The Fastest Post I've Ever Made

Glad to have made yet another new friend from my blog. (You know who you are, we just chatted over the phone this afternoon.)

What is blessing this blog is turning out to be even though I hardly blog in it anymore.

Busy... busy... busy...

Still busy.

Exodus Reflections (I)

On the way to the conference, I picked up Brother Luke. I had known him for only a short time through the internet. A friend had told him about this blog, and we got connected after he read several of my posts.

He seemed much softer in person. The sharp and caustic wit that came through our text chats somehow disappeared. We had developed a friendship based on our repartee, and I had grown fond of him. Fond of him enough to be afraid that if he were to "jump me," I might not be able to resist him.

Meeting him in person laid my fears to rest. Luke was a very gentle man of God who has loved and served his wife and children for years. Maybe a little too much, to the point where he was burning out, not receiving affirmation for his sacrifice. He would be the last person to jump anyone! We laughed when I told him the next day that I was afraid he would jump me when I met him.

The rest of the travels went well. Luke asked me questions, and I absentmindedly answered away, blahblahing about myself from the various different perspectives with which I confound myself in my head. Apparently, he wasn't bored. Imagine that.

We arrived.

As I walked towards the registration area, I struggled with being associated with so many feminine-acting men. I wish I could say it was a passing thought, but it wasn't. It took at least until the next day for me to ease up on that thought. I had my name altered on my badge so that my real name could not be deciphered. Luke did the same. However, by the end of the conference, all of my business cards were gone, given away to anyone who had asked for one--because I had opened my big mouth during the Q&A of a workshop, and received a lot of attention from folks interested in what I do. So much for my cloaked identity.

Brother A was there. We hugged. I remembered how much I missed him: a lot, not obsessively, but a healthily lot. I saw Elder SM too. It felt so good to see him in an unfamiliar context. I had attended elder SM's ministry for an entire year and had come to trust him. Two months ago, I shared with elder SM about Brother A and God's healing in my life through that relationship. Seeing elder SM and Brother A connect with each other was really special.

Brother Luke, Brother A, elder SM.

I was starting to feel better about being there.

---

Other people blogging about their Exodus experiences:
n'Process
twoBeckonings
rusty0505

A Response: Connecting With Other Men with SSA

In response to Summary Reflections #3, a brother emailed me and asked: "But---could you clarify what you mean by "connecting" with other men with SSA? And... does that include me?"

Below is my response to him.

---

Until a couple of weeks ago, I spent a good amount of time relating to men with SSA online. These are men such as yourself: Christian and wanting to change. I received something from these interactions although I am not quite sure what. An affirmation of my own change experience perhaps? A felt need to connect with other men who have experienced change so that my own experience does not feel quite so strange?

Anyway, let me answer your question by stating what I have learned over the last two months interacting with other men with SSA.

(1) Not everyone [read: Christian] is interested in experiencing change out of homosexual desires; some disbelieve me outright that this change is possible despite my constant ranting. Many seemed to prefer to argue and debate rather than to really try to understand what I am talking about.

(2) Not everyone cares to connect intimately. Some dissuade me from doing so--not healthy, they say, even though I keep telling them that what I am talking about is not sexual intimacy, and that it is precisely this kind of intimacy (vulnerable, physical, and non-sexual) with a straight, Godly man that has led to my healing.

(3) A small handful, like yourself and Rob Turner (The Architect's Garage) for instance, have stayed connected in a serious and committed way. And I have found it really rich and rewarding to be interacting with you folks.

(4) I started to notice that the same things were being uttered in blogs and online groups over and over again that I started to tire of engaging in the conversations. At first, I was very excited to get others to come take at look at this impossible pot-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow that I've found, but after a while (and after encountering many jaded responses) my excitement waned.

(5) I was spending so much time connecting with SSA men that I was sidelining my own work and family, not to mention my personal time with God. I decided to cut back, and when I did, I discovered that I was not missing the interactions, and my SSsA did not come back. My relationship with Brother A (and the small handful of other brothers) continues to deepen in intimacy and mutuality that these alone are enough to sustain my need for genuine and intimate connection with men.

At this point, I find myself with little desire to pursue other men with SSA for deepening intimate fellowship. The small handful of men that I'm already connected to (including you) is more than enough. This is not to say that I will not open myself to befriending those who want to befriend me. The point is, I will not chase after them any longer to try to offer them hope.

I think that's healthy for me.

I'm moving on with my very straight man-life. And I like it, a lot. I am looking forward to meeting some new friends, (...) but I am not interested in trying to convince anyone that change is possible. Maybe later, if God calls me to write a book or something. For now, I just want to live my very straight man-life and be fully present for all of its mundane ups and downs.

Last word: YOU are precious to God, and precious to me. I am glad you are in my life, and I look forward to connecting with you with increasing depth and godly intimacy.

More Shout Out: Rob & Angie

Watch these clips of brother Rob and his wife Angie talking about their marital relationship in light of Rob's feelings of same-sex attraction (link).

Rob and Angie's story reflects mine with my wife. I may have SSA issues, my wife has her own set of issues too. I was always open with my wife, and told her of my struggles before we got married, and I continue to be real and authentic with her (although we spare each other of unhelpful descriptive details). We learn that we can't change the other person, but we can work on ourselves, and we can also be honest about what we would appreciate in the other person. And lastly, patience and prayerfulness--with a desperate dependency on God--has been crucial in my wife and I learning and growing in intimacy.

I am so proud of you both, Rob & Angie! :-D

Shout Out: The Architect's Garage (and a note to the Canucks)

Here's one of my online brothers: Brother Rob (he's open with his name).

He found me online through my blog a while ago, and we've been in communication since.

This man has got guts. Glory to Jesus!

Go take a look at Rob's welcome video at The Architect's Garage.

---

And to all you Canadians, HAPPY CANADA DAY!

Sports, Physical Pain, and Masculinity

People tell me that I'm really strong. I am. And I am not.

Emotionally, I've survived through all kinds of hell. But physically, I'm a wimp. Break my heart and I'll compose a most brilliant piece of work. Stub my toe and I become a pathetic baby.

Or stub my thumb... my right thumb, to be precise.

I'm going out to play a game of real basketball with real players.

:manly woo hoo:

I discovered two things. (1) Jogging at one's own pace is not the same as sprinting up and down the courts. I was breathless after 10 minutes. (2) I can hardly function without my opposable right thumb. (I told you I'm a wimp! Cut me slack already.)

---

My experience today brought back childhood memories.

Football, we call it. Where fast balls slam into your gut or hard shoes smash against your shins while you're breathless and coughing and sweaty and itchy and dying. Add to that a strong, fast, sporty elder brother who is yelling at some useless, fat-assed faggot for missing a ball, or running too slowly.

Who? Me? pant... pant...

No wonder I went into music instead. And also hanging around girls, drawing pictures of princesses with them.

IT BLOODY HURTS TO PLAY TEAM SPORTS!

---

Scholarly question #1: How many men with SSA grew up with gender identity disorder?
Answer: Many [ref 1,2].

Scholarly question #2: How many boys with gender identity struggles did not play sports with other boys because they were very sensitive to physical pain?
Answer: ____

---

While icing my thumb joint, I seriously contemplated quitting.

Brother B called. (Don't remember him? He's one of my straight friends who knows about my struggle and is teaching me to play basketball. Here and here.)

"Hey, so did you enjoy basketball today?"

"Well... yeah. I found out that I'm either allergic to something in the air or I'm asthmatic. Also, I injured my thumb a couple of times." And then I forced myself to get out of my self-pity thumb-pain funk and eeked out a "but overall, I enjoyed myself."

Because, damn it, I did! I just wish I didn't have this asthma/allergy thing, and learned how to handle a basketball better so that I wouldn't hurt my thumb.

"I saw you. You did pretty well. I mean, you went in there and did some good moves."

"Hmm. Hum. Well. Yeah."

Thanks, brother B, point guard extraordinaire. I guess I didn't do too badly given that it was my second time playing basketball. After all, these guys really did know what they were doing.

---

I think part of embracing maleness is to embrace physical pain. I don't know why I am so sensitive to it. I see it in my son. He is so afraid of getting himself hurt, while the other boys around him take all kinds of physical risks. And he is also, at the same time, incredibly emotionally sensitive--a gifted artist, for sure.

There is something to this. I need to think more on it.

---

In the meantime, it's confession time. I did it again. Looked at pornography. This time, I even masturbated to it. Heterosexual porn, though. Seeing men's goodies alone just don't cut it for me anymore. I need to see naked women and hear their moans. This is the third time it's happened. But the heterosexual porn does not feel as emotionally charged as I remember the gay porn felt. It's lonely being a heterosexual man. I can't quite explain it. It's a lot more lonely somehow.

Note: I am not sanctioning looking at porn or masturbating to it. The above is a *confession*. I see it as sin and I have repented of it, and told my wife about it (I also confess to her *every time* I fall with porn or masturbation). I am processing authentically with the hope that it will lead to greater transparency and healing... somehow.

Fast Forward: Farewell Brother A

I had never anticipated that it would come so quickly.

I had thought six months? A year?

Certainly not now. Not after having fallen head-over-heels in love with him only three months ago.

But it is here: I don't need him anymore.

The last 7 days of grieving did something tremendous within me. Like a raging fever, the grieving burned away all the relational-sick of my past. Someone reached into my stuck six-year-old inner self and pressed the "play" button...

...without a warning, everything fast-forwarded.

Three entire decades of emotional life zoomed pass me in one quick instant: zzzz..................... pp! And I suddenly arrived.

New, different, and fully my age.

I looked into the mirror. A very mature man stared back at me. I have never seen such confidence. Such knowing. So sure of himself. So forty something.

Just like that, I am a man.

And Brother A? He seems smaller now. More my size. Like all the other men that I used to adore and fantasize about, his allure has dissipated. The good-looking men are still good-looking. But now, they are more like shiny plastic food displays: nothing of value beneath the skin.

I have internalized Brother A. His smile is my smile. His chest is my chest. His penis is my penis. And most of all, his secure-male-self is my secure-male-self. And no one can take that away from me.

I bid farewell to Brother A because I don't "need" him anymore.

Things will be different for us now. Different, healthier, better.

An Anger Brewing, Redux

The previous post here.

My apologies for swearing. I know it hurts some of your sensitive eyes to read ef-words and aitch-words. But I wanted to get my point across. I was feeling anger, and I wanted to write authentically out of that place.

But after some reading, I am starting to think that what I am feeling is not so much anger but... another natural element of my emerging manhood, which I alluded to as "testosterone" in my previous post. I got this revelation thanks to a new online friend who pointed me to Van Den Aardweg's writing.

In the final chapter of his book, The Battle For Normality, Aardweg writes:

...let the homosexual man, when the occasion offers itself, participate in a competitive game like soccer, or baseball and really try to do his best, even if he is anything but a star on the field. And without self-pity; persevere and fight. Some have afterward felt wonderful; a sportsmanlike fight - meaning a victory over the "poor me" self - can make one feel deeply that one is "a man".

That's exactly what I want to do out of this "angry" feeling I have inside: a desire to go out and have a good fight! In ancient times, robe on an armor and go fight a dragon. In today's terms, take up a ball and jostle in the courts. Or maybe even put on some gloves and beat the shit (yeah sorry, ess-word) out of each other--all in good competitive [read: manly] fun.

It's like I don't exactly have a specific someone or something I am angry at. I am just feeling aggressive, and I want to let out my aggression.

Aardweg also wrote this, which is incredibly comforting to me:

Heterosexual feelings come only in the wake of restored feelings of manliness... There should be no 'training' in heterosexuality, however, for that would feed the inferior self-image: 'I have to prove my manliness.'

No need for training in heterosexuality, the feelings seem to just "wake up." This has been my experience exactly!! Brother A's unsexualized yet deeply intimate and fatherly love for me has smashed into bits the huge boulder that blocked my heterosexuality from emerging. Now that the blockage is gone, the natural (yes, NATURAL) tendency for heterosexuality is emerging without my trying.

PRAISE GOD! WOO HOO! PARTY ON... and all that unbridled adolescent male sexual energy.

[I have more thoughts about these and other feelings that I am having as fitting into "unbridled adolescent male sexuality." But I'll blog about it in another post tomorrow.]

My Brother's Love

All of this change would not be possible without Brother A's deep, deep love for me.

Brother A, I love you so much I could literally burst!

:-D

Undressing Men (Alternate Title: Everyday-Sized Nuts)

It's commonly said that if a person felt nervous when doing public speaking, he could try to imagine his audience naked.

I never understood that advice. I had always felt that to imagine a bunch of people naked would be more of a turn-on than an anxiety-reliever. Especially if there were good-looking men in the audience.

But I experienced something new today.

Today I undressed three different guys with my eyes. Strip! Strip! Strip! They were completely nude, right down to their willies. Handsome devils, every one of them.

Strangely though, I was not turned on. In fact, I think I did it as a way to turn myself off my attractions to them. (It was a pretty unconscious process. It just happened.)

All three guys had something in common. I wanted to draw close to them. They had a certain look with which I associated strength, masculinity, security, support, comfort, warmth.

By stripping them down completely nude, I exposed them. Seeing them naked in my mind unmasked the myth of "the perfect man" that I had attributed to them. Instead, I saw their boy-souls, tasted their insecurities, smelled their bodily stench, and sensed their own quivering need for male affirmation. Their need for male affirmation.

Male affirmation. God knows every man needs it. Even my almost-perfect Brother A!

Speaking of Brother A, he was, in fact, the first Alpha male who was undressed before me. Come to think of it, he actually undressed himself before me. He took the initiative to expose himself completely to me: physically, emotionally, spiritually. And I, in turn, let him see me too, all of me. First physically, then emotionally and spiritually.

And it has all been good. So good, in fact, that I believe this has been one of the prime factors in my change experience.

So this is my new experience when I see strong, good-looking [read: intimidating] men with whom I want to connect. In 5-Easy-Steps:

1. I strip them naked in my mind.
2. They become fully exposed. Their fantasized god-like phalli shrivel down to realistic everyday-sized nuts, dangling awkwardly. Just like mine!
3. They become, all of a sudden, completely approachable [read: no longer intimidating].
4. My attraction towards them fail to sexualize. (The emotional attraction remains though. But I'm okay with that. Because, as I said, God knows every man needs affirmation from another man.)
5. I feel okay again in and of myself. I am, in essence, just like them.
   

My experience today feels like further development along a thread of experiences I've had before: here [A Definite Shift, 3/25/09] and here [Emotional vs Sexual Attraction, 3/31/09].

That Grossed-out Feeling (alternate title: Brotherly Love)

Tossing and turning in bed. Trouble sleeping.

In the past, I would have fantasized about being sexual with men, leading to masturbation in bed. I'd even hold on to a pillow closely to my chest, pretending it was a warm male body.

I did the same last night--held to a pillow to my chest, that is. But there was an invisible fence.

It was okay to hold on to the pillow, feel the comfort, imagine holding on to a brother in intimate embrace. But once if I even began to sexualize it in my mind, I felt sick. Sick to the stomach. Like I wanted to throw up. Like I had crossed an invisible fence that set off a repulsion within my body.

On the plane a few days ago, I saw someone watching the movie, Milk. I looked and wondered if the guy watching was gay. Suddenly, there was a kiss scene between Sean Penn and some other male actor. The scene faded to black. Then the guy watching shook his head. He turned his head just enough for me to see that unmistakable look in a person's face: disgust.

Brother A gave me that face too when I explained to him once about a sexual male scene when I first met him. At the time, that look felt like an affront to me. I felt rejected. His disgust was not just a disgust over a concept, it was a disgust over me.

Now, I feel that same disgust myself. The thought of making out with another man. The stink, the sweat, the skin-guck of another man upon my body in a sexual way.

I want to throw up.

But...

I still feel that need to connect with my good friends: my Brothers. To share openly, to be vulnerable, to pray for one another, to be hugged (with clothes on, for a long time). I long to know that I am okay. Okay at the very core.

True, holy, vulnerable, brotherly LOVE. That is what I crave.

Homoemotional Heterosexual

More and more, I am hearing from other guys coming out of SSsA that they want to relate with men intimately but not sexually.

I feel the same way.

When I meet men who evoke a sense of secure masculinity, sensitivity, and a caring nature, I feel drawn towards them. I want to let boy-soul out to meet them. Be completely vulnerable. And have them embrace me. Not just emotionally, but physically. I would love to be hugged and touched. Not sexual, but sensual. Physical touch that is not sexual, but deeply emotional, deeply healing.

When I get a good dose of such loving, especially from Brother A, I find myself "recharged" as it were, a deposit of "I am lovable" put into my heart. A deposit that would fuel me to love my wife and kids more, walk with a happier gait, and in essence, become more manly, like the man who loved me.

But I need it, constantly. Like these other men coming out of their SSA, I am desperate for that male affirmation.

If I had Same-Sex Sexual Attracted (SSsA), that sexual attraction has been replaced by Same-Sex Emotional Attracted (SSeA). I wonder how long it will take until this SSeA diminished to the point where I am no longer needing male affirmation so frequently?

It has only been a little over 8 weeks since I first met Brother A in person. 8 weeks of radical man-to-man love from Brother A is certainly not enough to make up for decades of deprivation.

I didn't blog this earlier, but I should note it down. Last week, I masturbated. When I did, fantasies of having sex with women came to mind. A mixture of my wife and other nameless, faceless but gorgeous women. It felt really good. And it felt natural.

Wierd, right? To need male affirmation emotionally, but then want women sexually?

Wierd, but that's what's going on in me. I write it as I experience it.

Holding Hands - It's About The Heart

During prayer, I held two men's hands. The one on the left was a young college student. The one on the right was an elder of a church (I'll call him William).

Several weeks back, I talked to elder William about my struggle. I was completely open. Like Brother A and brother B, William also was not afraid of my SSsA. When I told him that Brother A moved closer to me and wanted to hug me after I "confessed" to having sexual feelings for him (exactly 8 weeks ago today!), he smiled and felt like he could identify with Brother A. He really was not phased by my SSsA. But elder William is pretty busy so I have not had the chance to pursue deeper intimacy with him the way I have with Brother A.

As we prayed today, I was very aware of elder William's hand holding mine. It was not much bigger than the student's hand to my left. Yet, I felt a great deal of loving warmth coming from elder William's hand (and nothing from the student's hand).

Then, it dawned on me that this connection through hands is not so much about hands per se or the student's hand would have illicited a similar response. It is all about how I feel towards the person. Like Brother A, elder William has also accepted me fully in all of my vulnerabilities. Having him hold my hand felt incredibly safe, warm, and comforting. Like the assuring hand of a strong, loving father.

Happiness Is

... holding on to your happy big-eyed stuffed turtle while having your father hold on to you and tell you that you are the most important boy in the whole world to him.

... feeling like you are the most beautiful princess in the eyes of your father.

... being woken up by a hunk-like husband with loving caresses and being made-loved to first thing in the morning after a good night's rest.

... being completely raw, vulnerable, and child-like with an elder, winsome Brother, and still be loved by him.

... running for 30 minutes at high speed and feeling completely exhilarated and not exhausted.

... being focused and productive at work, and not having emotional ghosts clawing you for unhealthy attention.

... following in the footsteps of Jesus.

That Being-Loved Feeling

Finally connected with Brother A. We talked for a long time, and prayed at the end with open eyes, peering deep into each others' souls as we connected with our Father God.

But...

Boy-soul was not very willing to come out at first. Angry. Hurt. Not willing to trust Brother A after the long time of felt distance. (You know, that whole defensive detachment thing.)

Brother A reached in, kept at it, pushing at times, pulling back at times. He let boy-soul talk. Air his frustrations, his insecurities, his hurt, and his deep need to be reassured.

Boy-soul softened after a while

Hooray Brother A -- you did it!

(That was my Adult-self talking.)

(Don't worry, this is not multiple personalities. Just metaphors.)

Boy-soul let Brother A in again. In to that soft, vulnerable place to which only God has access. Boy-soul needed it so much. We needed it so much.

And now, despite all the tiredness, all the helping-other-people's-problems, we are feeling good again. I am feeling good again.

Brother A loves me. I needed to know that. I needed to feel that. And now that I do, everything is okay again.

Not porn, not sex. Like a young boy desperate for the love and attention of his father, what I needed was love from a man I respect and with whom I can feel completely safe and vulnerable.

Brother A, we love you. All of us: boy-soul, adult-self, professional-self, caregiver-self, and most of all, brother-self.

Now, I am ready to go watch Star Trek.

Updates

1. WORK

When was my last post? I can't even remember. That's a good sign. I'm getting into my work. I am finding myself making some head-way. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

2. RELATIONSHIPS

I'm also handling a lot of relationship conflicts. These are going well, improving. I'm glad that it's my area of competence and I can do it well, but it is tiring work. Still, it is necessary. Relationship problems don't go away by themselves.

3. BOY-SOUL

Did not connect with Brother A for a couple of weeks. Finally connected. It was good, yet different. I am very aware now of boy-soul within, who comes out whenever he is with Brother A. Pretty needy, still, that boy-soul. I am trying to parent him more myself. He wants to hide within Brother A's embrace, but he also knows that Brother A is very human.

We (me and boy-soul) are allowing ourselves (1) to continue to be very open, tender, and vulnerable with Brother A, and (2) to begin exploring by taking little steps towards the "outside." Boy-soul is scared that if he should come out, he will get bullied. Poor thing.

It's okay, Boy-soul, I'm with you. God is with us. And Brother A is good for keeps.

4. PURITY & PORN

This 90-day fast thing is not working. Last night, I fell to porn again. Not the anxious Boy-soul driven need to sexualize male intimacy, more of a self-pity anger reflex from trying to be intimate with wife on the phone, and having the conversation go sour. Nothing worse than getting all aroused and ready to climax, and then not be able to because of an argument.

There is a part of me that is afraid to look at porn of naked women alone (i.e. without a man present). Even in all of my risk-taking, that is a floodgate I am not willing to peek into. After confessing to wife later, I also told her that I'm still not masturbating to nude women alone, and I won't do so until she gives me permission.

Wife: Err... you mean give you permission to masturbate to sexual thoughts of other women? Oh! You mean like all of my Christian women friends give their husbands permission to masturbate to porn of nude women?

She makes me smile when she's funny like that.

A man and a woman: moaning with pleasure in intimate sexual and emotional embrace.

Turns me on. Big time. Will be me. And my wife. A few more days. I can't wait.

In the meantime, it's another Day 1 today. (Groan.)

Gotta get that Covenant Eyes installed. But I am so unwilling to pay for it.

The Elevator Encounter

The elevator doors opened, and in walked a familiar face. He was handsome, fit, and bright. A rugged outdoor-adventure physique clad in suave corporate-fashion good looks. And dimples to accentuate his I’m-so-comfortable-in-my-male-skin smile. I had never fantasized about him sexually, but if I had to pick a man to play around with in my mind, he would top my list.

“Hi! You’re so-and-so… Oh yes, and you are so-and-so…” Handshake. Smiles. And…

In the past, I would have done one of two things: (1) stiffened my posture so that I did not give any hint that I was attracted to him, which usually involved demonizing his maleness in some way in my mind; or (2) inadvertently let out a sign of my not-good-enough male insecurity by cowering into the corner or avoiding looking him in the eyes.

… my eyes stayed on his.

In my heart were successive bursts of thought-palpitations:

• “Damn. What a good looking guy!”
• “Gorgeous blue eyes.”
• “His shirt is open, his chest is hairy and muscular.”
• “I really like him.”
• “Am I melting?”
• “No, I am not melting…”
• “I am still standing!”
• “Oh, he is softening.”
• “Is he sensing my warmth towards him?”
• “Wow, I am feeling a softness towards him and I am not afraid!”

As I continued to look and smile into his eyes, his face softened even more. It seemed as if a voice within him was whispering, “oh, I am in the presence of another confident man.”

Weather, recent projects, need for a holiday, etc. Surface chatter. But beneath all that, two men were connecting emotionally. And they knew it.

Ground floor. We smiled again and exchanged goodbyes.

More thoughts:

• “He is a good looking guy.”
• “I can’t get what I want from him sexually.”
• “Erm... he is a great looking [read: sexy] guy, but what I want from him is not sex!”
• “I just like him and want to be his friend.”
• “And he seems to like me.”
• “He’s okay.”
• “I am okay!” . . .
  

• “What a weird feeling.”

As I walked out of the elevator, I reflected on my experience. How was it possible that I found myself completely un-intimidated by this man?

Then feelings of being loved and affirmed in my relationship with Brother A came to mind. Being naked together; being hugged by him for a long time; being fully loved for who I am in a non-sexual way. These are a few of my favorite things. And in that place of intimate love and acceptance—God’s love for me through Brother A, in the real—is a birthing of a new sense of security in my own masculinity.

And so when I peered into the eyes of my elevator encounter, my eyes were able to tell him: “I am man.” “I like you.” “I am man, just like you.”

And I imagined that his boy-soul within him responded: “You are boy.” “I am boy.” “Let’s play together.”

Yeah. Let’s play together.

Men Holding Hands

ST (my Spiritual Twin) also struggles with SSA, both emotional and sexual. ST and I have never had a sexual relationship with each other.

ST teaches at a college where a lot of foreigners come to study English. In response to my telling him about how wonderful it is to hold hands with Brother A, he told me that male students--from Saudi Arabia, India, Burma, Africa--would sometimes hold hands with each other in class.

"They would take each others hands, admire innocently, touch and caress the hands..."

My eyebrows raised.

"I'd jokingly say, 'Hey, no touching hands during my class,' and they would reply, 'don't worry, professor, we're not gay.'"

I wondered about that.

"No, they really are not gay. These guys hold hands out of friendship, and it's not about being sexual!"

I want to be like them.

There is an article online entitled Hold Another Man's Hand by Patrick Repp, a married heterosexual therapist. I love these lines of his:

I want to be understood, especially by other men. I want to tell my story and have it matter to someone. Marlboro man be damned, I don't want to grieve my failures alone. I want permission to cry with another man without having to go to therapy to get it. I want those things to be socially sanctioned.

More on Defensive Detachment

A man of my people
Elected to the council
Saying a prayer over us

Why do I reject you?

You are not a ghost from my past
I don't even know you
And yet I've demonized you

I accept you

My heart turns soft and vulnerable
Your words of blessing come alive
I am isolated no more

My Brother The Abuser -- New Reflections

My real life Elder-brother abused me, physically and emotionally.

When I was two or three, at my grandfather's funeral, he pushed me from the back for no reason, and I fell hurting myself.

He was in every single birthday portrait of mine since birth, because he insisted. I was not in any of his.

I could not sit next to him in the car because, God forbid, if the car should turn a corner and my leg or arm bumped into his, it would be reason enough for him to hit me.

He called me girlie, fat, ugly, useless pig. Usually it was a series of different adjectives strung together. And he would laugh--a mocking hackling laughter--and get others around to join in  mockery.

He was older, faster, stronger, and a lot better groomed than I was. When we had physical fights--at least one big one a week--I was usually more hurt than he was.

- - - 

I am trying to spend more time with aging Mother. I believe the Lord whispered in my heart that her time is short. Maybe another year or two.

At breakfast, we talked about her health. Pretty healthy all in, except for her mildly elevated cholesterol level. Then she told me that she had her uterus removed when my real life Younger-brother was born.

"I remember," I said, "you were on bed-rest after Younger-brother was born."  I remembered the green fold-up cot that she rested on for a while after the birth.

"Oh," she remarked, "that was the doing of Elder-brother," she smiled with a twinkle in her eyes.

"He would come home from school every day, asked if I needed to pee, put a pan beneath me--saw my vagina and all--then empty it, turn on the TV, and watched it for the rest of the afternoon."

"Did you ask him to do it?" I asked.

"No, it was all his own doing," she reminisced.

"I guess he must have been around..."

"Ten years old," she said.

Mother's eyes started to cloud over as memories of Elder-brother's death must have flooded her mind. Mother hardly ever cries. But after what she told me today, I am beginning to understand why the face of this even-keeled woman would still contort with sadness after six years of her son's death: He was a very special, caring boy.

- - - 

And so it turns out that my brother the abuser was also an amazingly loving son to his mother. At age 10, on his own volition and initiative, he physically cared for his ill mother in a way that is so atypical of boys.

So why was he so incredibly abusive to me? And what would my life have looked like today if he were caring to me in the same way he was to our mother?

At his funeral, Elder-sister-in-law shared with me that Elder-brother had told her that he was sorry for all the things he had done to me. I was only partially able to receive the "apology." However, today's talk with Mother opens up yet another space of forgiveness for Elder-brother.

For all the evil acts that Elder-brother had heaped on me as a child, I can now see him as a loving person. I don't know what happened in the family system to have caused him to scapegoat me. Maybe it was his jealousy over how close I was to Mother as a child; maybe it was his constant migranes and undiagnosed ADHD or Turrets; maybe it was his insecurity over how smart people said I was. Whatever it was, Elder-brother was a loving child, and if I had been the parent, I would have cared for him and loved him in such a way that he would never have been abusive towards his younger brother, me.

- - -

Dear Elder-brother,

I know that you did not understand what you were doing. I forgive you now. I forgive you fully. God has given me another Brother (Brother A) to provide for me the kind of love that you were not able to give me. I am in a good place now.

And I know, one day, we will meet again in Heaven, face-to-face. I am looking forward to that day. For now, I will watch over your children, as well as I can, and give them the kind of love that I am sure you would have wanted to give them.

I love you now. I really do. From the bottom of my heart.