Why Does a Man Come to Hate a Woman?
Why Does a Man Come to Hate a Woman?
Why Does a Man Come to Hate a Woman?
It is a question that seems deliberately provocative.
No man on earth truly hates women as a whole. Allow me to tell you the truth.
A man’s resentment towards a woman is a condition that runs through almost every close human relationship — especially when two people draw near as lovers or as husband and wife — even if he never admits it to her.
The reason is quite simple.
With time, a woman begins to claim ownership of his very breath, as though she has acquired a slave rather than a heart.
And that is not the end of it.
She awards herself a status far greater than that of a life partner, driven by a persistent desire to erase his entire private world so that she may install herself in the place of everything — precious or trivial — that once mattered to him.
If he speaks, she assumes the conversation is about her and for her, and holds him to account.
If he writes, the words are either for her or against her.
If he so much as smiles, he is a traitor flirting with someone else.
After all of this, can one still blame him if resentment grows, or if he seeks other relationships?
My dear woman,
Be gentler with yourself.
You are slowly choking him.
Allow him to breathe.
Leave him the world he loves.
Do not strip him of his humanity merely to impose your control.
For if the bird is suffocated, its spirit will fly away — even if you keep the keys to the cage.
A note:
Everything written above is addressed equally to men.
My dear man,
She, too, will come to resent you in time.
Wait a moment.
Be kinder to yourself.
Do not take it so much to heart.
You were the one who began this tragedy, and the one who begins a tragedy is the only one who can end it.
How?
I shall explain.
Everything she later did that made you feel stifled, you did to her first.
You tore her from her own world with jealousy long before you offered her love.
You confined her within the walls of your world.
You turned a singing bird into little more than a sickly sparrow, until she became, in your life, nothing more than a hopeless case — a woman made ill by the constant need for attention.
Yes.
With time she becomes precisely that: starved of attention and made sick by it.
And if she finds from you nothing but self-regard and devotion to your own world, she will hold you to account — in her own particular way.
How painful it is to be judged by the very person one has wounded.
My dear man,
If you wish to live in peace, heal what you yourself began.
Leave her her world, and she will leave you yours.
Treat her as a human being, not as a possession, and she will treat you as a man with rights and responsibilities.
Just as she has rights and duties, give her the attention to which you first accustomed her, and she will keep a heart that beats with life for as long as you live.
My dear man,
Compel the heart you broke to mend, and your own wound will heal.
Force the fracture to close, for a woman’s heart is like glass: the slightest thing can shatter it, and once broken it will find no one but you upon whom to take its fierce revenge.
