I have often felt uneasy around men. My comfort zone lies primarily with my husband, yet only a few other men allow me to feel at ease. This isn’t a conscious distrust, but rather a psychological barrier that has been constructed since my childhood.
The first layer of this wall was built by my father, who warned me about men from a young age. He described them as wolves, only interested in one thing. According to him, men viewed women merely as objects. As I matured, his warnings became increasingly fervent. I sensed his desire to shield me from potential harm, perhaps reflecting his discomfort with how men might perceive me.
At the age of seven, I experienced molestation at the hands of an older cousin. A family friend would tickle me until I cried. I recognized that the tickling was merely a pretext for unwanted touch. Throughout my childhood, it seemed there was constant commentary on my appearance from men, where lewd remarks blended into seemingly innocent ones, making it hard to distinguish between the two.
Having no brothers or close male friends to counterbalance this negative narrative, I often envied my friends with brothers, who appeared more relaxed around men. They seemed privy to a softer side of boys that I had never encountered—one that didn’t seem fixated on sexual conquest.
When I began to take an interest in boys, they became a puzzle to me—a means to answer whether I was a desirable being or not. However, in my interactions with them, I rarely empathized. While I could muster some pity for a boyfriend in distress, I doubted he could feel emotions as profoundly as I did, as a woman could.
Despite my growing comfort with my husband, I still felt a certain detachment from him, albeit less pronounced. He treated me with kindness and loved me fiercely, but I questioned the depth of his feelings. Was he capable of truly understanding the complexity of emotion?
Everything changed twelve years ago when I welcomed my first child—a boy. I still grapple with guilt when I recall how challenging it was to summon excitement upon learning I was having a son. How could I forge a bond with someone I instinctively feared? Yet, upon his arrival, I fell in love with him—like many mothers do—and I found a way to embrace his maleness.
When my son was a toddler, I gifted him an empathy doll that sang songs about feelings, including a heartbreaking tune about ice cream melting on the ground. Each time the doll sang, I watched in awe as my little boy’s lip quivered, displaying genuine empathy.
Around the age of seven, he playfully tied a rubber band around our dog’s paw, not realizing the harm it would cause. When I showed him the swollen paw, his sorrow was evident. Even years later, he still remembers that incident with regret.
The first time he performed publicly on the violin, he appeared nervous and serious, his usual vibrant spirit subdued. Once he completed his performance, relief flooded his little body, and his pride shone through a beaming smile that melted my heart.
When he began reading the Harry Potter series, he raced into my room one day, crying uncontrollably over Dumbledore’s death. It was a revelation; boys could cry over books too.
Last year, while driving home on the last day of fifth grade, he confided that he liked a girl as more than just a friend. I had always dreaded this moment, fearing he would become what I had long been cautious of. However, the tenderness in his expression as he spoke of her was heartwarming.
We invited her over for a playdate, and it became evident that he admired her for qualities beyond her looks—she was smart, creative, and articulate. While I won’t delve into the details of their budding relationship, witnessing his genuine affection for her has been a healing experience for me.
Every instance of his compassionate nature has chipped away at my once-imposing wall of mistrust. I now listen to my husband with an open heart, recognizing his desire to be good more than I ever did before. While I am aware that danger still exists, I’ve come to appreciate the multitude of men with kind hearts and good intentions.
Though I may always feel a slight unease around unfamiliar men, my son has taught me to approach them with less judgment. I often reflect on how he entered my life to impart lessons in compassion—not just for boys and men, but for myself as well. While he won’t be perfect, he has given me a glimpse into the pure virtue that lies within every good man, making me a better person in the process.
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In summary, my journey of understanding men has been profoundly transformed through the love and compassion I have witnessed in my son. He has not only reshaped my perception of masculinity but has also shown me the importance of empathy and kindness.