Men, It’s Not Your Fault

Men, It’s Not Your Fault

I was angry at my boyfriend for all the sins of the patriarchy, and now I’m not anymore.

Cris Beasley

By Ricardo Cavolo

Dearest humans of Earth, most especially the menfolk –

It’s not your fault I don’t have as many full-body, bone-deep, ego-dissolving orgasms as I’d like. It’s not your fault that there’s a laundry basket of clean and/or dirty clothes, really it’s hard to tell, dumped out onto the floor in my mad rush to go down to LA last Friday. It’s not your fault I got passed over for promotion — twice, and that the tall blonde guy did get promoted. It’s not your fault no one brings me buttered toast, thinly sliced cucumbers and tea in bed every morning. It’s not your fault I’ve spent my whole life hoping one day I’d meet the Magical Man who would, with a shake of his gorgeous cock and a twinkle in his mischievous eyes, right all these wrongs — oh and find my phone when I’ve lost it… again. (Hint, I’m probably sitting on it.)

I mean, it’s not your fault in particular. Have you, me and the fence post all participated in the systems that cause a bunch of bullshit? Yes of course. I allowed myself to be angry, and having done that work I now have the space to go onward from there. Other people are at different parts of their process and you get negative infinity points for trying to force anyone to feel the way I do about these issues. I present my story only as that — my story. My greatest hope is that these words might unwind some knot way down deep somewhere in your body and open up some space for more compassion for yourself and others. If not, that’s absolutely fine too.

Doesn’t he look a lot like Sting? Who among us *doesn’t* have a crush on Sting?

No, none of that was your fault, and yet I hung onto the hope of all that like a hair in a biscuit. Funny, this word “hope.” As Frankie says in 16 Years of Alcohol,

“Hope is a strange thing. The more you look to it, the less beautiful it becomes.”

My hope for meeting “the one” had passed its sell by date some time ago. I’m embarrassed I kept that clotted container of hope smelling up the place for so long.

I’m not your healer. You’re not broken.

What I’m most embarrassed about… I thought it was your fault for not showing up as a full partner to me. I now can see what full partnership entails and oh holy hell — it literally takes my breath away. It means you see me covered up and drowning in my fears, and you love me anyway. I try my strength against you, and you come back with grace and gratitude. You make a safe space for my anger. You see through me and tell me about my blind spots with the greatest nourishment and care. You hear my wisdom but never follow blindly. You stumble on a step but come back to me when you’ve recovered your balance. You tell me no when something’s not right for you.

I’m not describing my hypothetical dream relationship, I’m describing the actual relationship I have with several exquisite men in my life right now. One of them even butters my toast in the morning. Y’all know who you are. You humble me. You teach me. I love you all more deeply than I could’ve imagined.

I’m sorry I couldn’t imagine a partnership like this before. Hell, I’m not sure many men and women have had one like this before — one where we see each other this clearly and celebrate when we spread our wings to follow our wild hearts wherever they may go, one where our personal growth isn’t constrained by vows written about fairy tales of princes and princesses for the dreams of a time that has passed.

I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you, but only in your potential.

I’m sorry I believed so many times that you were incompetent and thereby manifested that incompetent. I made you into a fixer-upper instead of delighting in the gifts you offer in this moment. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to be in your own integrity, secretly judging your actions as wrong and not even having the courage to say so.

I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t know how strong you were because I didn’t have the courage to show you my whole self, my real-time fears, the full spectrum of my lusts, angers and deepest soul cravings. I didn’t know how to. I was afraid you’d say no, and I’d have to lay down on the floor and die. It was me who wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t know how beautiful you were because I never gave you the chance.

But something is shifting now, I can feel the certainty wrapping its tendrils up the base of my spine and flowering in my belly. My breath fills my belly like a pool at the base of a waterfall, both energetic and peaceful at the same time. I now believe in one simple truth — I know you’re going to be ok, with or without me. I’m grateful for whatever part of our story ends up woven together. I don’t want any promises of forever, I can’t believe in them anymore. I ask only that when we’re together that there’s no place you’d rather be.

I trust the universe. I trust love. I trust you.

I finally, finally know I’m not too much for you. That’s been one of my deepest wounds from a growing up as a bold child raised by a conservative Depression-era granny who didn’t know quite how to deal with the wildness of my heart. I can see now that you have space for me and have had for a long time.

You’ve been waiting for me to show up in my full power as divine feminine, partly because there ain’t no party like a divine feminine party and OMFG the sex is soooooooo good, but also because I can help birth the divine feminine in you. You’re dying to leave behind the rotten bindings of toxic masculinity, and you could use the infinite well of beauty and love that dwells within me, but you don’t want it with a side order of resentment, judgement and emasculation I’ve been serving it with. I get it now. I’m here now. I’m so sorry it’s taken this long, but I’m ready now.

I’m broke on the rock of uncertainty. I don’t have it figured out, and I’m no longer mad at you for not knowing either.

Let’s go get lost figuring it out. Together.

xxxxxxxxxoooooooooo,
Cris

Cris Beasley
http://www.medium.com

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