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Not Caring What Men Think Is Freedom
As a cisgender hetero female in our Disney Princess-dominated world of the past half-century, I “fell under the spell.” Now, in my sixties, divorced and unpartnered, I intensely feel the freedom of not giving a fuck. I mean, I do give a fuck about a lot of things: my kids, my friends, my physical and mental health, my creative process, my dogs, and the world at large. I just don’t care what men think about me — or pretty much about anything else. Because, for two many years growing up in this culture, men’s voices were way too loud in my head.
After thirty years of marriage with a controlling male who held STRONG opinions, I threw off those shackles and was finally able to breathe, again. This short period of emancipation was followed by five or six years of dating a variety of men, much to my great disappointment. Most men my age don’t like women who show up with their own strong opinions, or their own self-derived creative process. But you know what? Dogs don’t give a damn — they just love you for being you.
Does that mean that I love being alone? No, I do not love being alone. But I will not turn myself into someone else in order to make a relationship work, ever again. More than that, I just can’t. And I won’t allow any man into my life who wanted me to be anything other than the best version of myself in my own eyes. Not his.
