All men. Including me.

Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash

If you’re a yoga teacher, check out the opportunity at the end of this essay to join me and David at our Sardinia retreat at a significantly discounted rate in exchange for sharing your gifts.

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Hi Friends,

I played pickle ball last week next to a foursome in their late sixties, I’d guess. Two men and two women. One of the men was a grumpy ass, barking complaints at the other three, being argumentative and defensive. Generally annoying. I could tell the women were used to his behavior, and one in particular seemed to be trying to manage his mood. She gave him a Good shot, Howard more often than he probably deserved. She was the best player out there, for what it’s worth. We had several exchanges when our balls went onto each other’s courts, and she was delightful.

I didn’t get the sense it exhausted her to have to put up with Howard’s behavior. She seemed chill and able to laugh it off. She even gave me a playful smile and eye roll during one of his outbursts. We played beside them for more than an hour, and I kept thinking about the ways in which women have to accommodate men.

This is not to suggest we aren’t all accommodating each other in myriad ways. Of course we are. That’s part of living alongside other humans. We adjust and read the room and compromise. But that experience that night struck me differently. Howard’s energy felt so entitled. It felt like watching one of the basic patterns of patriarchy play out before my eyes.

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I recently watched this three-minute video from Kristen Shelt. In it she articulates so well the promise of patriarchy: that men will be centered and deferred to, that our anger is understandable and actions are excusable. Please watch this, especially if you’re a man.

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I’ve heard many women I respect claim that this country hates women, or that this world hates women. They say it so matter-of-factly, and yet it always feels extreme to me.

I am not a Not all men guy. I swear. (I realize that makes me sound like a Not all men guy.) That’s not to suggest I don’t contend with my own sexism and sometimes can be critical of women simply because of sexist ideas I’ve learned since I was a boy. I do my best to own my own prejudices there, and certainly not to express them. As with racism, sexism and misogyny fill the air we breathe and have always breathed here. It’s nearly impossible to extract ourselves from it entirely.

It’s hard to hear women declare that this country hates women because it’s difficult to fathom how it would feel to believe that as a woman. That your country—that our world—hates you. I’m a gay man who knows there are millions in this country and perhaps billions across the globe who hate gay people, and still it doesn’t feel as heavy to me as the general disregard and disrespect women receive so much of the time.

Half the population.

Yes, I know men who love women fiercely. I hope I’m one of those men. I know fathers devoted to their daughters, partners who champion the women in their lives, sons who adore their mothers. I see and know women who are celebrated, supported, elected, promoted, and admired.

And yet.

If we’re looking at systems and patterns, at who is protected and believed, at whose bodies are legislated and whose pain is minimized, it sure does start to look like this country (and world) often doesn’t give a shit about women and girls.

How else do you explain the Epstein files?

Patriarchy protects men. Wealthy white men in particular. This doesn’t mean men don’t suffer. It means our suffering exists inside a structure that still advantages us in specific ways.

I haven’t taken a deep dive into those files but have seen and heard enough to know how cruel and depraved they are, and that’s with the knowledge that they’re even worse than I realize.

Every single person who had anything to do with harming children in any way needs to be held accountable. I do not believe that a person rooted in integrity could see it differently.

And I don’t see how we can rely on our toxic institutions to guarantee accountability. These are the same institutions that have protected these abusers, the same institutions these abusers have funded and controlled. Let the extraordinary sickness of what we are witnessing be a turning point, a refusal to keep normalizing what is broken, and a commitment to dismantle systems that prioritize power of people.

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Patriarchy is an operating system. One most of us never consciously install, but we run it anyway. We breathe it every day. All the time. When women say all men, I rarely hear an accusation about individual character. I hear disgust and exhaustion with the operating system.

And the reflex in so many of us is immediate: Not all men. Not me. Not my partner.

I have often felt that reflex too.

But what Kristen articulates so well in the video above is this: even if I’m not abusing power, I was still handed it. Even if I’m not intentionally dominating, I was trained to assume space. That training doesn’t disappear just because I meditate, or teach about love, or consider myself one of the more conscious men.

Which brings me to something I’ve noticed in men’s wellness circles. I move in some of these circles. I know men doing breathwork, men’s groups, shadow work. There are many movements and groups attempting to heal the masculine. And I believe many of these men are sincere. I am. I believe grief work matters. I believe tending to father wounds matters. I believe reclaiming the sacred warrior and tender poet matters.

But it seems to me that too often the work stops short of patriarchy. At least I’m not seeing it in any of the language out there. And if men aren’t discussing the destructive nature of patriarchy, then healing won’t ever be complete. I include myself in this critique.

It’s possible to cry in a circle of men and still expect women to manage your emotions at home. It’s possible to rage against your father and never examine how you dominate your lover. It’s possible to sit in plant medicine ceremonies and still believe your desires deserve priority. It’s possible to talk about holding space without ever noticing how much space you already hold. It’s possible to investigate your shadow without interrogating entitlement. It’s possible to heal your wounds while leaving intact the system that centers you. It’s possible to pride yourself on being one of the good men and never question who gets to decide that.

Healing your pain is not the same thing as relinquishing your power.

If we never ask how we benefit from women softening their no, from women laughing off discomfort, from women absorbing male volatility so gatherings stay pleasant, then we are enforcing the operating system, not rewriting it. And it desperately needs to be rewritten.

Again, consider the Epstein files. No powerful man in the United States has faced meaningful investigation proportional to the gravity of what was uncovered. The machinery of status and maleness closed ranks. The system is absorbing and distracting from the scandal, at least for now. That’s not random. That’s what entrenched power does: it protects itself.

It’s easy to distance ourselves from those men. Harder to look at the structure that insulated them, a structure all men benefit from in quieter ways.

I don’t say this from superiority. I say it as someone shaped by the same culture. As someone who teaches love and is still uncovering where I’ve been centered without noticing. Where I’ve been deferred to without questioning it. Where I’ve been praised for emotional awareness for doing work women are simply expected to do. Where I’ve enjoyed the ease of moving through the world without calculating threat. Where I’ve felt proud of not exploiting power instead of interrogating the fact that I had it.

When I watched grumpy Howard on the pickle ball court, I was struck by how different he and I were, and yet we’re both functioning with the same operating system. I’m sure there are many ways in which he and I are more similar than I would like to admit. Ways in which we both have chosen not to interrupt the system that benefits us both.

So my commitment is this: To question the programming, not just in theory but in practice. To examine not just my wounds, but my advantages. To remain open when my behavior is being challenged. To interrupt the system inside me, even when no one is watching.

I know I will fail. I will miss things. I will default to comfort. And I also know that with intention, I will catch myself more often. Hopefully often enough that interruption becomes instinctual, and accountability becomes reflexive. That a more just operating system begins to take root in me.

I thank you all for being here, and for brining your open hearts and your desire to expand and grow.

Big Big Love to you all.

xoxo…Scott

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ARE YOU A YOGA TEACHER?

David and I typically hire a local yoga practitioner for our retreats. For Sardinia in June, we’re opening this up as a way for a teacher in our community to join us — making the week more financially accessible while sharing your gifts with the group. You’d teach six one-hour classes over the week and receive a $1,500 credit toward your retreat tuition (remaining balance paid by you). If this feels aligned, reply to this email with your teaching experience and a little about you. Please be sure to visit the retreat website to see room options and pricing before replying. Thanks and Love.

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