Bite of Words

All my life, I've known men intent on turning me against women. They'd complain how girls talked too much, drew too much attention, couldn't be trusted, and wouldn't keep secrets — but worst of all, openly mocked them. That last one was the worst in their estimation. Like Adam in the garden, they couldn't accept the ribbing, and eventually had to blame her for it. They didn't want to admit it hurt their feelings, because feelings weren't something they'd admit to having. But just like the girls they were always degrading, I'd also been forced to choose speech over strength. As someone growing up weak and unimposing, my mouth was my only weapon. I naturally embraced the temptation to speak up sharply when someone flexed their muscles at me. It's not like I could win with violence. Learning the bite of words saved me from a lot of fights — and nearly kicked off a handful as well.

I found smalltown fraternity oppressive. My options were limited, with almost all activities divided by gender. None of the guys I knew ever wanted conversation, except as a tool for telling jokes and trying to impress each other. It was exhausting always aiming to attain an approval that would only consist of a nod or vague compliment. They talked constantly about women, but never talked to any except to ask them out. I couldn't feature matching an attraction to women with a disdain for their friendship. For me, the two went exactly together. Female company was a refuge from the narrow path of what was pre-approved masculine. Over time, I watched those disaffected young men grow weak and whimpering, their old bluster flailing when it failed to find them love. Now they embody all the supposedly feminine traits they claimed to hate, their world all words and grievances spent. Turns out that gender was a role we played after all.

June 22, 2025
Deep Brook, Nova Scotia

Year 18, Day 6433 of my daily journal.