I admit it. I’m an odd one. As I struggle to understand the modern gender wars, feminism, gynocentrism throughout the ages, and the Men’s Human Rights Movement, I am repeatedly struck by the realization that I’m unique as an American Woman and perhaps as a woman in general.
Moreover, resentment of mothers—including women who look like they must be mothers—or women who “selfishly” eschewed the imperative—means that I must bear some blame for the prevalent maternal alienation afflicting the generations that I precede. As a victim of maternal alienation myself, I don’t accept that blame. Rather, I deliberately chose to not perpetrate the pathology of my family tree nor to bring a child into a world of which I do not approve. Given all the goodies that would be available to me if I were to have reproduced, my choice could not be called “selfish” by any stretch. Rather, it would seem to me that women who have children for utilitarian purposes define selfishness and narcissism. That’s not me by a long shot.
It would seem that the feminine and feminist dictate to conform is shared by many American MHRAs who are so certain that bogeywomen lurk around every corner that they don’t recognize an ally in me. If I don’t fit in the Bell Curve and even outly the outliers, then I don’t exist and have no business blogging my existence. Yet, I persist. At least when I get emotional reactions from men who think they know me but don’t, I realize that I am hitting a nerve and therefore I exist.
However, here’s the thing: I believe I’ve learned a lot from my unusual life. The fact that I’m alienated from any particular place, having grown up nowhere nor with any particular demographic—no, my father was not in “the service”—sets me apart from most. However, since I have no “people” or “place” I’m relatively free of much of the school and media-based “programming” that is part and parcel of the social engineering experiment that defines the United States since the early 20th Century.
But here’s the thing: it irks me that when I participate in a Men’s blog—adding a comment—why I am repeatedly replied to under the assumption that I am a) a feminist; b) like the other women who apparently hurt the other commenters in some way; c) with powers that I don’t have? Moreover, it would seem that a new breed of fatherless son is every bit as histrionic, resentful, and entitled as the most ardent female feminist. The future of humanity doesn’t look very good to me.
Part of the allure of anti-feminism has to do with my social alienation from pretty much every institution and most particularly feminism. Why wouldn’t I be opposed to it? It would seem to me that any rational human being sees that there’s no real advantage to elevating one sex over another—or degrading one. Why else would I be participating in (I hope) positive and encouraging ways if I didn’t feel a kinship with the manosphere?
Not only do I sympathize with many of men’s complaints against women, I can empathize. As a large woman curiously deprived of protection or chivalry as a young girl now fully expected to be self-reliant, strong, and independent because I wasn’t presented with an alternative and who was also a victim of a vindictive spouse (vindictive toward all humanity it would seem but most particularly my phenotype and archetype) and have been intimate with many (many!) male victims of domestic violence and abuse, of course I have empathy with Men’s Human Rights Advocates. In fact, I take it a step further. I am more than willing for my rights and all rights of women to be rolled back just so that I won’t have to be the scapegoat of the next feminist petty dictator or bureaucrat who decides that it is my responsibility to pay for all her personal grievances. I have female ancestors who made history—huge differences in civic life—who did so without even the dubious benefit of “the vote”. I’m eager for a regression to The Stone Age. I’m strong and resourceful. Bring it on!
Does my lack of “wallowing in victimhood” mean that I’ve never been victimized? Hardly. My story defies credibility with its abuse and sheer brutality. Do I blame men and masculinity for it? Of course not. Rather it would seem to me that women and feminized or emasculated men have comprised the majority of my tormentors. In fact, the record is so obviously slanted that I have to assume that any man who decides that I’m a force on the internet to be silenced and shamed is obviously lacking in masculinity whether from psychological or actual poisoning. Am I sorry that this happened to the poor fellow? Of course. Do I take responsibility for it? Not on your life. Meanwhile, I happen to prefer the company of strong, self-assured masculine men whose self esteem is not elevated by attempts to humiliate me or “put me in my place.” Rather, my place is fighting alongside those men or in proud subservience thereof.
So, Mr. Castrated Weenie, bring it on. Mr. Beta Loser, you can wish you’ll get the better of me if that redeems your lifetime of marginalization and rejection by what you assume are “the likes of me”; however, I have a secret weapon: I’m not like those women. I’m entirely beyond the limited experiences of your sheltered existence and I don’t back down.
In fact, compared to “The Master Manipulator” (my ex-husband’s self-characterization), you’re small potatoes. Offering yourself up to me as fair game makes my day. I practice “rhetorical judo” trusting that you’ll hang yourself by your own words. Listen carefully. You might learn something. Wishful thinking I suppose, for when it comes to your generation you rely solely on major media and “role models” to show you the way and therefore, I am operating from a tremendous advantage having never had that reliance.