This is an article in two parts. The first, told from Gabrielle’s point of view, concerns her need from male validation and the patriarchal norms that have instilled this need within her. The second part of the article was written by her friend Annmarie, who has her own concerns about society, the ever-growing popularity of “relationship goals,” and our relationship with ourselves.
Gabrielle
I have an idea in my mind of who I’m supposed to be as a feminist. For starters, a feminist woman is strong and independent. A feminist woman lives her life free from the expectations set upon her by the patriarchy. Yet, I’m someone who craves male validation. Does this mean that I can’t truly call myself a feminist?
I believe that part of this stems from the fact that I’ve never been in a relationship. This is something that is not supposed to bother me, but it does. I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done wrong, why I’m not worth a second look. Why am I not wanted? What am I doing wrong? My need to feel validated stems into other parts of my life, as well. Somehow, my male friendships have always felt fragile to me. Because those relationships felt shaky. In turn, I felt that I might not be able to maintain them. I constantly want my guy friends to remind me that I’m their friend because part of me doesn’t believe it. There’s a small—but loud—part of my mind that still thinks that I’m not “good enough” for men in general. It’s entirely sexist lunacy on my part, but it’s something that a part of me really believes.
Before I continue, let me make one thing clear: I’m a confident girl. I like myself—I like “me.” I’m comfortable in my own skin. So, this need for male validation has nothing to do with my relationship with myself. It’s an abstract fear; I worry that men’s thoughts about me mean that I won’t be liked. I desperately want to be liked, and more importantly, loved.
Where does this come from? I have entirely normal relationships to the men in my family, so I think this is a societally taught behavior. There are subversive parts of our everyday lives as women that tell us that a man’s opinion is more important than our own and than that of other women. We’re taught that if a man does not love us, we’ll be empty, alone, and miserable. Women in the media who are without men are those who have something wrong with them: “She can’t get a boyfriend because X, Y and Z.” And without a boyfriend, she’s not complete.
We’re taught that a man’s thought of us is the end all, be all. If that’s what I’ve been told my whole life, then no wonder I want—need—male validation.
Annmarie
After reading Gabrielle’s half of the article, all I want to do is curl up on a couch with her and give her a mug of hot chocolate (or coffee, but decaf. With Gab, always decaf). I want to tell her how absolutely devastated it makes me to hear her say she feels like she needs male validation. I want to tell her how much it doesn’t matter at all if men like or even approve of her, and that the fact that she hasn’t been in a serious relationship yet doesn’t reflect anything at all about who she is. None of that matters for even a second, because there’s nothing wrong with her and that I don’t want her ever to feel like she isn’t good enough just because a boy can’t see how incredible she is.
But, Gabrielle has known me almost a year now and has seen my relationship with men in general. She knows that just this afternoon I cried in her bedroom about that relationship and she was the one comforting me. So I don’t know if that particular advice from this particular friend could mean much.
I’d like to believe that I’m a really complete person. Because truly I am a really complete person. I love some things so deeply and have all of these passions and favorites and stories, and they’re all mine and I’m sorta proud of all of them. I’m pretty dope, and I know that.
That being said—I don’t think I’ve really been completely single since eighth grade. That was the first time that a boy really noticed me. I remember all the late-night conversations with him, and telling all my friends about the way it felt to even just be next to him, and daydreaming about things we would do together, all like it happened a month ago.
Eighth grade was also the first time that I was really hurt by something a boy did. He stopped talking to me, completely out of the blue, and I had no idea why. I thought things had been going so well. I blamed myself for making him lose interest in me—I must not have been funny enough, understanding enough, pretty enough, smart enough, kind enough, talented enough, skinny enough—no matter what it was, and I felt like it was all of them, it was my fault that I could only hold his attention for so long before he realized that he didn’t want me in his life anymore. I felt used and discarded, and very, very small.
I noticed pretty quickly that the easiest way to stop feeling sad about a boy was to start feeling excited about another boy. It definitely has never been the best way, and isn’t at all advice I would ever try to give another girl, but it is, undeniably, the easiest way. Flirting has become like second nature to me, and as much as that’s a lighthearted running joke among my friends, it’s never really been something I’ve been proud of. But it’s a cycle I’ve stuck myself in to avoid the feelings of rejection and abandonment that come from another relationship that “just didn’t work out.”
I was fourteen when I started to feel like that, and of course looking back it seems silly that I felt that way for that boy specifically. But the way I felt then is still a lot of the time the way I feel now when I get hopeful about a guy and things fall through. And sadly, that’s a lot more often than I would like to admit, from that summer all the way up to like last week. It doesn’t seem to get much easier—no matter how ephemeral something I have with someone is, I’m always ready to give a lot of my heart away up front. I’m always ready to show each next boy who I am and hope they’ll see something in me they can maybe even fall in love with. No matter what reason things end, I always take it personally when they do.
I think the issue is just as internalized and as individual as it is a societal issue. It definitely starts off as a societal thing, as little girls grow up watching ordinary girls finding their prince charmings and kissing them after their white weddings in the backseats of horse-drawn carriages (which somehow seems a whole lot more chaste and romantic than kissing in the back of parked cars). Not to mention the media as we grow older, where entire social media accounts are dedicated to posts showcasing “relationship goals” and pictures of gorgeous couples that seem like they’ve only ever always been happy together. Falling in love, especially quickly and easily, is so often presented as almost a rite of passage, and something every girl will get to do when she grows up. So, of course, I think we’re already stuck in a world that sets nearly anyone up for disappointment. Falling in love is hard. Falling out of it is even harder. Both things take a lot of work, and a lot of time, and it never comes as simply as it does in all our favorite movies. But after a while, I think the disappointments start to face inward a lot more often, and rather than giving up on love, you start to give up on yourself.
I’m working on un-giving up on myself. On reminding myself that when boys walk away, it’s not because anything is wrong with me that pushes them out. It doesn’t come easy. Even typing that sentence out, it’s hard to fully believe in what I’m saying to myself. But I’m someone worthy of love, even if others can’t see it. Even if—knock on wood—nobody ever sees it. Nobody is a reflection of the people who cannot love them. Nobody is a reflection of the people that can love them—none of those factors have anything to do with who a person is. At the end of the day, I truly believe that it’s possible to love anyone if you spend enough time watching who they are when they haven’t noticed or don’t care who’s looking. I don’t think anybody on this entire planet is impossible to love. But it almost always has to start with being able to love yourself first, and realize how complete you are without needing any other person to validate that.
Image credits: Annmarie Morrison, askdianne.com