After I had lived in Seattle for a few months, some things out of my control started happening that threatened my ability to continue living in my newfound home. In addition to money troubles, a friend of my elderly father called from Florida to tell me that his health was declining and that he was not thinking clearly anymore. I decided right then I had to leave and take care of my father.
I love being a girl-dad. At the end of the day, my wearing some makeup or playing pretend with my daughter will not come to define her conception of gender.
Just imagining myself joining this group on this trip brought up several anxieties: the fear of sharing, sleeping, and showering among so many other guys. I also had masculine insecurities about cleaning up after Hurricane Katrina along with the ability to share my faith. But God is bigger than my anxieties. And as I'd eventually learn, jumping into the unknown with God tends to be the best option.
I've often felt great shame over being so highly sensitive. I thought I was the only guy who cried or got his feelings hurt so easily while the other men took life's unpleasantness in masculine stride.
It's our premiere episode of "State of the YOB," a recap of last month's blogs, podcasts, and video as I also bid a fond farewell to a dear, zero-legged friend.
I remember being envious of the other boys who seemed so free in their bodies, so free with their bodies. I remember being envious of their slenderness, and later on, their muscles. I remember lying in bed wishing so hard that I could wake up and be miraculously thin. I remember knowing that I shouldn't hate my body but having no idea how to stop.
College held the hope for a fresh start. Home meant the weight of my double-life: the pain of lying about porn and "everything is okay" all the time; the great friendships that never felt deep or authentic enough for my broken self.
We just launched our brand new monthly bonus podcast, The YOBALOGUE: it's sort of an "epilogue" to our regular show and a continuing dialogue with you, our faithful followers, featuring listener calls, comment feedback, cut content, and more.
I wasn't sure what to say. I couldn't get a feel for how my friend felt. Was he upset, angry, weirded out, touched, happy, confused? Henry gave no clue to his thoughts. Only one emotion registered in my own gut: fear. Months prior . . . The first few weeks after Henry left our church were actually harder than I expected. Entering the office each day, I caught myself instinctually looking at his desk to say hello. I found myself wanting to turn around to chat with him about the latest blog I'd just read. I began to feel an ache around the time each day when we used to go away from our desks to read the Bible together and check in with each other. I wanted to fill Henry's absence -- but my options were nonexistent. For one, I was now the only guy in my office suite....
After the funeral, I felt almost paralyzed. I just couldn't force myself to lead at the house. James needed me to lead and be a help to him, so he confronted me on being too passive. I admitted he was right, but I felt unable to get beyond my emotions and lead others. Things degenerated until James and I barely talked.