I remember capturing this idea

It was fleeting like the rest of the things wrong with me. It was there for a moment, but for the first time I caught it. Was the a glimpse at the inner misogyn that lived inside.

It had grown and festered unopposed for years until this day where for the first time I could face it.

I don’t mean for this to be a romanticization of the thoughts I was owner. They were a beast, but I was still their master. Eye to eye with the idea I felt disgusted.

It began with the simple question of, “why do I see sex as an end game of relationships?” I considered the aesthetic beauty of a women to be the center piece to who she was.

If she could not satisfy that obligation of beauty, I did not want her. If I could not own her and her opinions, I did not want her.

There was a facade of progressivism, that a women could think what she wanted. However, that really only extended to opinions I didn’t care about.

It sounds excessive to say this, but I believe it is true. For a man, who is a misogynist, his love runs parallel to the destruction he is willing to sow in order to maintain the illusion of it.

His love, is of course, anything but love. It is a view of ownership, of dominion. And what is it the hateful man thinks he owns? Your autonomy, your beauty, and anything else he wants to take.

Because it isn’t that he loves you. It’s that he loves your beauty, your patience, your feminity. All these things that are about you, but are never YOU.

These thoughts are wrong and continue to be wrong. Laboring to fix them in myself is an ongoing process. Any man who fails to admit to himself the ownership he feels over women is a coward.

And I really do think this post is right. The hateful man doesn’t acknowledge himself as such.