by Dwayne Barnes

"Dwayne is scared of women,"  my new-ish close male friend said as he and I stood in a club surrounded by beautiful black women and gentlemen who were trying to become their suitors.

When he said it, I was stunned. I was outed. He knew something that I had never uttered to anyone but that I knew to be a hidden truth. 

How did he know? 

What did I do to show him that?

It was fear. It was palpable whenever I was around women in a club setting where there was pressure to connect with them and try to get their sexual attention, I froze. 

I deeply feared their rejection. The pain was too intense. It was a "trauma pain" that, at the time, I could not even understand myself. But he said it. He knew it. 

I can't remember how I responded. I don't think I said anything. I looked around and saw the most beautiful women any man would give their left kidney to be in their company surrounding me, and here I was, scared.

Tall, short, slim bodies, thick, delicious, long hair, wavy hair, you name it, it was there. And there I nervously stood, trying to hang out with my close, new-ish friend, and he quickly peeped my game of fear. 

When I look back, I realize that not much happened in my life that made it possible for me NOT to have a fear of women. My traumatized mother, God bless her heart, was a young, complicated, stressed, and troubled woman. She is what I knew of women.

From her, I sadly knew that women loved to drink, and loved to fight with their boyfriends viciously. They often went in and out of hospitals and rehab facilities, trying to heal from the fact that they loved to drink away their traumas. 

Women weren't nurturing; they were just around; they cooked when they were sober and were quick to chastise you if you got out of line. 

From my grandmother, my mother's mother, I learned that women could be lean, mean fighting machine saviors; she would often save me and my siblings day when things got rough with my traumatized mother. 

I also learned women could be an imbalanced mix of caring, loving, and supporting, but also hints of its complete opposite with my paternal grandmother.   

From my childhood neighbor, when I was around seven, I learned that young girls can taunt you and call you fags any chance they got because you were "different" and not like the other young men she usually saw. Where she got that hurtful label I'm sure came from another traumatized adult in her home. But, I learned a young girl could be toxically evil for no reason. 

From my first girlfriend and her cousin, I learned that women can be fun, loving, enjoyable, interested in creativity, and have a great time. So, connecting with the right kinds of women could bring a magical, joyful synergy to my life.

It was always a battle between "good and evil" with women and me. I deeply love women. I think that they are God's most fabulous creations. Honestly, and as a queer man, I still find women just as attractive as I do any other sexual being, but I deeply knew that in my environment queer men were off limits. "If they even "seem" to like men, they don't like you. Stay away. Mock them." These were the untruths that I could never quite war against as I had no other allies in this fight of ignorance.

It has been painfully challenging to push beyond confronting experiences of my youth, being surrounded by traumatized feminine figures trying to figure this life out, and traumatizing anyone who was "different" than the norm.  

I must admit there is something so deep and ingrained that rejection from women is one of the most shaming things that can ever happen to me. It feels like I'm punched in the gut and rendered less than human when I receive a "no" or "I see you as my friend" from a woman. 

For some reason it was one blow after another in my dealing with the feminine energies of my youth. Once, when I was about 13, I was sitting on the porch minding my own business, which I had to do to survive. 

I would sit on the porch and daze off into the urban oasis. There was always something churning underneath the urban streets of Detroit. Maybe the family across the street would be embroiled in an all-and-out family war, or the young girl down the street would be gated and locked in her house while the neighborhood boys made efforts to penetrate her through the bars sexually. She was willing. 

Anyway, as I sat on the porch looking out into this world called my life, my traumatized, and I'm sure intoxicated, mother walked out onto the porch and said to someone, "Wayne thinks he's better than people."

I said nothing. I was stunned. I felt judged, and for no apparent reason. Wayne was scared. He wondered if he would survive these treacherous streets, if he would be able to eat next week, and would get bus fare to school. 

Wayne did not and has not ever thought he was better than anyone. People who feel insecure and ashamed of their actions project that statement on those who seem to have a "light," a "power" that they sometimes don't even know they possess. But others see it and, sadly, like crabs in a bucket, try to do all they can to dim it in any way possible. 

I'm sorry, Ma. Now that you are in your angelic realm, I have to call a spade a spade on my healing journey. 

People with that spirit of deep, guilt-ridden shame don't try to lift you up if they see your light. For some reason, they often try to dim it. 

That very same statement could have been crafted in a whole different uplifting form: "Wayne is gonna be someone!" "Wayne has something special! "Wayne has vision and wants to go places!" 

Yet, there I sat, insulted. Confused, I wondered where that came from. Was it because I had dreams? I wanted to be in talent shows and express my creativity. 

I wondered what I had done to cause such a negative reaction from the person I loved the most in this life. 

What did I do to these women? That question was still present as I stood in that club with my new-ish friend, and anytime I found myself in the presence of a woman I found attractive.  

Maybe my silence in general as a black queer man, my fear, made and has made others feel as if I was judging them. And it was the complete opposite, I was judging if I was strong enough or good enough to stand and hold my ground in this shaky toxically masculine world where tears and sensitivity aren't allowed. 

Be strong.  

So, that tenuous relationship I have with women was wholly uncovered in that club when my new-ish male friend said I was scared of girls. 

He was right. 

I was. 

I am. 

I'm scared of their rejection and any form of abandonment that gets triggered from my childhood traumas and dramas. I'm scared of a woman's judgment like the next door neighbor and my mother that day. No,  I don't wanna be labeled a fag, a sissy, or a less than because I "feel" and "relate" like a unique human, and not a masculine "machine." 

I'm not here to be brutal toward all my queens of the world. I’m really not. I love me some woman. There would be no “Us” without them. We need the feminine just as surely we need the masculine. 

I’m just taking the time to shed light on how sad it is that this one black man can honestly be uncomfortable by what most welcome, and call on, women, for love and nurturance. All products of the strange impact of my childhood traumas.

Acceptance and grace is key for all. And I’m working on healing all of these mentioned traumas, knowing that none of it was personal.

Every woman isn't the woman I had experiences with. I know this; I just have to keep reminding myself that over and over until it sinks in. 

And don't get me wrong. I have had the most profound and most beautiful relationships, sexually and non-sexually, with some pretty amazing women, so it's not been all bad at all. 

It's just in some environments where the mating game is required. I can now admit that when my new-ish friend asserted, "Dwayne is scared of women." Today, I could say, "Yes, bro, in some cases, I am. And here’s why..”

But I don't want to be afraid of anyone. And don’t get me started on animals.  

NO, it’s not fair to them to fear,  it's not fair to me, and it's not fair to the God who created us all. 

I am not fear, I am love. 

All is love in its many forms and evolutions.