The longer I advocate for women and women’s issues, the more inflamed I feel towards men. This isn’t shocking.

The shocking thing is that the strongest voices that only speak in soft methods and in secret words of support for women’s issues; many of those voices are men I admire, trust, or adore, and seek out.

I’ve befriended traumatized boys who can no longer see menus without glasses, but who ache for a mother’s soft protected lap. They should retire soon. The boy isn’t alone anymore. None of the traumatized or fiercely loyal boys are alone anymore.

Some boys were likely nervous to share that the ogre under the bridge in your oversized, but also over-dogged bed’s hell scape of sleepless hours… the ogre was also called “daddy,” under his bridge. He is now your brother for life.

One broken toy, I now call Father Christmas. Santa wouldn’t quite do, as he is softer, but fiercer like Aslan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I do know, Aslan was no tame Lion. While they’re both bearded, he is a Dog man, so Father Christmas had to do, instead of Aslan.

Aslan is inside of the dog man, too. He roars softly with blindinly loud empathy. This dog is a soft place to land, even before one falls down. All the misfit boys are.

Some boys edit your ideas, some boys tell you which camera will be lightest since they helped you through a torn shoulder. Some men are still mainly men for practical things like gadgets, pluming, and dishwashers.

These men know you struggle to leave the safety of home and that these gadgets, pipes, and machines ease your burden. These men value you with lighter tasks. Sometimes they help you take off your laptop cover and find cheaper cooling fans.

These Lords of mildly malicious mischief, they entertain the women fighting and also dying. The fuckery and dad jokes, the “I don’t know, but ME TOO, me too’s,” those boys ache with the angry, weary, women.

Those scared boys always ending a conversation first, they don’t know what to say anymore than the gutted women. Their voices are stifled with impotence. What does one do when their world is also threatened with extinction and worth, but they cannot say the same words out loud to even relieve their fearful ache?

I’ve befriended warriors of respect. Fierce mythical space creatures who rejoin apps they HATE to support a queen begging for the weight of her crown to feel easier. Ease coming more than once in ways only a Wookiee can do. Sometimes furry space creatures gift you the friend of their wife, and they make being a mother much easier to sculpt into being.

I’ve befriended genius smart asses who dorkily trust you with DuhSantis jokes while waiting lab results for dire medical issues. Some of those men support women enough to say when they truly think you’re spinning out of control. Those men watch you, tell you, wait with you to return to your vehicle’s correct gear, and act like it never happened.

Some men respect you with intentional silent respect that’s never unseen. It’s never unknown.

Sometimes those men show so much respect, the only thing she can do is rename safe men her brokenly whole family. Sometimes she changes her first freely given nickname because she now feels like “Queen Buttercup.”

She now finds family without begging. Begging isn’t fitting for any Queen.

So as I was saying, the kindness is due. As some of the fiercest warriors defending women’s voices; those warriors, they’re MEN. ♥️

Long love the queen. I know, I said love. ♥️