I’m still lamenting: the loss of another possibility, the comfort of sleeping with someone regularly, and you know, the sex. It was good. Our chemistry was pretty spot on, and although we never got to the point where we felt totally comfortable telling each other exactly what we wanted, we were pretty in tune.

He’s showing up for me in this break-up in ways he never showed up for me while we were dating. He’s being upfront and honest and open when I ask things. He’s not avoiding questions or hard conversations. He was never really dating or sleeping with anyone else. He wouldn’t actually tell me that directly when we were together. He danced around it. He took his profile down. He put it back up. He refused to talk about it. There’s some small comfort in knowing that it was only actually up for security, but the reason he kept it up was to leave himself open to the possibility of dating and sleeping with other people. We ended things before we got there and I’m grateful for that.

He’s a really solidly good guy (mostly) and I care for him deeply. He’s stable and handsome and brilliant and funny and a snob in all of the same ways as me. I was hopeful.

I was recounting all of this to a coworker I was taking home from a training tonight. I was telling her how great he is and how I wish we could keep dating each other, except for all of the things that make that not possible.

And she asked why.

That kind of blew my mind.

Why would I want to date someone who is incapable of honest communication, who told me he feels ambivalent about me, and who told me that dating me brought up a lot of self-doubts (he would do this thing, whenever I would talk about my successes or accomplishments and compare himself to me. I suspect that’s what it was about, the self-doubts)?

The thing is, I don’t.

Up until a few days ago, what I thought I wanted was a long-term, committed relationship. With him, maybe. But really, what I wanted was the relationship. He was the most recent conduit for that, and it could have been fine, but we both knew it wasn’t fine.

So we broke up. And now everything is really fine. Even better than it was while we were together. Because my colleague was absolutely right in asking that question: why would I want to date someone who has all of this stuff that isn’t my stuff and can’t quite get to a place to work through that stuff?

I don’t. Not even for the security of a relationship. I really, truly am not settling, and it feels great.

So great, I even dropped off a break-up care package yesterday and it was not with the intention of convincing him to get back together with me, or make him feel guilty. It was truly just to help him feel less lonely; to be sweet and thoughtful and kind to someone who was maybe a little selfish and self-involved and unable to really consider my feelings or be brave enough to take risks or try new and hard and challenging and emotionally complicated things, but who ultimately has a good heart and deserves the space to work through that stuff in his own time. I don’t want to begrudge him that or be hard on him because of it. I’m not taking any of it personally, because it’s not personal.

I’ve come a long way, baby.

I’m reading Sarah Mirk’s book, Sex From Scratch: Making Your Own Relationship Rules, because I can’t possibly go through a break-up without reading a self-help relationship book. And in his care package, I included The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. a fictional account of a very realistic 30 something modern guy. It was a little glib, because it’s not the kindest portrayal, and I think there are some major parallels. But, you know, I get to be at least a little glib.

I will definitely have more to say about the book I’m reading, but so far, it’s really spot-on.

The best part of all of this is seeing how far I’ve come. How much I’ve evolved and grown and matured emotionally. I’ve lived in this space where I’ve been afraid of being alone and afraid of rejection for so long. It really feels like I’m letting all of that go and shedding that skin so I can really choose what I want. We’ll see what that turns out to be.