misandry, female rage, and a partridge in a pear tree

how I'm pursuing a pure heart

In my twenty-fourth year of life, I have learned lessons about men that most women have known since their teens or earlier. And I mean “learn” in a very tactile sense. I have heard the same cautionary tales as other women, but I hadn’t really experienced it up close. And between some sincerely bizarre encounters and my social media feed consistently providing me with an abundance of horror stories, my heart began to harden in a way I had never experienced. What started as distrust, something many women carry quietly, grew into something significantly weightier; I felt hate.

I don’t share any of this to demonize or vilify all men. I’m just going to be honest about where pain, fear, and real experiences led my heart, and how I’m bringing it all to God to pursue a soft, Christ-like heart.

For a couple of months, I called myself a misandrist, happily. It felt like self-vindication, like the label itself would protect me. I had seen some definition that said that misandry is having a general distrust of men and I thought that was pretty accurate, but when I discovered the true definition was “a person who dislikes, despises, or is strongly prejudiced against men”, I felt a prodding from the Lord that I was in the wrong territory.

But still, to me, being a misandrist made perfect sense. Even now, I feel myself in the “generally distrusting” camp, since I understand God will indeed hold me accountable for hatred. I read a quote that said something to the effect of misandry existing because misogyny exists, and that women become misandrists because men kill, sexually assault, and abuse women, and men become misogynists because their advances get rejected. And in many cases, that is true.

I would sit down and think about these things all day long. I couldn’t figure out how to live as a woman and feel like an equal. I would become frustrated and filled with rage as I considered stats that show how, when a woman marries a man, her quality of life is said to lessen, and when men marry women, their quality of life increases. Everything felt unfair. I would think about how many women a month I hear about who discover unfaithful lovers and spouses, women being murdered on first dates, and the list goes on.

The other day, I sat with my dad and just let one rip. I gave him about a seven-minute monologue on Virginia Woolf’s “A Room of One’s Own”, and how women’s intellect and ambition is hardly honored, and how no one really cares who you are as a woman, just that you’re visually pleasing, throwing more stats around our conversational space along with anything else that wanted to spring from my heart in the moment.

And he just listened. And he told me he wouldn’t invalidate my experience. And what he said next was a hinge point.

Reader, my father is one of the most level-headed, stoic, and self-controlled people that I know. And he is very careful to point out to me, whenever a moment arises, that I have got to hone in on my perspective before I lose my mind, or develop a hardened heart. As my heart rate was starting to steadily decline, I listened to what he had to say. My experiences are valid, what I’m seeing is true, but his question to me was what I was going to do to keep a pure heart before God in the midst of it. And really, I didn’t know. Because it would be one thing if my experiences were all in my head, but to know I’m in a very real reality, where a good lot of men are not safe for me, felt nothing short of daunting and frustrating.

I figured, first things first, I should repent of my hatred, but not necessarily of my distrust. And I began to invite the Lord into moments where I could feel hate arising. I would see a new story about a woman being mistreated, and feel the hardening take place. Instead of letting it harden and justifying hatred for an entire sect of people, I would pray in the moment. It’s been helpful. I’ve also found solace in the fact that the Lord is my Vindicator, and misandry isn’t, nor can it fight my battles.

Nothing flies under the radar with God, and He loves women very, very much. I’d reckon God is a girl Dad.

Just the other day, I felt consolation, reading 1 Peter 3:7

Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life, so that your prayers may not be hindered.

I used to be kind of bothered by being the “weaker vessel”, but I see it differently. Weaker is not lesser, and God is acknowledging that women deserve special care, not dismissal as some kind of subpar other. I felt so vindicated to know that God wouldn’t leave women as the weaker vessel without some kind of safeguard or surety. This verse is explicitly stating that if a husband is not living with his wife in a Christlike way and honoring her, knowing she is the weaker vessel, his prayers will be hindered. He will walk around as a man with prayers unheard by God lest he change.

And when I was upset about beauty standards and dating, and being treated differently based on how you look, I read Genesis 29:31 and cried. It says that when the Lord saw that Leah was unloved, He opened her womb. You might have to read the backstory to understand the significance of that one.

There are so many other examples where God shows Himself exceedingly sufficient to me as a woman in this world; as my Protector, Provider, Vindicator, Judge, Father, and so much more. And in a world that often feels indifferent to women’s suffering, I’m learning to live with sober-minded hope under the eyes of El Roi — the God Who sees me.

My heart is still softening.

With love,

Rebecca