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Thoughts on men and their emotions.

Last month, a fellow blogger asked me what I — as a woman — think it means to be a man. So in a comment on his blog, I wrote the following:

I could write a whole post (and perhaps I will after I finish my book!). But here’s what comes to mind at first: A man uses words to communicate. He does what he says he’s going to do. He understands emotion to be a human thing, not a woman thing, and expresses his own. If he was raised not to express emotion, he makes an effort as an adult to unlearn what he learned (even if with the help of a licensed therapist). He has integrity, which means he doesn’t do stuff (or makes a concerted effort to avoid doing stuff) in private that doesn’t align with his public image. He practices chastity and knows love is a choice as opposed to a feeling.

Another of the blogger’s readers left a comment regarding mine:

Actually, in this, you’re buying into the mindset that tries to turn men into hairy women. No one *teaches* men to “not express emotion” — it is a natural result of being in control of yourself, which is the masculine ideal. Furthermore, no one, needs, nor even wants, “men” who wear their emotions on their sleeves, least of all women [sic]. When it comes to emotions, the world was better off when women worked to emulate what comes naturally to men, by keeping a lid on theirs. Instead, most “women” thesa days mentally junior-high school girls [sic] … as are far too many so-called men.

These are my thoughts on that:

  • To my readers who are men: IGNORE HIM. You are not a hairy woman if you express emotion. You are a person who functions. A “masculine ideal” that doesn’t let you be who you are or feel what you feel is a crock of you know dang well what. Reject it.
  • No one needs men who wear emotions on their sleeves? Reminder: Jesus wept.
  • Words like the ones written by that reader are the reason an 11-year-old boy I once met is more likely to put his fist through a wall than to cry when he’s upset. By telling boys “crying is for wimps,” you don’t encourage strength. You set them up to be alarmed by feelings when feelings arise (and they will). You discourage the development of their abilities to manage emotion, because you can’t learn to manage what you aren’t allowed to experience.
  • Emotion is human. The moment you call expression of it weak, it becomes strong: evidence of a willingness to go against the grain — a grain manufactured by people like the guy who wrote the comment. (A willingness, which, for the record, is totally attractive.)
  • Women don’t want men who express emotion? First, men can’t tell women what women want. Stop it. Second, if I wind up with a guy who cries when he proposes or commits on an altar to intertwining his entire life with mine, or when our kids are born or our pets and loved ones die, or the Fresh Prince rerun we’re watching happens to be particularly heart wrenching, GOOD. I’ll cry with him.
  • The writer posits that men aren’t supposed to express emotion because not expressing emotion is “a natural result of being in control of yourself, which is the masculine ideal.” It is good, regardless of gender, to be in control of yourself. And it is normal to have emotions. But it is flawed to imply it is a loss of self-control to express them.
  • Perhaps the people who have lost control of self are not the ones who express emotion, but the ones who don’t. Who is in control when what you will or won’t do is based on what other people think of you?
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Thoughts on writing a book.

“I’M GOING TO WRITE A BOOK!” 

I was home alone, except for my dog, when I shouted it. A goal — a dream, really — had been handed to me by an editor at Ave Maria Press, the publishing house that reviewed my book proposal and invited me to write the book I pitched.
A miracle. Truly.
I screamed and danced with my dog, who wasn’t as excited as I was, and I called my mom but she didn’t answer, ’cause she was in a meeting.
In the quiet that followed my response to the news, I sat at the kitchen table, suddenly aware of what the news meant:
I have to write a book.

It was joy and fear, probably like becoming a parent, or something. Like, I want this, this commitment I am getting into, but I tremble humbly and am periodically terrified when I consider its magnitude — when I consider that I am being entrusted with this, that I am responsible for something that is going to affect people.
It is so scary. And it is so exciting.
As of Christmas week, the book’s first draft is done. The work, however, isn’t. I am in round one now of revisions, and am to turn a second draft in on Jan. 13. What is important to me now, as I tweak what I have so far and add to it, too, is this:
the right words.
The words readers need to read to get what they need when they read it.
Every day between now and my next deadline, I will be in the book. My hope is that while I am in the book, you will be in prayer. I will start a novena tonight, to St. Francis de Sales — patron saint of journalists and writers — for the right words as I write. If you’ll join me, in prayer generally, or by committing to a novena, I will be eternally grateful.
Other novenas:
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Ten Things that Happened in 2013.

In 2013, I finished my MA!

We’re a day now from 2013’s finale, which, like every year’s end, inexplicably comes as a surprise.

Time flies.

Before the ball drops, I thought it good to reflect on the year, which for me, represents in part some bittersweet ends and exciting beginnings. It is with gratitude for each that I share 10 of them:

1. I returned to Twitter: Earlier in my 20s, I deleted all my social media profiles and swore off smartphones, which — as I wrote in a 2012 Times essay about it — had a big impact: “My world indeed is smaller now, but everything in it has more depth.” My aversion to computer-mediated communication was sparked in part by how distracted by it I was, and because I am part of “the crappiest generation of spoiled idiots,” according to comedian Louis CK. I forfeited the convenient way to make and stay in touch with friends but faced a choice when I discovered that being an author could become a reality. All my author friends shared the experience and opinion that publishers don’t take writers seriously who don’t use social media. So, for professional reasons, I returned to Twitter. The move has paid off, not solely professionally but also personally. I have crossed paths with people I otherwise wouldn’t have met, for whose roles in my life I am grateful.

2. We lost a pope: “THE POPE IS RETIRING,” I wrote in the subject line of the email I sent to my brother after learning on Feb. 11 that Pope Benedict XVI would resign. That a papacy could end because a pope retired was not within my awareness — and it wasn’t within my awareness because, as it turned out, it hadn’t happened in 600 years. B16’s decision, underlain by wisdom and humility, made history (and made me cry a little), propelling the Church into the unknown in a conclave we didn’t expect.

3. I got a book deal: On Feb. 28, 2013 — the last day of Pope Benedict’s papacy — I sat at the kitchen table, typing grateful Tweets to the pope and waiting to receive news that would make or break my day (and potentially change my life). In Notre Dame, Indiana, 1100 miles north of my house, the people gathered who would determine which kind of news I’d get. They deliberated, and decided, from a room at a publishing house called Ave Maria Press. After the meeting, an editor delivered the news to me like this: “So,” he said. “How would you like to write a book for us?” I SAID YES. I waited to announce it publicly until October, and am grateful for the support, encouragement, and prayers I have received since.

4. We gained a pope: “I HAVE A POPE!” I shouted down the hall outside my office in the youth shelter where I worked as counselor. The white smoke had risen while I was in with a client, and by the time I heard the news, our new pope — Pope Francis — already had given his blessing from the balcony. “I would like to give the blessing, but first — first I ask a favor of you: before the Bishop blesses his people,” he said while I watched it on TV later, “I ask you to pray to the Lord that he will bless me: the prayer of the people asking the blessing for their Bishop. Let us make, in silence, this prayer: your prayer over me.” It became clear pretty quickly that this pope is the pope of my dreams.

5. I graduated with my master’s degree: Until I signed a book deal, grad school was the greatest (most time-consuming, most challenging) feat I ever had attempted, and the countdown to graduation earlier this year was bittersweet. We sat in a circle during my last class ever in April, to process (like counselors do!) the end of the grad school experience. I acknowledged in the circle that I was happier and sadder than I thought I could be at the same time. I was happy to be freed from the constant state of studying, and sad to say goodbye to the people with whom I’d spent so much time (and the places in which we spent it!). Grief over the loss of grad school quickly faded after I crossed the stage at the Sun Dome in cap and gown on May 4.

6. I went to the Theology of the Body Institute: As a graduation gift to myself, I registered for Theology of the Body I, a week-long course at the Theology of the Body Institute. I flew to Philly for it on June 9, not knowing what was about to happen was one of the best weeks of my entire life. I knew no one upon arrival and left having acquired new friends and new faith in Catholic young people. I learned a lot about TOB (but only the tip of the ice berg) and intend to take a second course in 2014 (Lord willing, Love and Responsbility!).

7. I resigned from my job as counselor to teens: I’ve not blogged about it before, but from Aug. 2012 through Oct. 2013, I worked as a counselor to teens at a shelter for youth. At first, I worked 14 hours per week as an intern, until I resigned from the Times to accept a full time job at the shelter. The gig doubled as a new job and as the full-time counseling internship I needed in order to graduate. As a counselor to teens — foster kids, homeless kids, runaways, and kids in conflict with their families — I learned a lot, including but not limited to these things: teenagers are hilarious (and many of them, resilient), counseling them is hard, and how grateful I am for the parents I have is incalculable. While there are memories I’ll cherish (such as driving a mini van full of singing teenagers across the Tampa Bay Area), I resigned from the shelter in October to return to the gig I had before I interned.

8. I returned to the Tampa Bay Times: In a VERY unexpected but VERY welcomed plot twist, the girl who replaced me when I resigned from the Times in 2012 resigned from the Times herself in October this year. In secret, I longed for the chance to return to the Times, where prior to my own resignation, I had worked for five and a half years very happily. The chance arrived when after my replacement’s resignation, she shared my secret with our editor, who offered me my job back when I called her. I accepted, of course, and it truly has been a homecoming.

9. Sr. Helena Burns agreed to write the foreword for my book: I sat in my room, working on the book, when my phone buzzed with a tweet — “Mentioned by @SrHelenaBurns: I am totally writing the Foreword to Ms. @ArleenSpenceley’s awesome new book on the very popular subject of chastity. #StayTuned. The news was news to me, and good news — scream and accidentally drop your phone good. Can’t wait to read what she writes at the start of the book.

10. I wrote a book: As of 12:26 a.m. on Dec. 23, my editor had the entire first draft of the book in her possession. While the book is “done,” it’s nowhere near done. As 2013 ends and 2014 starts, I will revise what we have as the editing process starts. Your continued prayers are appreciated.

– – – –

What happened in your life this year?

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Why I write what I write.

I sit tonight at a probably 10′ long table alone, along a wall in Starbucks, because when I got here, it was the only available table close to an outlet. I haven’t plugged my computer in yet, distracted so far by the patrons to my right — a stepmother and adult stepdaughters, who sip seasonal beverages and discuss the family’s patriarch.

Who they suspect is involved in infidelity.

Who has been unfaithful before.

Who isn’t happy.

“I can’t say I’m in it for the long haul,” stepmother warned. Stepdaughters understood. I understand, too.

This — a real life representation of relationships at nearly their worst (It could be worse.) — hurts my heart. And my soul. And my head.

This is why I write what I write: Not solely because marriages disintegrate, but because marriages still start that are going to disintegrate. Because marriages that are going to disintegrate don’t actually have to start. I write what I write because “marriage is the new ‘going steady'” and isn’t designed to be. I write what I write because love is far greater than our culture says it is, and somebody has to say it.

When I write it is with the hope and prayer that readers who are married receive whatever they need to start to rebuild or reinforce a marriage’s foundation; with the hope and prayer that readers who are single and mingling receive what they need to discern when to stop or start a relationship; with the hope and prayer that readers who discern marriage don’t do it if disintegration is likely, or an option; with the hope and prayer that readers who are single for good will know it doesn’t mean life for them is loveless.

And your prayers while I write are appreciated.

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My so-far single life.

Grateful for the opportunity to talk today about my so-far single life at Life in the Gap, a blog about “life in between,” designed “to generate conversation (or at least food for thought) about the goodness and value of this time in waiting.”

The bloggers’ first question for me was whether I expected I’d be single at 28 — my short answer? YES. Read why, plus the rest of the interview by clicking the link below (and follow Life in the Gap on Twitter and on Facebook!).