I used to identify myself as a maleist. That is, I believed that the rights of men were being whittled away by American women. I believed that we were raising a generation of men to be pussies. We were stamping out natural male instincts in an attempt to keep them subdued. We were telling American men that they should be ashamed of their sex and instincts.

I’m sure Fight Club had something to do with this.

I don’t identify as a maleist anymore. I find myself thinking these thoughts from time to time. I realize that they are misguided. But, they’re still lingering.

I don’t consider myself a misogynist… but….

My wife and I have an okay marriage. We’ve been together for 8 years. We don’t hate each other. We’re not madly in love anymore, but we’ve got something that is positive and works. Our kids are amazing and smart. She’s an incredible mother. I’m a suitable father. That’s life.

She gets upset with me because of my inability to be intimate.

Not the way you’re thinking. I’m always ready for sex. It’s in the way that she likes.

I shy away from physical contact and heartfelt discussions… sober anyways.

Sometimes, when I’m home, I’ll do a chore or job or make breakfast in bed or dinner for the kids or vacuum a room or clean her car and present it to her like a caveman with game. She’ll thank me and move on with her life. Later that night I’ll make a feeble attempt at sex. She’ll rebuff me and I’ll get angry.

“I DID THAT THING! FOR YOU!” I’ll say.

Then we’ll argue.

I don’t consider myself a misogynist… but…

My mother gave my brothers and I up when I was 10. We went to live with my father and his new wife. She was only 26 years old with three brand new, and heavily damaged boys to raise. I took out a lot of anger on her. I thought that she had ruined my family.

I take that back.

I wanted to believe that she had ruined my family. But she didn’t. She saved it.

I still treated her like she would give up on us at any moment. Right up to the moment I left the house for good.

I don’t consider myself a misogynist… but…

I wish I could explain everything that goes through the mind of a young man. There is SO MUCH SELF DOUBT AND ANGST!

I spent my college years in the Navy. Specifically, I spent my adult formative years on a submarine with 120 men. We used to sit out under the ocean and talk about everything. Especially women. Most of us were terrified of them. Women were such a mystery. So soft and nice and sweet and… We knew that we were good guys. We knew that if a girl got to know us, she’d like us. We knew she’d sleep with us.

Sleep with us.

Sleep with us.

Cause we were good guys.

I don’t consider myself a misogynist… but…

I work in an office. My wife doesn’t. She raises the kids and does the housework and pays the bills and runs the family.

I get the biggest piece of pizza when we order out.

If we go to a party, I assume that she’ll drive home because I’m going to be too drunk.

When I get home I’ll drop my clothes on the ground or pile them on my dresser or on the kitchen table or on the bed or anywhere but where they belong. I’ll ask “What’s for dinner?”. I’ll commandeer the TV. I’ll ignore the kids. I’ll surf the internet.

I don’t consider myself a misogynist… but…

I truly believe that my wife is better at life than I am. I respect her ability to teach our family about life.

She’s helped change me from a card carrying Republican to a bleeding heart liberal and convinced me that I did it on my own.

She’s pushed me into a side career that I can’t imagine doing without.

Hell, she dresses me for chrissakes.

And I have a hard time listening to her stories or watching her shows or reading her books or…

I don’t consider myself a misogynist… but…

I think I am.

Shit.



Rape Culture exists. As much as I have been avoiding saying it for years. It exists.

I’m not guilty of beating my wife. I’m not guilty of rape. I’m not guilty of shooting a sorority.

I am guilty of thinking in a manner that promotes one sex over the other… even during my “enlightened” years.

I will never understand the mind of a woman. I don’t know what it’s like to walk down the streets of Cambridge alone at night as a woman. I will never know what it’s like to have a drunk 230 pound man angry at me cause he’s not getting laid.

I’m sorry.

Vanessa, I’m sorry.

I don’t consider myself a misogynist…. but….

I’m trying to change.