“No One Trusts An Honest Man”

I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. Mostly what I remember is being picked on. I don’t think I ever actually got beat up, just taunted, called names, that sort of thing. I wasn’t a masculine child. I didn’t play sports, didn’t really compete with the other boys at all. For a number of years, my only friends were the girls who took pity on me. That all changed when puberty struck. But even to this day, I tend to have far more close relationships with women than with other men.

Growing up, other boys… well, they didn’t baffle me. If anything, I was appalled by how they treated each other. It still makes me sad to think about how awful boys can be to one another. I’ve done my share of research, taken a few classes, and I understand now (albeit mostly on an intellectual level) how this is part and parcel of male culture. To say it like that probably underlines the point best of how little I actually understand it, though. The Program teaches us to make it simple. How can I simplify this thought?

Boys beat the shit out of each other. I hate that. Men compete with other men by tearing them down. You prove your manliness by your ability to take whatever shit gets dumped on you and not flinch. For the record, I hate that, too.

I was raised almost exclusively around girls. I didn’t learn competition growing up; I learned collaboration. My default way of dealing with a situation is to think about how we can work together. I must admit, though, that my maleness can show through here, as I often try to be the one to take charge and make that collaboration happen. One might even suggest that being the alpha male in a situation comes most naturally to me because of the very fact that I was the only male around growing up.

Sometimes I get hung up on the way men relate to men, and yet am still very much one myself.

I came into the rooms not trusting men. Men had always been the ones who betrayed me, who talked shit to me, told me I was worthless. They called me fag and worse. I didn’t really understand how men related to each other as men. To a certain extent, I still don’t. I know there are things about me that make me ‘different’ than other men. I was once told by a friend that I have more emotional depth than every other man she knew, combined. I’m pretty sure it was a compliment.

The truth of the matter was, I was scared of men. Terrified. And also, terrified of my own maleness. My dad and I never had any father/son chats that I can recall. We didn’t talk about sports. We didn’t talk about women. With no male friends, I was left pretty much to my own devices in figuring out this powerful sexuality that courses through my veins. Even now, in the back of my mind, there always seems to be this little thought of, “what the shit is this?” and “what if I let it get out of control??” Even now, I’m still a little afraid of it. It’s something I keep working on.

Working the Program has helped a lot with these issues. I’ve learned to let go of men in my life who aren’t trustworthy, and I’ve learned to open up and trust other men, bit by bit. It still isn’t easy. Introducing myself to other men at a meeting, getting a phone number, calling them on the phone, it’s still pretty damn hard. My insecurity and lack of self-love show up here, as I think about whether I will be judged and wonder what I could possibly say that is interesting. This, too, is something I keep working on.

Recovery has given me the opportunity to learn, both about men and about myself as a man. Like so many other things, I am still learning. But I can see the progress clear as day. I can sit, now, in an NA men’s meeting and know that I belong there. I might freak out about it on the inside, but I can sit and share and know that I am a part of that community and that I do belong there. Sometimes I can even enjoy a little competition. And when insults fly and the ego-bashing gets out of hand, I can know that it’s just part of what is--a part of what I am. Ultimately, what Recovery has blessed me with isn’t my acceptance of other men, it’s the acceptance of myself as a man.