What does it mean to be a feminist man?

I’m not entirely sure, there is no one thing, but a series of things.

My first wife was – is – a feminist, so is my daughter, so is Maria, so are my friends who are women. But I a learn every day what being a feminist man means: what I don’t know, what I don’t see. Many nights I have awakened in a worry because I don’t have a lot of money anymore.

I lost what I had gathered for the future, such as it was,  and many of the things I am told every day that we must have to be secure and grow older in America. That was my choice, I don’t regret it or apologize for it, it gave me my life back.

Yet I had a powerful revelation about being a feminist man this morning, I awoke from another nightmare about leaving the world without leaving Maria lots of money and the security that men have always believed – and been told – it is their duty to provide. How will she fare without me? How can I find a way to leave her something more substantial than good memories. I am older than she is, that worry has been a weight upon me.  Open heart surgery did not heighten my sense of control.

Maria woke up in the night and sensed I was upset, she asked me what was wrong. I usually don’t share these fears with her, I did this morning, I just blurted them out.

She sat up and we talked. I can take care of myself, she said. All kinds of things can happen between now and then, and after then. I don’t need you to take care of me, to leave me a lot of money. If I need to earn a lot of money, I will do it, now or then.

This hit me in a new and different way. My divorce was a five-year and very painful conflict, Maria’s was quite brief, she refused to take any kind of support, she was penniless and homeless but did not want it, she wanted to take care of herself, and she did. It did not take long to sort that kind of independence out. She did not marry me for money, she said, nor with any expectation that it was my responsibility to take care of her.

I have heard her say this before, but I guess I didn’t quite believe it or accept it, or I couldn’t rid myself of this notion that I was responsible for her, it was my job to make her happy and secure, now and when I died and beyond. It did not  really occur to me that she didn’t expect that or even want it, but I saw and heard it very clearly this morning. Perhaps because I was ready to hear it.

This is such an important part of being a man who is a feminist and loves a feminist. I will always share what I can with Maria and leave her what I am able, assuming that I leave the world first. But the idea that women need us to make them secure and are dependent on us to do so is a sexist idea, not a feminist one. It demeans the man and the woman.  I have never heard a woman look me in the eye and tell me with such authority that I was responsible for myself, and she was responsible for herself.

We are partners, we support one another every day, but this is so different. I heard it this morning in the night, I felt it, it was a revelation. I have seen how strong Maria is, I saw it quite powerfully this summer when she was suddenly confronted with a great and fearful thing. She never flinched or blinked, she was simply a rock upon which we both stood for awhile. I hope I am as strong if and when the time comes.

Being a feminist man means understanding this idea, not just mouthing it or saying it without true conviction. I believe women are the great hope for our country and for the earth. I believe we will all find out how strong they really are.

Loving Maria means understanding that she is strong and competent and she will do what she needs to do to live her life. She can take care of herself. It is not loving to feel responsible for another human being, it is patronizing and small. For me, feminism is about love, and I am learning every day how to understand what it really means.