How do you genuinely feel equal to men while recognizing that patriarchy gives them structural power you don’t have?

[MountainMix]

I’ve been trying to work through something that I’ve realized goes much deeper than jealousy, sexual insecurity, or comparison.

I grew up internalizing a hierarchy where men were positioned as sexually superior to me. Some of that came from broader cultural patriarchal messages, but some of it was reinforced through my actual relationships and experiences with men. I experienced control over my sexuality by my father growing up, and throughout my life I’ve had men pressure me, violate sexual boundaries, or make sexual decisions involving my body that I didn’t consent to. I’ve also had men invalidate sexual experiences I had that didn’t involve PIV and treat PIV as the thing that made someone legitimately sexually experienced, even though it didn’t do much for me. And men reinforced the idea that my queerness was foul and not legitimate.

I think I responded to all of that by trying to reverse the hierarchy rather than dismantling it within me. So sexual experience became power to me. Being desired became power. Having more partners became power. Being able to replace someone quickly after rejection became power. Having experiences other men hadn’t had became power. At times I deliberately used my sexuality to humiliate men who had hurt me because being above them felt safer than ever being underneath them again. I’ve realized that underneath all of this is a wound around autonomy and subordination.

I’m now developing a very emotionally and sexually intimate relationship with a cis man. He isn’t reproducing a lot of the behaviors that harmed me in previous relationships. He respects my boundaries, doesn’t claim ownership over me, and has generally responded compassionately when I’ve disclosed experiences of sexual violence. And yet being this vulnerable with a cis man has brought all of this stuff roaring back.

Particularly, I struggle with the fact that he has certain forms of male privilege that I don’t. There are things I have to think about that he generally doesn’t have to think about in the same embodied way: whether a male sexual partner might disregard my consent; what happens if I become pregnant somewhere reproductive choices are legally restricted; whether laws affecting healthcare I rely on will change; having my pleasure come secondary to men’s (if even considered at all); and constantly encountering cultural messages that sexual relationships involving men/penises are somehow more legitimate than sexual relationships that don’t.

I know intellectually that privilege is not superiority. I understand the argument perfectly well: someone receiving greater structural power or protection does not mean they are more valuable, more human, more legitimate, or entitled to rule somebody with less structural power. But emotionally, I cannot seem to internalize it.

My nervous system seems to translate:

He has freedoms I don’t → he has more power → I’m underneath him → I’m inferior → I’m unsafe.

And then I feel an impulse to find some way that I have power over him so that we’re “equal” again. I don’t want to live like that anymore.

I don’t want equality to mean “I need enough leverage to hurt you back.” I don’t want to compete with men sexually. I don’t want to need superiority in order to feel safe. And I especially don’t want to reproduce domination in a relationship with someone who isn’t actually trying to dominate me.

I want to be able to say:

“Yes, society gives you privileges it doesn’t give me. That is unjust. And you are still not above me.”

But I don’t know how to make that something I feel, rather than merely something I can intellectually defend.

There’s also grief underneath this. I’m beginning to realize that I’m not actually grieving that other people had particular sexual experiences I didn’t have. I’m grieving that they seemed to have a kind of freedom and bodily self-determination that I didn’t consistently get to experience in my life because of the system I am in.

I’m even realizing that I may have internalized heteronormativity in how I tell my own sexual history. I’ve minimized early romantic/sexual experiences involving girls while disproportionately treating experiences involving boys/men (and particularly PIV) as developmental milestones. I’m starting to question how much of my own biography I’ve unconsciously organized around penis and male centered definitions of sexuality.

So I think my actual question is:

How do you grieve being denied autonomy without spending the rest of your life trying to compensate for it through trying to reverse the hierarchy by becoming the “dominator” yourself?

And, especially for people who have experienced gendered violence or coercive control:

How did you learn to have intimate relationships with people who possess structural privileges you don’t have without experiencing their privilege as evidence that you are subordinate to them?

I’m particularly interested in perspectives that can hold both things at once: that structural gender inequality is real and that interpersonal relationships don’t have to reproduce that hierarchy.

I’m not looking to be convinced that patriarchy doesn’t exist or that “everyone has different challenges.” I already understand that patriarchy can harm cis men too. What I’m struggling with is how to emotionally experience myself as an equal while living within a system that materially does not treat us as equals.

[Straif]

Hi MountainMix,

I'm glad that it seems you've found a partner who respects and supports you. It sounds like he would be a safe person to point out when you see his privilege highlighted in ways that he may or may not notice. Even better, perhaps you can explicitly ask him to tell you when HE notices it coming up and find opportunities to share his power with you? That latter ask could look like a lot of things, but a straightforward example would be to share the cost of birth control. (I'm not someone who has ever had a relationship with a cis guy, but I'm sure there are other folks on staff who have and can chime in with other examples or better answers for your second question.)

Setting aside my lack of experience in that particular arena, I do have some thoughts that I think might be helpful in answering your first question. You mention that you know intellectually that having privilege doesn't make him better than you, but that you're struggling to internalize it. I wonder if a little reframing might be helpful?

The impulse to "flip the script" is a common one, but, as you've clearly already figured out, it's still a trap for all concerned. I recently watched the Netflix movie, Ladies First. (It's got Rosamund Pike, who I would watch paint a wall.) If you're not familiar, the premise is very similar to The Power by Naomi Alderman and other media that shows women dominating men in ways that men are expected to dominate women. A lot of people misinterpret this kind of media as feminist, which they are very much not. Feminism argues that there ARE no real winners so long as we maintain gendered hierarchies. (A professor once explained it to me as "We're all in prison cells; men might just not notice because they're decorated nicely-- until they try to leave.") That isn't to dismiss the tangible advantages men are given, but maybe it opens up opportunities for you to challenge the "us vs. them" vibes? Perhaps it could also create new avenues for solidarity between you and your partner? I'd be willing to bet there are times that he's felt pressured to look, act, or be a certain way because of his gender, too.

Ultimately, there is no right way to grieve the loss of autonomy you've experienced. I think recognizing it as grief and being gentle with yourself about it is a good first step.