But What About the Men?

I have thoughts. They might surprise you.

It’s been a feminist rallying cry kind of month in my world. I had three viral posts that originally began as a conversation about the new Taylor Swift album and evolved into a major female love moment. I was so beautifully bewildered by the community that sprang forth from me sharing a story about an unexpected Mother’s Day interaction on my Facebook page. I fielded thousands of comments from women with the overall message of “Yes. Women need to support each other rather than tear each other down. I want more of that in my life. We are stronger together.” I’m paraphrasing, but to distill it into one overarching sentiment, it was like an energy bath of female solidarity and support. It was delicious.

A few days later I did a semi-dramatic reading of some of the ridiculous comments I had received on my posts, some of which I quoted in my column last week, including my personal favorite: “Feminism is cancer.” There were a handful of brave men who popped up to thank me for my messages, to share their own inspiring stories of being raised by single moms, championing their wives’ ambitions, teaching their daughters how to be strong and independent. And there were also a lot of moms talking about their work right now raising good sons: it’s a message that has been resonating with me so much lately, especially since many of my besties are boy moms. Put a pin in that—we’ll get right back to it.

Sporting my favorite motto prior to my “hidden comments” recitation.

Here’s the thing: I love men. Some of my absolute favorite people in the world are men—really, really good men. Smart men, loving men, sensitive men, men who advocate, men who raise powerful daughters and men who teach their sons how to respect women and how to love them well.

A month or so ago, I went to my primary care doctor for a med refill—all of my previous providers had left and I needed to check in with a current physician on staff to get my prescriptions checked. I grumbled under my breath when I saw an old white man sitting at a desk and just knew he would be my doctor. I prefer female doctors! My last few were women about my age, and I felt so seen by them, so supported. I did not want to have my appointment with this man who had retired and come back to work after his wife politely suggested he find something to do with his time.

And when I left, I felt sheepish at best: It was one of the best doctor’s appointments I’d ever had. He was funny and thorough and respectful and a curious listener. He had wisdom and insights on my health that I hadn’t thought of before. And I was chagrined, because I should have known better than to stereotype him.

My daughter made a flippant comment about being tired of my “man-hating” after I made a rude remark about some dude (who was clearly a douchebag!) and I bristled. I do not hate men! Sometimes I think my life would be easier if I did, but, in fact, I do not.😉 I told her my anecdote about my new old white man doctor and said, “I love old white men! Some of my favorite people are old white men (shout-out to Papa)!” She rolled her eyes but we continued to talk about it: it was important to me that she understand my point.

I shared with her a few conversations I’d recently had with a few of my favorite therapist friends about the importance of men doing the kind of work they need to do in therapy in order to be happy and fulfilled. Because men also deserve to do deep, thoughtful work to understand themselves, find purpose, and get support to process old wounds, family of origin baggage, and relationship issues.

If we call women selfish for pursuing their dreams or being ambitious or leaving unhappy relationships, why would we not extend the same grace to men who are also trying to get more out of their lives? Don’t they also deserve to “find themselves” at midlife?" It’s a polarizing topic, considering how many women I know whose husbands are constantly taking “guys’ weekends” without reciprocity, always off golfing or skiing or going to sports events while their wives stay home with the kids. Clearly, there are some men who do not need advocacy to support their personal enjoyment of life; I’m not talking about those dudes.

And this is sort of the conclusion I came to: There is a certain type of person (an awesome type, in case that isn’t clear) who champions and encourages and cheers on women my age when they do something audacious, reinvent themselves after divorce, change careers, or find a hobby they love. However, and I shall now tread very, very lightly: Are those same people eager to celebrate a middle-aged white man who followed his dreams or found a great therapist or men’s group or left a bad relationship or decided to become a triathlete/yogi/psychedelic shaman? I’m not sure. I mean, who among the liberal feminist crew these days is leaping up to deliver the slow clap to a straight white guy who “followed his bliss?” 😳

My hesitation to point this out is as follows: Nobody is saying that the white, cis, hetero man has not been celebrated throughout history. That is nauseatingly laughable. But my point is that, as the pendulum swings, I also do not think that men should just globally take a seat and eat a shit sandwich because women have been so oppressed. Because the fragile ecosystem in which we all live thrives with equilibrium. Whether we are married to men or have friendships with them, whether we are raising boys or have uncles and nephews, whether we love our fathers or hate them, we are all going to live with, love, work with, and interact with men. And frankly, it’s better for us all if those men are not assholes.

And I think that ideally, this theoretical non-asshole man lives a life in which he also loves and understands himself. For years, I have been standing on a mountaintop screaming into the void about women and girls finding their voices. My entire life’s work is about amplifying and sharing and celebrating women’s stories, teaching girls to use their voices literally and metaphorically. But that does not mean I think men should just fuck off. I think the best men love themselves, and not in an entitled, ignorant way.

As I encourage all my female friends and students and community members and colleagues to gaze at their navels, figure out their systems, create relationships where they feel like their best selves, men absolutely need to do that too. They deserve to have therapists and good doctors and read books about how to feel better. They deserve deep friendships and people who see them. They deserve jobs they enjoy and hobbies that make them feel whole and relationships where they feel seen and loved and connected.

I am raising girls, and sometimes it gets very, very ragey in my house about what is happening to girls and women, STILL, in this culture. And yet sprinkled amongst our very justifiable outrage is the fact that I love men, and I believe deeply that they deserve to find themselves and be happy. None of us should be robots or martyrs; we should all feel valued and loved. I say this in a whisper, because I am afraid that the long, long history of patriarchal oppression makes it a very unpopular opinion to say, “Hey, men should feel good, too” without an outcry of “Enough about the men!”

I’ve been working on this column on and off for months, and now—on the heels of my viral feminism posts—seemed like a good time to just publish it already. And then the whole Harrison Butker debacle threw accelerant on a dumpster fire and I was like, “Dude, am I really going to write a post about considering men’s feelings right now?” But despite my nervousness, there is an angle I wanted to explore. If it’s hard to summon up compassion for the emotional needs of men at this precise moment, let’s think about all the boy moms out there who love their kids more than anything.

So back to those dozens of comments on my posts akin to, “I am a mother raising loving, feminist boys,” that we put a pin in up there. As I am a girl mom, I want to amplify the beautiful voice of one of my favorite boy moms, Carla Fisher, who read a stunning essay in Listen To Your Mother Boulder 2024. With her permission, I am sharing an excerpt of her writing. Her perspective is so very important, and she says everything I have struggled to put into words.

Excerpt from Hear Me Roar:

“Years later, I happily find myself in a cozy outdoor amphitheater listening to what my teen calls “Mom’s old folk music.” Suddenly, the energy transforms from chill groove to urgent passion. In the last decade, an overdue culture shift has gained momentum, and spurred on by a few poignant lyrics alluding to a man-free utopia, fists are rising. Enthusiastic nodding, whoops and hollers. When the camera zooms in on a “Smash the Patriarchy” t-shirt, the mostly female audience explodes.

You can’t be here and not sense that outrage is the socially responsible stance to take. I do a gut check: any outrage brewing in there? I am woman. The situation requires roaring, so where is mine?

I project a few of my internal insecurities onto the crowd and assume they are expecting me to take the roof off with primal screams of assent, perhaps tear my bra off, but all my gut reveals is discomfort tinged with shame that I am, yet again, out of step with the masses.

If I “be still and know”—a tool I have recently honed yet consistently resist—my hesitation can be attributed to two things. First of all, annoyingly, my eternal nature. Historically, I am not roar-less, but my roar is kind of low key. It can be persistent, always thoughtful, but blatantly fierce, it is not.

And the second part? I want to be swept away in the momentum of this wave, but the tide feels intensely motivated towards man-silencing and I am raising boys. My most precious, my babies who will indeed become men. The idea of insinuating it’s not their time breaks my mothering heart. . .

Part of my subtle roaring is to help them question. Why is my face the only female one in a Bachelor of Mathematics graduating class photo? Why was Grandpa’s family out of the norm because he was an only child, his mother worked, and his father could independently prepare a meal?! Why do Grand Slam tennis tournaments always culminate in the men’s final, never the women’s?

Part of my calm roar is to tell whether they want to hear it or not. “Mom’s talking about body parts again. . .” They can roll their eyes while I blather on about menstrual cups and menopause, but they best not think it’s strange, since it is literally the opposite—run of the mill for half of us.

And you watch, son. You are a white male, and our culture has given you, not the blame, but the responsibility to pay very close attention. You watch and if the opportunities you are easily provided are being denied to others, whatever your roar looks like, it will be time to use it. 100% of the time. To insist the voices of those who have been othered are heard before you sit back down.

I am grateful for the ferocious screamers, the fighters, the ones brave enough to maybe meow instead. I’ll be over here doing my best with what I was given: a quiet roar, and some promising young men.”

Sometimes when people tell me, “Not all men,” or ask “What about the men? What about the single dads?” I smile and say, yes, we love you, too, but as my Grandma said, “I’m not on that committee.” I can’t advocate for every demographic of human, champion every cause, donate to every charity, fight every fight. So I mainly focus on women—generally either ADHD moms or midlife women—and girls—my own and the precious tweens and teens I am lucky to teach. But I love men, particularly happy, fulfilled, smart men who are in touch with their own power (not the gross kind, the good kind) and needs and have the ability to advocate for other people from a place of their own wellness and happiness.

I may not be appointing myself the Committee Chairman for Healthy Men, but I am always here for the good men. I am grateful for them. They show up for me; they care for me; they inspire me. And I am invested in their happiness and goodness, whether as a future partner for my daughters or myself, for the amazing romantic partners for my friends (big love to J & J!), the male family members I am so fond of, and also the ones raising their own voices into a loud roar to fight for what’s right.

So don’t let my rage and viral feminism posts and feral Swiftiedom fool you. Being a feminist does not mean hating men. It does mean hating douchebags, though (esp douchey kickers), and I will never be on their committee. 😉

XOXO,
Steph

Come hang out with me!

• We have a new session of the Writing Our Eras creative writing workshop starting May 29th! Three weeks of writing prompts based on Taylor Swift lyrics—for ALL levels of writers, Swifties and Swift-curious. 😉 More info here.

• The ADHD Moms Club is an amazing FREE community that is a haven of support for women who are looking for their people in a judgement-free zone. Join us here.

• Listen to my solo episode on The Mother Plus Podcast where I talk about Taylor Swift, The Tortured Poets Department, feminism, rage, and community.