What does it mean to decenter men—and how do I do it?
It's not as extreme as it sounds. I promise.
Q:
Hi Melissa! I saw that you’re offering a new group coaching service (super cool!) on decentering men (even cooler!), and I’m curious about joining. But something that strikes me is that I’m not 100% sure what it means to decenter men, if I can effectively do this as a bisexual cis femme in a relationship with a cishet man, and how this connects (or doesn’t?) to my understanding of my queerness. Do you have any thoughts that could help me sort all of this out?
A:
I am so glad that you brought this up, because I am absolutely thrilled to offer both of these things, in and of themselves, but also combined: group coaching and a space to discuss decentering men.
Group coaching is an awesome option because it offers so much: (1) a dedicated space to unpack a particular issue in your life; (2) access to professional coaching services; (3) connection to a community of folks doing similar work; and (4) coaching at a much lower price point that working with someone one-on-one. What isn’t there to benefit from?
If you’re interested in this new offer, I would love for you to sign up for the group. Sessions are sliding scale, starting at just $25 (USD) per session, for ten biweekly sessions. There are ten spots left, and this email is being sent to several thousand people. So if you want to get in on the group, which starts on Monday, 5/5, snag a spot:
Now, to start, I want to name that as my politics continue to evolve, something that’s become increasingly important to me is eschewing ideological purity. What I mean by that is: given the systems that we live under and have little-to-no control over, it is almost impossible to perfectly live out our values.
Think about it: How can we be perfectly anti-capitalist under capitalism? How can we be perfect relationship anarchists in a system that benefits monogamy, the nuclear family, and romantic relationships? How can we perfectly decenter men when we may have unchangeable (or at least hard-to-change) relationships to some (like husbands or fathers)?
We can’t.
All we can do, I think, is intend toward our values with intention.
And when I talk about decentering men, this is what I mean.
Sure, some of us may have an easier time with that due to our circumstances. I, for example, am almost entirely no longer attracted to cis men, so dating them doesn’t come up for me as an option. And queer community has always come easily for me since middle school.
That might not be your experience, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still work toward making cisheteropatriarchy less present and all-consuming in your day-to-day life. Indeed, even those of us who may have an easier time still have a lot of work to do. (I know I did—and still do!)
So what does it mean to decenter men?
First, what we need to understand is that systems of oppression place those with the most power within those systems (white people, able people, cisgender people) at the center of our lives, asking us (both implicitly and explicitly) to coddle them, care for them, and listen to them, among other things.
Think of how, when you were first having your feminist awakening, you realized how much media focuses on the experiences of men. Or how terms like domestic labor or weaponized incompetence gave you a lightbulb moment of realizing how you’ve been socialized to care for men. Or how you started to recognize the ways in which your relationships with men make you feel like a mother, therapist, and sex doll combined.
These are all examples of how marginalized genders have been taught to put men at the center of our lives, often by ignoring or downplaying our own needs and happiness.
Furthermore, within cishetero- and mononormativity, we’ve also been taught that relationships with and validation from cis men are things we’re meant to chase, above all else.
Our deep, transformative relationships with women? Downgraded. Our queer attraction and desire? Suffocated. Our questions about maybe not wanting to get married and have children? Dismissed.
Who would we be if it hadn’t been forced upon us since birth to prioritize men and their needs?
That, to me, is what’s at the center of decentering men: How is the bright, warm sun of us dimmed—eclipsed—by cisheteropatriarchy? And how do we move the shadow enough out of the way to get back to our authentic sense of happiness? How do we put patriarchy to the side so that we can explore who we are and what we want?
To decenter men is, quite literally, to move the obstacle of patriarchy our of the center of our vision so that we can see what’s really there, when we can reconnect with our authenticity.
And all of this, I’m sure, sounds great—in theory. The place where folks tend to get stuck is in replacing the theoretical idea of patriarchy with the grounded, practical, tangible existence of actual men in our lives.
“Fuck yes to eschewing cisheteropatriarchy!” people cheer. “But wait. What about my husband? Isn’t this just man-hating?”
To which, I want to respond: Who taught you that centering your own needs and desires, and relationships with other marginalized genders, equates to hating men?
It reminds me a bit of the common social justice refrain around how when people are used to power, being asked to give it up feels like oppression.
This very stuck point is cisheteropatriarchy at work. The man-hating feminist lesbian is a conservative strawman. What “they” (the powers that be) want you to believe is that misandry exists (lolol) and should be stopped.
Bringing us back to where?
Exactly.
To decenter men, I think, is to say no thank you to a systemic (and, indeed, systematic) devaluing of queerness and femininity.
To decenter men is to excavate the misogyny, transphobia, homophobia, and more that we’ve internalized.
To decenter men is to recenter relationships outside of sex, romance, and family.
To decenter men is to reevaluate our relationships to gender and how gender roles hold us hostage in our own lives (and especially our own homes).
To decenter men is to prioritize, maybe for the first time, our true sense of the erotic (that is, our authentic sexuality).
To decenter men is to choose, actively, where we want to offer our emotional, intellectual, and domestic labor—and, perhaps, to choose to redistribute that to marginalized genders instead.
To decenter men is to offer resources to those with less access to them, rather than those with the most access to them.
To decenter men is to divest from cisheteropatriarchy.
And isn’t that the very work that feminism asks from us?
If you’re having a lightbulb moment and realizing that this is something you want to discuss with someone one-on-one, use this link to schedule a one-off session with me. Let’s figure it out together.
Love,
Melissa