Finding My Femininity

I recently told my therapist that I think I’m more feminine than most men I know.

“It’s been a part of my struggle to find belonging throughout my life”, I shared while nervously playing with my beard.

His response was surprisingly clarifying.

He said, “If you were gay this wouldn’t be a problem.” (He does a lot of work in the LGBTQ+ community.) He continued, “When a man comes out as gay you get to sort of say ‘fuck it’ and get this moment of fully embracing the feminine parts of yourself. Heterosexual males don’t get that moment. There’s no point where you get to come out as a feminine heterosexual male.”

It made a lot of sense. We don’t have precise language to convey the identity of a feminine heterosexual male. At times in my life, I’ve wondered to myself if I’m gay because feminine gay men were the only examples I saw of men who fully embraced their femininity.

Every time I publish one of these newsletters about my healing journey, expressing my emotions, sharing my inner stories, there’s a voice in my head that represents what I perceive as the "masculine” men in my life.

The voice says something along the lines of, “What a pussy.”

Now to be clear, no one has said anything like this directly to me since middle and high school. It’s a story I still hold in my mind that isn’t totally rooted in my lived experience today.

That said, I do hear my peers use language like this broadly. I hear it on social media and on business podcasts. There are still a lot of proclamations of what it means to “be a real man”, a lot of criticism of therapy and healing practices, and a reluctance to discuss emotions and vulnerability. I notice that when things are dismissed as “woo woo”, it’s often because they’re rooted in qualities of intuition, emotion, and spirituality, which are considered “feminine”. Anti-woo is often anti-femininity in disguise. The patriarchy offers little room for woo.

Whether the story that men will judge me is true or not, it’s a barrier I climb over every time I hit publish on one of these posts. Am I willing to be seen as less masculine by sharing my feelings and experiences as a sensitive person? Am I willing to risk exclusion by my masculine peers? Am I willing to look cringe-y (another word we use for men who act feminine).

What’s been inspiring as I’ve embraced this path, and shared my writing along the way, has been meeting other men who are also on healing journeys, and who are open about their feelings and emotions. They’re dedicated to accepting and expressing their whole selves. They’re actively investigating how the patriarchy has shaped their experiences and views. They’re finally finding their feminine.

And many of them have similar stories to mine.

I grew up playing all the “manly” sports, and I was good at them. Up until middle school I was one of the top junior lacrosse players in the area. But I never felt like I fit in with the social norms of the locker room. It didn’t matter how good I was at the sport, I never felt like I fit in with the community. I quit after high school.

My friend groups were mostly boys, and I struggled to fit in there too. Our group’s idea of fun was ballbusting. We’d spend all day insulting each other and tearing each other down. The insults were harsh. Racial slurs, homophobic jabs, jokes about being adopted… it was all fair game. I was the token Jew. They’d throw coins at my feet and mock my mom’s Israeli accent. I was never good at ballbusting. I couldn’t dish it, and I couldn’t take it. I’d genuinely feel hurt by the insults. I never felt comfortable being so harsh toward the others. It never felt right coming out of my mouth (and yes, I tried).

Other friend groups I found myself in were violent. Fighting with rival groups was a regular occurrence. I’ve been forced into fights against my will. I’ve witnessed huge brawls, with fists and weapons. I’d stand to the side holding everyone’s skateboards because I wasn’t willing to jump in. I wasn’t “masculine enough” to fight.

Late in high school, I found myself in a strange grey area: the hardcore music scene. Violence was a core part of the experience, but it was held in the container of concerts and moshpits. The band would pour their rage out from the stage in guttural screams and breakdowns. “Hardcore dancing” involved punching, stomping, and kicking, but generally not toward each other. If a real fight broke out, it was broken up. There was intense masculine energy, and yet the men were more emotional, more vulnerable. We’d talk about our suffering. The music was a channel to express our emotions in a space that, compared to the rest of the world, felt safe. And through that safety, deeply feminine moments emerged.

Through it all, I’ve still yearned for friendship and inclusion within highly masculine groups. I didn’t want to fight, but I wanted to be included by those who did. I was bad at ripping on my friends, but I wished I was better at it. I wanted to fit in in the locker room. In my adulthood, I’ve sought inclusion in masculine entrepreneurship circles. I have wanted to be seen as a man. I haven’t always been strong or aware enough to seek friendship elsewhere.

I’m extremely fortunate that I now have male friends who accept me fully and who don’t embody some of those more toxic ideologies around masculinity. But I’m still working on finding and loving my feminine qualities. I’m working on being comfortable expressing my femininity without feeling embarrassed about it.

I’m highly sensitive. I’m highly empathetic. I listen intently. I care deeply. I feel deeply. I write poetry. I cry during the sad parts of movies every damn time.¹

I don’t want to completely dismiss my masculine qualities either. I still enjoy bringing the intensity on a basketball court. I can still be a protector of my friends and family when I need to be. I enjoy fighting and conflict when in the container of sports, debate clubs, or mosh pits. I still enjoy masculine spaces and energies.

I contain multitudes. I think we all do.

A friend recently told me that they see it as a ratio. Some men are 70-30 masculine to feminine energy. Some are 80-20. While I wouldn’t get too attached to a ratio, I found this framing intellectually helpful. It feels infinitely more true than the binary view that you’re only masculine or feminine

I don’t know what I am. Maybe 60-40? 50-50? Maybe the ratio is constantly changing. Maybe the ratio depends on the situation like I’m 80-20 on the basketball court but 20-80 when coaching a client.

Maybe after I uncover all my repressed feminine energy I find that I’m 40-60. What then? How does a heterosexual man with more feminine than masculine energy identify in the world? What about a heterosexual woman with more masculine energy than feminine energy? Is it important that we have a name for it?

And why do we even label these energies as masculine and feminine? I’ve been told it’s because that’s how it is in nature. Males naturally exhibit qualities like strength, aggression, and logic, and females naturally exhibit qualities like empathy, softness, and intuition. My experience tells me otherwise. I think we all exhibit all of these qualities to varying degrees that don’t necessarily match our sex or gender. I think using the titles “masculine” and feminine” to describe them just reinforces gender norms.

I have more questions than answers. I don’t know what any of this means. I still hold a lot of fear. Hitting publish on this feels terrifying. I worry I’ll be excluded. I worry I’m wrong about myself. I worry I’m being cringe and will embarrass myself. But fuck it. This is me as I know myself in this moment. And maybe, this resonates with you, and we can start talking about it together.

1. One of my most popular twitter posts ever was about normalizing men crying, a fun breadcrumb reminding me that I’ve been contemplating this topic for a long time.