I read Zen Prem’s “Any Man Can Undress Her, You Fuckwit,” and appreciated a man examining his own bullshit with uncomfortable honesty.

Then I thought … alright, Paula. Your turn.

Because I’m hearing a lot about what men need to change.

I recognize plenty of it. But what are we women contributing to the relationships we keep complaining about?

I’ve got some experience here.

—

I thought I could help the men I loved heal.

I could see their wounds. Understand their defenses. Recognize the tenderness underneath.

I was examining my own wounds, too. I wanted us to grow together, to love each other through the difficult discoveries.

But somewhere along the way, understanding them became believing I could help them become who I knew they could be.

So much fucking hope.

Nobody appointed me responsible for the outcome.

Apparently, I volunteered.

—

One relationship made that hope especially powerful.

Sexual safety had been a longstanding difficulty for me. With this man, I experienced an opening that changed my life. When I invited him to drop into his heart, something shifted for both of us.

The tenderness was real.

So I kept hoping the attunement we found while making love would carry into our daily life—especially the conversations where we struggled to hear each other.

I knew we could meet. I’d experienced it.

Then came another explanation. Different words. More patience.

When did my invitation become an assessment?

When did “Can we look at this together?” become “Why won’t you see what I can see?”

Personal growth apparently doesn’t come with a fucking supervisory position.

—

Watching Peter Crone gently guide a willing young man through something painful brought back the ache.

What I would wish for the man I loved.

But that young man was participating.

I could offer love through a difficult process. I couldn’t supply another person’s willingness.

And some of my anger was at myself.

Jesus Christ, Paula. Here you are again.

Trying to make your understanding become somebody else’s choice.

—

Contempt gives us women something to bond over. We recognize each other’s hurt. We feel understood.

But what happens when we keep feeding it?

The constant contempt creates more contempt.

Holy fucking shit. What am I practicing every time I join in?

I can want love and still approach men expecting disappointment. I can say I have hope while rehearsing every reason I shouldn’t.

How does that shape what I notice, what I dismiss, and how I meet someone?

At what point does sharing our hurt become keeping each other inside it?

—

We say we want an equal. Then sometimes we position ourselves as the one who knows better and get pissed off when he won’t follow our instructions.

I say “we” because I’m in this examination, too.

I see mutual grace between my brother and his wife. They allow each other room to be human.

How do we offer that grace while still speaking honestly about what hurts?

How do we support someone’s healing without taking charge of it?

And can we recognize when a relationship isn’t right for us without first convincing the other person to agree with our explanation of why?

—

I treasure what that man brought into my life. We also weren’t right for each other.

Both are true.

What I longed for was room to work something through together. To disagree. Clarify. Say, “No, that’s not what I mean,” and remain curious long enough to discover something we hadn’t understood when we started.

I wanted to offer that room, too.

Where did we lose it?

Where might I have helped close it?

—

We want love. Tenderness. A partnership where we can both feel safe, be ourselves, and grow.

How might we be contributing to the opposite of what we desire?

We talk about the divine feminine as though we’ve arrived, while men are still finding their way toward the divine masculine.

Have we?

Are we embodying the grace we speak about? Can we recognize when our own hurt is doing the talking?

Does calling ourselves divine put our behavior beyond examination?

I’m questioning all that shit. Including in myself.

I’m the Curious Crone. The questions have to face my direction, too.

I believe we can participate in each other’s healing and bring something healing into the world together.

That’s why I’m asking.

If we want to find our way toward each other, what are we bringing into the space between us?

And are we feeding what we want to heal?

—

Painting by me

Becoming One Heart

They had waited lifetimes for this moment…

Through countless journeys, their souls had found each other again and again

But this time was different…

This time, they remembered why they had come together to discover the extraordinary power of unconditional love and acceptance

Two souls… two hearts… becoming one…

And with that love, they knew they could change the world

May We Walk Together as One

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