I was starving for love and connection but couldn't show it

How an experience at soccer practice when I was 12 years old turned me into a stressed out, lonely overworker.

Your boy at 3 years old. Football was and still is a big thing in my family.

One of the first people to reach out and show support for this newsletter was the writer behind one of my now-favorite newsletters,

15thCenturyFeminist

. Her post—”What is the patriarchy?”—is a must-read on how the ways boys and men are socialized in our patriarchal society harms us too.

So, when she asked to feature my writing in her newsletter, I enthusiastically said, “Yes!” She also asked me to answer a few questions. I’ve included one of my answers below.

She plans to release the full post with all my answers in the next couple months, as part of a series featuring other writers on patriarchy. Make sure you subscribe so you don’t miss it!

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15thCenturyFeminist

: When was the first moment that you can recall experiencing what bell hooks refers to as soul murder—when you socially needed to behave in a way modeled by other boys/men in your environment that felt wholly against your inner-self/values?

I have to confess. I had to look up what bell hooks wrote about “soul murder.” I bought The Will to Change years ago, but I’ve yet to read it! One big thing I’m trying to put into the world with my newsletter is showing that men can be valuable and lovable to others even when we aren’t competent in every way and haven’t read every book and don’t know everything.

I looked it up and here’s what hooks wrote:

“Learning to wear a mask (that word already embedded in the term ‘masculinity’) is the first lesson in patriarchal masculinity a boy learns. He learns that his core feelings cannot be expressed if they do not conform to the acceptable behaviors sexism defines as male. Asked to give up the true self in order to realize the patriarchal ideal, boys learn self-betrayal early and are rewarded for these acts of soul murder.”

I’m certain there were moments before this, but a memory that’s been on my mind recently was a soccer practice when I was 12 years old.

I’d taken a year off from soccer to focus on baseball. It was my first practice back with my team. My old friends all seemed bigger and faster than me. They’d clearly developed their soccer skills, while I’d only gotten marginally better at baseball. They’d become closer as friends and barely acknowledged my presence. They had new inside jokes I wasn’t a part of. I felt so hurt and lonely, like no one in the world knew or cared about me.

But I couldn’t show any of that. Or at least it felt like I couldn’t. And that’s the “soul murder” part. My friends didn’t ask me how I was doing. I don’t remember any adult—my coach or parents—checking to see how I felt. I had to keep all those messy feelings inside. I had to manage my emotional pain on my own.

This reaffirmed a belief I’d picked up somewhere along the way as a young boy that I couldn’t admit that I wanted to be closer with my friends. That would mean I was “soft,” “girly,” or “gay.” I had to act stoic, like everything was fine, even if I was starving for love and connection inside.

What happened was I unconsciously told myself that my old friends didn’t like me anymore because I wasn’t as good at soccer. I determined to never allow myself to be in that position again. From then on, I would try really hard to appear competent so I wouldn’t ever feel lonely and unwanted. This and many other experiences gave me an intense focus on working hard to be good at something, which I thought would eventually get me the love and attention I’ve always wanted.

Again, all of this was happening unconsciously. It was only recently that I connected my adult behavior with this childhood memory.

A few weeks ago, my friend Laura Reagan interviewed me for her podcast Therapy Chat. The morning before the interview, I was so nervous about not knowing enough about what we were going to talk about. It was the first time I was going to speak (not just write) publicly about the work I do in therapy with men.

I took 30 minutes and sat quietly on my couch with my eyes closed. I felt into the nervousness, which seemed connected to tension I was feeling in the back of my neck.

After a few minutes, I was back at that soccer practice. I saw my 12-year-old self, walking around the field aimlessly, kicking clumps of grass. I told him I felt bad for him being all alone out there. I told him that he never has to pretend like he knows everything again—that he can hang out with me now, in the present. I showed him how it’s different in my adult life. When I admit that I don’t know something, it actually allows people to like me more, because I’m being vulnerable and letting them in. 

I learned how to do all of that in therapy. The more I’ve spent time like this with my emotions, the more I’ve learned they’re like little children inside of me, longing for help from my adult self.

I really think doing this little bit of inner work before the interview made the outcome better. I exposed my messiness and vulnerability right from the start. I don’t know if I shared a ton of information that will be useful to anyone. But Laura and I laughed and cried together, and had a great conversation, which is the kind of podcast episode I enjoy the most anyway.

I hope I modeled to other men that being vulnerable actually makes people want to get closer with you, and that we don't have to be so lonely and rely on romantic partners for all of our emotional connection and support. And that we can heal the “soul murder” we all experienced as boys.

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👋 New to this newsletter? I’m Jeremy, a therapist busting the myth of “traditional masculinity” and helping men and couples have better relationships. If you subscribe, you’ll get a free post like this every week. For $5/month you’ll get my Friday Q&A posts with specific advice on how to improve your relationship, get better at dating, raise a boy in a healthy way, support the men in your life, and more. 👋