‘Have you ever even bothered to think about men for a change? I’d like you to understand men better’ 

Theres a moment at the end of one of my favourite books Paulo Coelho’s ‘Eleven Minutes’ where the main character, ‘the coming of age learning love though prostitution’ Maria is confronted by a man Ralf (The Painter) who sees her ‘light’ and falls in love with (in quite a secure relationship kind of way) turns to her, at maybe nearly the end of what might be their last meeting, and says the following question. 

‘Have you ever thought about men at all? do you really understand them?’ 

I love this book. I love this moment in it. It’s a whole book about how a woman, a girl even, navigates a world of love and sex and realises a lot about men from working as a prostitute. Yet at this moment, she stops short, and listens…..

‘Yes, to understand men better, seeing the doubtful look on my face, ‘You talk about your female sexuality, about helping me to find your way around my body, to be patient, to take time. I agree, but has it occurred to you that we’re differentiate least in matters of time?..’

I first read the book when I was realising that I had never truly been seen by the women who were said to be most important in my life. Not even that, mostly taken from, and expected to soothe and give endlessly to their emotional needs or expectations. Become the invisible helper, because women are always right, right, even when they manipulate, control, dominate….and steal…. 

‘Have you ever thought about all the feelings of the men who you have been to bed with’ (Continues Ralf the Painter)

Yes they were afraid, they were more than afraid, they were vulnerable, they really dont know what they are doing, they only know what society, friends and women themselves told them what was important. Sex sex sex, thats the basis of life, and its screamed from the TV, the adverts, other people, films and books. No one knows what they are talking about. Since instinct is stronger than all of us, all they know is that it has to be done. And thats that’ 

It was less the content of the conversation, however important in the context of the book that it was important. 

It was that it was ok, even if brave, courageous, and totally vulnerable for a man to have needs, and state having them…and to a woman, a woman they in the case of Ralf and Maria, loved. 

I read that moment in 11 minutes and realised that I could stand up to women healthily too. I read that moment and realised that it was important for a man to be ‘seen’ too. I, as a Man. 

That I can have needs. Not just sexual needs as in the book. But you know, needs. Emotional needs, and probably not the awareness…yet….to even be able to explain them. 

Yet I get it. I get the other side of it. 

I get it as for so often women are not seen, heard, valued, treasured. 100%. Ive known too many women, heard too many stories to know that this is completely valid, now and from the dawn of time, from the Witches era (an era I love to read about) before and since, and this hasn’t changed. 

I get it too that women are damaged by men, unseen by men, hurt by the systems men created, and that these same systems protect the perpetrators more than the victims. 

In the main in domestic abuse relationships the victims are women. Women are paid lower. Their voice is less heard. 

And the rest. 

This isnt that post. I just want to say that i’m not in any doubt about the damage men have done to women, historically and in the present. I dont need to write this, yet, I completely acknowledge it. Yet still feel I have to say it, if I dont really need to. 

Its also not my story. 

Not the one I grew up with. 

Not the one that my first 40 odd years on this earth has been about, not really. 

When the eyes of the first woman that you see when you awake from the womb are eyes that are cold, violent and yes, also hurting, but transmit expectations, that same hurt and fear. When the other parent is so in their orbit, they’re unsafe too. 

And where, having attunement to them for safety, or face punishment, certainly focusses and hones the emotional perceptive talents. 

Where there isnt safety. There isnt warmth. There is only cold. There is only alone. 

There isnt nurturing, nor protection. Not emotionally, not actually in many ways. 

Home isnt home. 

Yet. 

I also know. 

I won’t be the only man reading this to have been damaged significantly by their mother. 

I won’t be the only son of a narsissistic mother who had to orient around their drama and swirl. (Relief from mine was only complete when she died 2 years ago) 

I won’t be the only man who knew it but couldnt understand it, who lived it with the heaviness of responsibility, shame and fear. Who was and is still scared. 

The little boy who remains 8, 12 or 15 in their presence, even aged 35. Oh, that. Yes that. I thought that was normal. It was my normal. 

I won’t be the only man who feared facing it, for what it might cost them…. the place in the golden child mantle piece, the inheritance… the disturbance….better to stay quiet, stay silent…. so…

I won’t be the only man who took it out on themselves. 

I won’t be the only man who wanted to run from their own life, take it out on their body via drink, drugs or food, or escape unhealthy women to the ‘safe’ world of porn. 

I won’t be the only man who feels terribly alone, being tasked to see or value, or validate a woman around them, yet, be not able to articulate that theres a part of them that needs it too. 

I won’t be. But that not many people, not many men can actually talk about it. 

Often the story society tells is about how abusive men dont change, abusive women dont either… I know. 

Somehow society is largely silent about the damage women do to men, whether mothers or partners. 

There is no justification of how people hurt people, how men have harmed and hurt women, absolutely not, nor how women have hurt men also. 

Abusers will get to their change point in different ways than victims. It’s a crisis, or a breakdown, it’s when the old order doesnt fit anymore. When the supply dries up. Male or Female thats how it works. 

Some men are abusers, some are survivors & victims, some women are abusers, some are survivors & victims. 

It was striking to me again in watching the ‘Spotlight’ movie again recently, that the principle victims were boys. Raped and abused by Catholic priests. Men now 10-15-20 years on from the abuse. These were the lucky ones who didnt commit suicide or completely self sabotage, who found the semblance of strength in the telling of their story……and…… facing it. 

This is no lecture in ‘Men are wounded too’ sheesh… definitely not doing this. Neither it is a sympathy vote. So what is it? 

Maybe it’s the piece that I finally found the strength to write. Maybe it’s the piece that I needed to bring myself into. Maybe it’s the piece about how we dont often recognise the emotional sensitivity of men, their silent strength, their silent hurt, and their internalised shame for what they both faced, received and then responded from. 

Their needs in an emerging healing world that absolutely recognises the need of women’s. Maybe its written from a man who has been so attuned to the other, to the point of exhaustion…..that Paulo Coelho’s book gives permission for me, and other men to, from a place inner hurt and truth so try and show themselves as they truly are – because men can be so attuned to the other that they lose themselves too. 

From my own experience there is something about being in close romantic relationships with women, whilst walking hand in hand with the deep emotional scars of what women did to me. 

How do I trust? How do I feel safe? and what do I do in my natural way of being , as I listen, attune and care – that is both healing for them, and done from both a secure healthy place, yet also activates some of the childhood wounds too? It’s far easier to brick myself up, one grey stone at a time, to protect myself… a position my therapist once said was extremely valid. 

When I couldnt articulate needs, or even have any concept that having my needs were valid – what does that mean now, when attuning to the other is a beautiful superpower, and also means that I can become invisible easily. What about the men who are terrified of women as they have relationships with women, still haunted by the damage of the first woman who said (or didnt even say) they loved them? 

Neither Men or Women can nurture or protect others when in closed, traumatised wounded state. Trauma, anxiety and depression is as self absorbing as Abuse is. No one frightened can protect anything other than the mind that terrorises them to sleep each night. 

Stop. Pause. Reflect. James. This is a lot…..so. 

Maybe ive confused myself in trying to write something about men, that I kind of still have to justify that men are abusive and harmful too. 

Maybe thats the confusion I grew up in the midst of. 

Because it’s more difficult for men to see that women may have abused them too. 

Because maybe, mens needs, as they might be soft, sensitive, wounded, abused go slightly more unnoticed, and when women generally are able to articulate, and know these more intimately to be brave enough to say them. 

The Damaging Men (and women) get all the attention. And thats fucking shit. 

Underneath many men are deep wounds and little boys that had to be silent when they cried, were told to toughen up, or were silenced when they tried to express their emotions. Some boys were stolen from, raped and isolated by what abusive people did to them. 

‘Most of us have not been raised in homes where we have seen two deeply loving grown ups talk together. We do not see this in the television or the movies. And how can any of us communicate with men who have been told all their lives they should not express what they feel. Men who want to love and do not know how must first come to voice, must learn to let their hearts speak- and then speak truth, choosing to be fully honest, to reveal ourselves, is risky. The experience of true love gives us the courage to risk. As long as we are afraid to risk, we cannot know love’ (bell hooks, all about love) 

And as that pain remains hiding away, it holds all the keys. Unfaced like a monster devouring life in the corner. I am the wounded boy that tells the truth. I am the boy who lived. 

Dear reader. 

Did you really need a piece to tell you that ‘men have needs too?’ nope probably not. 

But I wanted to try and put something into words that I thought was important, and maybe that was just for me. I know ive written this with much generalisations, not every detail is here to be explained. I know many of you who read this will be women. I wish more men, especially those who might feel and know this stuff, but not be able to accept or face it might read it. And if this is you, well done for getting to this far. Please seek support, help, life is better in truth than hiding.