The 45 Project, part 11: Who’s the Man?
There is a school of thought that all of us — no matter our gender — are made up of both masculine and feminine energy, in some proportion. Masculine energy is the energy that drives us forward, the energy of action and competition and pursuit and protection. Feminine energy is the energy that holds and heals us, the energy of rest and receptivity and creation and intuition.
You don’t need me to tell you that we are conditioned to value one more than the other in this country. The American ideal is inexplicably connected to the masculine. And I was certainly taught that if I wanted to be successful and accomplished and impactful, which I definitely did want, that the path was to be found in the perpetual forward lean of masculine energy. When I first started hearing people talk about feminine energy, I scorned the whole idea — it all sounded horribly passive to me, and that’s not how you change the world or make things happen. Right?
Masculine energy had always kept its promises to me — I’d achieved; I’d been successful; I was respected. I’d also burned out, and had a long series of failed relationships, and been disconnected from huge parts of myself. Were these things connected? My insistence on doing, striving, taking on more and more, trying to control everything, ignoring what my body needed, and insisting that my will was the only thing that mattered even when there were neon signs that something wasn’t good for me — were these things problems? When I started exploring feminine energy, I came to it out of desperation — I was exhausted and dispirited and no longer able to hide from the suspicion that there just might be another way.
What I learned over time is that I need both masculine and feminine energy (more than that, the world needs both, but that’s a different topic for a different day). I need to get things done, and I need to rest. Sometimes I should push, and sometimes I should lean back. I can strive and act when it’s called for, and I can relax and trust when it’s called for. The trick is in discerning when each is called for, and the practice is to build the muscle of turning to feminine energy instead of the habitual (and awarded, rewarded, expected) masculine norm.
When I am tuned in to my masculine energy, the core driver is self-reliance. It’s all up to me, so I’d better get to it, right now, and ignore everything else until it’s done.
When I can manage to access my feminine energy, the core feeling is trust. Trust of myself, trust of my inner wisdom, trust of a benevolent universe to take care of me like it always has.
This push and pull between the two poles of masculine and feminine has become even more alive for me since I married Bear. When you have spent your life being rewarded and praised and pushed to live more and more in masculine energy, what happens when you start sharing a life and a home with an actual man? What happens when he wants to be the protector, the one who looks out and takes care? How do you choose a different role?
Now, one of the things I love about my Bear is that we have complementary skills. He thrives in the chaos of life and I am on an endless quest to corral it all into order. He’s experimental and adventurous and I am grounded and ritualistic. We have complementary skills AND he welcomes me using mine. If the logistics of something needs to be figured out, or something needs to be scheduled, he trusts and asks me to do that without resistance or resentment (I could tell you some stories about petulant exes).
When we started sharing our lives together, there were things I was happy to give up to him — yes, please take out the trash; it is one of the great joys of my life that I don’t have to do that anymore. And there were things I struggled to let go of — important decisions, even if they were in his wheelhouse, even though I trust him. The habit of being the one in charge was strong, and the flow of give-and-take that comes with being in true partnership had to be learned.
He sometimes jokes that he wishes I needed him to reach the high shelves in the kitchen, and sometimes I hand him a tough jar instead of struggling with it myself until it opens. But it runs deeper than that. It can’t be an act. I’ve had to practice trusting, practice letting go, practice leaning back when it’s his turn to lead. It helps that he’s trustworthy, that he’s earned my respect and admiration over and over again — and some of it is my work to do that has nothing to do with him.
Since we’ve started trying to get pregnant, I have struggled with my ingrained (and stress-amplified) habit of over-reliance on my masculine energy, as if I can make this happen if I just
do all the things, and do them exactly right.
Follow the system.
Plan ruthlessly.
Bend the world to my will.
But making a baby is one of the most mysterious and magical things in our human experience. I can’t control it. I can’t decide the timing. I can’t, actually, make it happen. My work is to surrender, over and over again. I feel like this is a lesson the universe has been trying to teach me my entire life. And also, as a friend wisely advised me recently, living in a space where I can’t control the outcome is good training for mothering.
Even though it’s the most infuriating advice anyone can offer on the fertility journey, the fact is it’s true: the best thing I can do is relax. Ironically, it turns out that that’s what it takes to access feminine energy and let it do what it does best: create.
This is part of a monthly series, The 45 Project, reflecting on my first 45 years — find the other installments here.
