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Last night, my father - who used to beat my mother in my presence when I was a child - called to tell me how “disturbed” he is that I let my toddler sons wear dresses.
Not since I stopped booking tours has a phone call made me apopleptic with rage.
Not since I stopped booking tours has a phone call made me apopleptic with rage.
He doesn’t use social media, which means that someone who knows him and follows me told him about it.
Everyone who falls into those categories is 15+ years older than me, and could’ve engaged me directly about it, just like he did.
They didn’t, so I blocked them all.
Everyone who falls into those categories is 15+ years older than me, and could’ve engaged me directly about it, just like he did.
They didn’t, so I blocked them all.
I told my father that the bbys wear dresses because they look pretty and it makes them happy; that they’re too young to know anything about gender roles; and that I have no interest in enforcing those roles regardless.
I also told him that I didn’t appreciate a bunch of middle-aged snitches gossiping about me as if I’m not ALSO an adult, as if I’m not ALSO a parent.
How these people grew up in the same hoods I did yet turned out to be narcs boggles my mind ANYWAY.
How these people grew up in the same hoods I did yet turned out to be narcs boggles my mind ANYWAY.
Before I could FULLY read my father the riot act, Ezra started crying to be held, so I had to end the conversation and tend to my son. I think that Ezra could hear and feel me getting upset, and it freaked him out.
I’m not answering the phone next time.
I’m not answering the phone next time.
I answered the phone because my father’s wife messaged me on FB to tell me that he needed to talk to me.
I thought it was about something URGENT. I worried about my grandma, who has MS and dementia; about my grandpa, who recently had hip surgery.
I wasn’t expecting DRESSES.
I thought it was about something URGENT. I worried about my grandma, who has MS and dementia; about my grandpa, who recently had hip surgery.
I wasn’t expecting DRESSES.
I thought about every man in my family who has beaten and cheated on their spouses, and every man in my family who has intimidated and molested children.
I refuse to let a single one of them tell me SHIT about how I’m supposed to live my life and raise my family.
I refuse to let a single one of them tell me SHIT about how I’m supposed to live my life and raise my family.
I’m a cishet man, and I don’t foresee that changing, but I cannot think of even one definition of masculinity that I use to determine how I should conduct myself.
I’m more concerned about being a decent person than I am about being a man.
I’m more concerned about being a decent person than I am about being a man.
My spouse and my children love me. They respect me. They do not fear me. I don’t say or do hurtful things to them, EVER. I have broken every generational cycle of hurt and abuse in my family. I’m not perfect, but I’m good. I’m GREAT. I sleep well at night.
It took WORK for me to get to this point. It took reading, listening, prayer, AND therapy for me to undo decades of programming that abusive men drilled into my brain from childhood about how I should exist...and I’m still not done. I never will be.
