Breaking Beta: “Because I am afraid. And he gives me Courage.”

I looked forward to the release of Peter Jackson’s first part of The Hobbit: The Unexpected Journeywith far more anticipation than most mortal men.  That’s because when I was 8 years old I pulled a dusty old hardback library edition of the book off of my elementary school library shelves at the direction of the librarian (Thank you, Mrs. Small!), and I started reading. 

I went to Middle Earth.  And I never really came back.

As much as I admire and love the breadth and majesty of The Lord of the Rings, and approve of Jackson’s brilliant adaptation, there will always be a special place in my heart for The Hobbit.  It’s the book that started me on my personal adventure in many, many ways.  So when Jackson’s movie came out, I went in with high expectations, which (I’m happy to say) were for the most part exceeded.  Lovedthe movie.

The critics, not so much.  Especially those who want to bitch about the fact that the moviedoesn’t have enough boobs in it.  Or this one.

I work in porn, so I’m pretty partial to boobs on the worst of days.  But the plain fact of the matter is that there just weren’t any boobs in the book, The Hobbit, and the boobs that were in the movie, while of exceptional quality, were indeed a re-write.  The Hobbit just didn’t have any female characters to speak of.

That’s not because J.R.R. Tolkien was a misogynistic bastard tool of the Patriarchy, as some would suggest.  There aren’t any women in The Hobbit because, quite frankly, girls just don’t do that sort of thing.

Think about it: if you’re familiar with the story of the book/movie, then you know that it revolves around a quest . . . not just any quest, but a quest for fortune and glory with a dragon at the end.  It’s a quest to re-establish a great legacy, to re-conquer that which had been wrongfully taken, a quest to redress old wrongs and change the landscape of the world and ensure the legacy of a long and distinguished line.

And the plain fact of the matter is that groups of women just do not congregate toward dragon-slaying operations as a rule.

As has often been noted, groups of women never did really get together and build a boat just to see what was on the other side of the ocean the way men did.  They didn’t travel to distant lands to seek their fortune the way men did.  They didn’t pursue decades-old vendettas involving lost fortunes and missing legacies the way men did.  The impetus for exploration and adventure (and exploitation and fortune) are soundly male traits.  Women just take advantage of them, and are occasionally taken advantage of by them.

The criticism of the movie (and, by extension, the book) revolving around the lack of female characters isn’t just indicative of the typical knee-jerk reaction toward anything positive and all-male these days; it demonstrates the utter lack of understanding of basic differences in how men and women think, plan, and act.  At the risk of making a “sweeping generalization” (or, for those addicted to the opium of reason, an “observable fact”), going off on a quest with an axe in your hand in search of fame and fortune is traditionally and historically a “dude” thing, not a “chick” thing.  Sterling exceptions to that rule notwithstanding (they’re exceptions, remember), it is men, not women, who undertake such adventures.  Men get together and slay dragons.  Women get together and trade pants.

You can ascribe the reason for that to many things, depending on your politics: the inability of men to commit, the inability of women to agree on just how a boat should be built, the male fascination with getting-out-of-town-fast, the female desire for a comfortable night’s sleep and tasty carbohydrates, the male capacity for violence and the female dislike of the same, you name it and you can find a sure-fire genderized reason that will float positive or negative, as you see fit.

But the reason that the thirteen dwarves, one hobbit and a wizard were all men was because men, as a rule, adventure in dangerous enterprises.  Women, as a rule, do not.  It’s as simple as that.  Trying to change the gender of a dwarf or throw in an extra chick somewhere along the line would ruin the story because it is, in effect, a male story, about masculinevalues.  Even including Galadriel was a stretch, and while I approve of the inclusion I also feel it departed somewhat from the intended narrative feel.  Thorin & Company was a stag affair for a reason.

Of all the races Tolkien revalorized from old Northern European pagan myths, the Dwarves of Durin’s Folk were by far the most overtly masculine.  We get intriguing glimpses of their culture from the books, and it is decidedly male-oriented by nature.  Short and strong, and possessed of great flowing beards (even, as legend says, the women), Dwarves were the epitome of several key masculine virtues: ingenuity, craftsmanship, strength, courage, and indomitable will.  The Dwarves were delvers under the earth, wresting iron, silver, gold and other minerals from deep mines and forging them into artifacts of exquisite craftsmanship, from toys to weapons of war. 

They were naturally aloof, some preferring not to marry at all so devoted they were to their craft (consider them Dwarves Going Their Own Way).  Yet they were passionate, with strong ideas about kinship and family.  The entire War of the Dwarves and Goblins was over a vile, fatal insult delivered to Thorin’s grandfather.  Dwarves also epitomize some of masculinity’s less-stellar traits, from quick anger to rash behavior to intractable stubbornness to insensible greed.  Dwarves are men with the softer, feminized elements of our culture stripped away (and added to that of the stylishly-dressed Elves).  Even Dwarven art is blocky and masculine, utterly unlike the curves and arches of the home of Elrond the Half-Elven.

Complaining that The Hobbit has too many males involved is like complaining lesbian porn doesn’t have enough women.  It might be true, but it misses the point. 

The Hobbit is an adventure tale, a “buddy movie” in which the main character is forced out of his comfortable, civilized, feminized existence into the rough and dangerously masculine world.  Bilbo Baggins is a comfort-loving hobbit who gets all but Shanghaied from his comfy country subterranean manor home.  Indeed, their entire culture emphasizes the Beta traits of comfort-building, predictability and social propriety to extremes. Hobbits are terribly civilized and don’t see much use for adventures at all.  It takes Gandalf’s friendly boot on his ass to get Bilbo out the door and committed to the quest – but that’s what wizards do.  Wise Old Men are in charge of initiating the boy into manhood.

The ensuing quest reads like a Joseph Campbell book: Bilbo and the motley assemblage of Dwarves take a while to learn to work together.  Like any quasi-military unit, the screw-ups and inadequate leadership inevitably cause problems at first, and much of the movie involves the party getting sorted out.  Gandalf and Thorin duel for leadership, with Balin mediating, while the rest of the company finds their roles.  Bilbo is constantly underfoot or otherwise lagging behind, yet even at this early stage of the adventure (as his role in the troll episode demonstrates) his utility is clear.   Still, the ultra-masculine Dwarves are skeptical of his usefulness and chances of survival – even those most sympathetic with him.  

Despite being smaller than the smallest Dwarf, and very differently-natured, Bilbo persists on the quest often for no better reason than he committed himself.   At several points he expresses regret at leaving his comfortable Beta existence behind.  But he made a commitment, he signed a contract, he pledged his nascent masculine honor – no matter how small his contribution to the effort – to the completion of the quest.  At the end of the movie he even verbally abandons his comfort-seeking life and re-commits himself to helping the Dwarves recover their stolen home. 

The masculine themes throughout the movie are strong: not just the powerful narrative of Thorin and the Dwarves, but the struggles Gandalf faces on the White Council, in the face of his inferior superior, Saruman, are just as dramatic and just as instructive.  Most of us have been at a place where our boss was kind of an idiot, and possibly even plotting with the Evil Dark Lords behind your back.  It happens.  Gandalf does what men traditionally do: kiss just enough ass to get by, and proceed with your own plan anyway.

The story of The Hobbit is particularly timely, in Red Pill terms.  We stand now at what might be the beginning of the Revolt of the Betas, an opportunity for the meek-hearted, timid hobbits among us to cast off their waistcoats, forget their pocket handkerchiefs, and pick up swords they didn’t know they had in an effort to strive toward regaining their masculinity in a hostile wilderness of feminism and anti-male sentiment.  

Bilbo is Beta, at the beginning of the story, and the remainder of it is really about how any man finds his Alpha: in the company of other men, guided by the Wise,  a clear quest ahead, through danger and hardship, and – eventually – finding a dragon at the end.

(Notice the utter lack of princesses involved.)

The Dwarves are a mixed-bag of embodied masculine traits, from the majesty of kingly Thorin to the youthful exuberance of Fili and Kili to the family-man Gloin building a legacy, to the wisdom and experience of old Balin.  Dwalin epitomizes the battle-hardened Warrior, and Dori is dedicated to the sophisticated tastes of the finer things in life. Each of them has something to contribute to Bilbo’s education, and each of them is naturally sympathetic to the out-of-place hobbit . . . but that doesn’t keep them from doing what is necessary to temper him. 

The doubts, the teasing, the constant remarks about how different Bilbo is seems almost cruel to feminine sensibilities.  But they are vital elements to how a boy becomes a man.  You don’t gain strength by catering to sensitivity and weakness, but by challenging it and overcoming it.  The good-natured hazing the Dwarves offer Bilbo is designed to toughen him, not break him.  They want him stronger, not broken.

The Dwarves act in good faith.  Even when things look the grimmest, they do not seriously consider abandoning Bilbo.  He signed a contract.  He committed himself.  He pledged his masculine honor– what little he had – for the common goal and the common good, and even when things went bad he and his companions did not break faith.  That's an essential masculine value, and a vital lesson of manhood.  

But the most shining example of masculine themes is in Gandalf’s expository discussion with Galadriel, after the council, in which she questions the wisdom (which is a big thing for a Wizard) of including Bilbo on the Dwarves’ desperate quest. 

His answer may sound like a generic, vainglorious throw-away line for a sappy action-adventure fantasy, but under further study it becomes something more . . . something much more.  Something intrinsic to and glorious about the masculine soul.

Gandalf and the Dwarves may have needed a 14^th member, a burglar, and a well-stocked host when they hired Bilbo to join them (and convinced him to go of his own accord).  The inclusion in the party seems almost an after-thought, especially to the doubtful Dwarves of Thorin & Company.  But upon reflection, Gandalf reveals that what first appears to be a dumb-ass move (including a very killable hobbit among the far-tougher Dwarves) is not just for his nimble utility and cleverness . . . it was actually designed to improve his own stewardship of the enterprise:

“Why Bilbo Baggins?  Perhaps it is because I am afraid.  And he gives me courage” is what he admits to the aloof, immortal and impeccably-manicured renegade ring-bearing Noldoran Elvenqueen.  And that sentence is telling, a roadmap to the masculine conception of duty and honor. 

No matter how doughty and dedicated the warrior, without a worthy task or precious vulnerability to protect, bravery is a shallow thing.  The warrior who fights for survival is honorable.  The warrior who fights for gain is bold.  The warrior who fights for others even as they fight for him, is noble.  And the warrior who can admit his fear and his dependence on others is wise.

Honorable, bold, noble and wise – these are the elements the Beta hobbits of our post-industrial Shire need, but they can’t get them online and they can’t get them from women.  Only in the company of men, guided by the wise, through hardship and adversity will they shed their fear, find their strength, and become the men their ancestors intended them to be.

This was recently brought home in my own personal life.  My oldest son is 13, nearing the cusp of manhood.  He’s at the age in which toys are fading in importance and girls are starting to be more than an annoyance.  You remember how difficult, strange, and wonderful that time was in your life.  We each seem to get some seemingly-insurmountable challenge around that age, one which forces us to take the first steps toward adult responsibility, whether we want to or not.

We’re not Christian, so we don’t do confirmation camp and such, and our Pagan equivalent is a private family matter.  But the rites of adulthood are an important if not essential element of our sacraments, and we spend a lot of time discussing and preparing for his future.  As a symbolic part of his initiation into manhood I bought him a sword. 

Not just any sword, but a replica of Bilbo’s sword (which will be named “Sting” in the next movie, if you were curious).  It’s the lower-end replica, unadorned by Elvish script on the blade, by design.  I shall have it engraved, when the time comes, with a new name and a new legend.

Why a sword?  Because for ten thousand years our ancestors acknowledged a young man’s maturity and adulthood by granting him arms for the defense of his village/tribe/family, and a sword is a defensive as well as an offensive weapon. 

But I’m not just giving it to him – he has to earn it.  As he goes through the unexpected trial the Fates have granted him, and he has to face up to adult responsibilities and the consequences of adult actions for the first time, he will – like Bilbo – discover new reservoirs of strength, tenacity, cleverness and – yes – courage within his boyish heart.  He will learn to walk away from the comfort and safety of childhood and venture into the Wilderness of adult masculinity.  He will learn the sweet masculine thrill of knowing that you are strong and you are powerful and you are wise in a hostile world.

He will learn, as he grows into his man’s body, that even at his meager age and slight build, with a sword in his hand he can take a man’s life, and that is a heady responsibility.  He will learn that his masculinity will be a burden and a blessing, a reason to be despised and a reason to be prized, a thing to be carefully cultivated like the finest strain of pipeweed and to be proud of, as if it was the most intricate jewel ever wrought.  He will be taught that the comfort and security of the Beta – while valued – lays lighter on the scale of masculine worth than his Alpha contributions: leadership, dedication, loyalty, trustworthiness, competence. 

The goal, you see, is to keep him from sliding into that Betatized state our society so favors prematurely, and instead push him into the grand adventure (“nasty disturbing uncomfortable things, adventures.  Make you late for dinner.”) ahead.  My job of ensuring his happy childhood has all but come to a close, and the just-as-important job of ushering him into manhood lies ahead. It scares me, this responsibility.  If I screw it up, I’m not just messing up my son’s life, I’m releasing an untrained Ironwood on the unsuspecting world. 

I could just slack-off and let television and the internet raise him, as his peers’ parents seem to be doing.  But the last thing I want is for him to be a 28 year-old Bilbo in a one-bedroom apartment, his only devotion to a game console and his only adventures virtual.  He’s an Ironwood: he can make it big or screw up big, but mediocrity is not in our DNA.

I’m hopeful.  I’ve done a good job so far, else he wouldn't have made it through his recent ‘adventure’.  It doesn't really matter what it was -- he was challenged, and despite taking a hammering, he rose to it and did what needed to be done, like the man he aspires to be.

And when he arrives at that point where I can look him in the eye and see a man grown, not a boy, then and only then shall he be presented with his cadet blade (he’ll get a full-sized sword when he’s 18), it shall be inscribed and engraved (in actual Sindaran Tengwar, ‘cause I’m a nerd like that) with this legend:

“Because I am afraid.  And he gives me Courage.”

If you are a Beta dad and you're reading this, spend the next month reading The Hobbit out loud to your boys every night until you finish.  Watch the expressions on their faces.  Share in their delight and fear and surprise and adventure.  Look into their eyes, see the eager boys they are and the strong men they can become, and realize - if you haven't yet - that the only person in the world who has the responsibility for them becoming men is not your wife, your ex-wife, their teachers, their neighbors, the government, society, or any particular village . . . it's you.  Only you.  

And if that scares you . . . good.  It's a scary thing.  It should be.  Look at your sleeping son's face some night and try to imagine the unforeseen challenges he will be forced to face in his life, and understand that you alone can prepare him for them. 

But take heart, if you don't feel up to the task ahead.  If you're afraid you'll screw up, you have all the courage you need, right there in front of you.  You'll discover reserves of strength and patience that you didn't know you had while you do it.  In the process of helping your son become a man, you yourself will become a much better man.  

If that's not a good enough reason to break your Beta and go forth into the world like a conquering hero, then there isn't one.

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Breaking Beta: The Boob Test

If there is any better demonstration that the Red Pill isn’t blanket misogyny and unreasonable expectations, it’s the HUGE number of female readers I seem to have developed.  These women are eager to hear what I have to say about the male psyche and appreciate my observations about the female psyche.  More importantly, they want something that would seem a no-brainer for most American women, but something that has been dropped on the list of feminine priorities: good, solid, dependable relationships that are sexually and emotionally fulfilling with decent, strong, masculine men who aren’t afraid of their own masculinity . . . or of femininity.

That last part is the problem.  The Betacization of the American Male is a historical fact, as is the abuse of the Betas by (often feminist-leaning) women in the SMP, not to mention the hue and cry over the lack of “good” men for American women to mate with.  Even seemingly-stable, secure, all-American marriages can and do disintegrate all the time, thanks to the chasm between the expectations and fulfillment of both genders.  My previous post, You’re Just Going Through A Stage, elicited a lot of email.  Some from women who are going through just this issue, and some from men and younger women who see it as the horror it is.

So the question arises: "if I’m married to a Perfectly Decent Beta Dude, how do I unlock the hidden Alpha beast-man-with-a-heart-of-gold I yearn for?  Realistically, that is."

And that’s a good question . . . in fact, it is one of themost pressing questions in the Manosphere.  Because the Gen Xers who were the first bitter products of divorce are hitting 40, and a lot of them didn’t get married, got married and then divorced, or are in unhappy marriages headed for divorce, and if these dudes don’t get their act together now, then more trouble is inevitable. 

So how do you . . . de-domesticate your dude?

We’re not talking total reversal, here – you don’t want to drive him to quit his job, by a Harley and hustle pool for a living or anything.  You just want some sharp edges, some excitement, some command presence, some . . . ALPHA.  You want to look at his face and see a far-off gaze as he hears the call of the wild, and then the warm grin he gets when he looks back at you and says something saucy about your boobs.  You want to see him stiffen up and prepare for action when he sees danger, not quietly drag you away by the elbow.  You want to come home from work and discover that he’s booked plane tickets to Cabo as a surprise, or that he’s cooked a five-course Chinese meal for the two of you, or he’s rented a convertible for the weekend and wants to have a picnic in another state.  You want to see him take initiative, step up, lead, command, BE A MAN, all of those wonderfully romantic, undeniably ALPHA things that make your nipples hard and your naughty parts tremble.

Only . . . he’s still just Bob.

Oh, we all know, Bob is great – actually, Bob is good.  Perfectly good . . . but not quite great.  If he was great, you wouldn’t be here, you’d be thinking naughty thoughts about Bob, but you aren’t.  Bob is your husband, and that fact alone makes him . . . boring.  And if you think he’s boring now, then just wait 10 years.  Only you won’t, maybe.  Maybe you’ll say “I’m not haaaapy” or “I don’t feel appreciated” and then dump poor ol’ Bob. 

Thing is, Bob is the way he is – uber-Beta – because that’s what you’ve taught him you want him to be.  Especially if you have children, you likely have sanded as much of his rough edges off as possible, to make him a better and more dependable dad.  You both have gotten into patterns that have calcified into habits that are turning into customs which are well on their way to being traditions . . . and they aren’t the kind of life either one of you envisioned or, perhaps, even really wanted.

Oh, it’s probably pretty good on paper, despite the struggle.  There have always been issues.  But you’ve solved them – or, at least, you (singular) have solved them, and your husband has quietly agreed with your leadership.  Because it’s more trouble to agree with you and not piss you off than to put up with a fight and no sex over something stupid, in his mind.

But now, how do you get Bob out of his well-worn place and get him to show enough Alpha so that you aren’t dreaming of exotic and muscular strangers on tropical beaches when you make love?

I’ve said it can be done, and it can.  But I’ve never said it would be easy, and it isn’t.  At least not usually.

If a woman wants to break her husband’s Beta, she has to first face some uncomfortable truths about herself, women, men, and relationships; then she has to evaluate herself and her husband objectively, without emotional context, according to masculine (not feminine) standards.  Then she has to discover a way to inspire/ignite/incite him toward his Alpha without actually leading him there, supporting him when he falters and be willing to “suffer” a little before she gets what she wants.

And what she wants, she might discover, might not be as good as what she actually gets.

Ever wonder why divorced men do so well after a divorce?  If the psychological pressure doesn’t kill him or ruin him, then a man is forced to get more Alpha as a survival and mating tool after a divorce.  His old life, the life he thought he’d been building, is gone, and in his mind he’s in his teens again, trying to prove himself and attract the eye of a pretty girl.  So he works out, learns a modicum of Game, and in this target-rich environment he doesn’t usually have to wait around long to find another woman who’s perfectly willingto accept his baggage in exchange for his renewed lust, proven ability to provide, and resurgent, re-discovered Alpha. 

If you want to get that kind of effect without a divorce, that’s going to be tricky . . . but a lot cheaper.  How do you get your husband to be the kind of man that will excite you and lead you and make you want to follow him . . . anywhere?

You get him to stop being the man he is, and become someone else.

In divorce, that’s easy: he was your husband, now he’s your ex-husband.  Poof!  Instant transformation, human soul sold separately.  But if you want him to start out as your husband and still be your husband when you’re done, then don’t change his title and position – change the man.

But “Men don’t change”, I’ve heard that a thousand times this year alone.  The fact is we do change, all the time, and some of us are capable of quite profound changes . . . if we feel inspired enough to make the effort. 

Now, of course, you’re wondering “so . . . am I just not worth the effort?  Am I not naturally inspiring enough for him?  Is it my thighs?  My belly?  My ankles?  My hair?  WHY DOES HE DO THIS TO ME?!?!” and before you know it you’ve picked a fight with the man without him having to do anything at all.  Self-esteem issues, thy name is woman.

So, to begin with, quit worrying that he isn’t attracted to you.  If you’ve clearly offered him sex and he’s eagerly accepted it three times in the last month, he’s still plenty interested.

Want to test that theory?  Go flash him your boobs and offer him an opportunity to play with them for a moment, no strings attached.  If he doesn’t take you up on it, you might have a problem.  More likely, he’s just trying not to be “too pushy” and make you feel intimidated . . . because he has no idea that you want to be a little intimidated.

And of course he feels you’re worth the effort . . . some times.  But most of the time everything is fine, so he doesn’t push it.

A new hairstyle or wardrobe or shoes isn’t going to suddenly spur him into Alphahood, although it might get you boned.  Giving him additional guidance on what he’s doing isn’t going to increase the quality and strength of your partnership, it’s going to annoy him.  But he won’t push it.  He’ll keep his mouth shut, do it your way because it’s just easier than fighting, and move on. 

If you want to change the man you have, you have some work to do. There are no guarantees it will work, but it’s almost inevitable that things will change . . . one way or another. 

1. YOUR HUSBAND

Let’s begin by sketching out your husband.  Or, let’s begin by sketching out what your ideal for a husband is, and then determine how close your actual husband comes to that . . . as objectively as possible.  Try not to be too specific (“the ideal brings me flowers every Thursday, on my birthday, Valentine’s Day, and sometimes just because.  The actual got me flowers on my birthday only because his sister reminded him to.”) or too general (“my ideal has good values . . . but my actual husband looks at porn and likes to hang out in bars”).  Use the time-honored formula employed by high school girls everywhere: the Pro-Con list.

Before we move on, let’s also examine by just what you feelwhen you think of the word ‘husband’.  Is it a warm and tingly feeling that makes you feel safe and protected?  Or is it a sad admission that a woman can’t do it all and needs help?  When you think ‘husband’ do you think ‘boring’ or do you think ‘exciting’?  Just the word – not your actual husband.

Why?  Because a friend of mine had a great relationship . . . until she got married.  Then things went south, quick.  It wasn’t that she didn’t love him or was even not attracted to him, it was the simple fact that her mother and aunts had always said the word “husband” in a disdainful and derogatory manner, and when she heard someone refer to her boyfriend as her ‘husband’, she cringed.  She felt that just having a husband was a kind of admission of failure and inadequacy. 

So . . . stop thinking of husbands, in general, as clumsy and incompetent boobs who usually get what they deserve.  Stop thinking of them – in general – as obstacles to sensible living and challenges to good taste.  Most women in Americahave a very low opinion of husbands, largely because of how much they hear other women complain about theirs.  When a woman looks upon the word “husband” as a term that grants strength, protection, and pride in her union, instead of the inevitable suffix to “ex-”, then it’s amazing how much her attitude toward her husband can change.

If you aren’t familiar with the etymology of it, the term husband refers to Middle English huseband, from Old English hūsbōnda, from Old Norse hūsbōndi (hūs, "house" + bōndi, būandi, present participle of būa, "to dwell", so, etymologically, "a householder").  That is, he was the one legally and socially responsible for a family’s dwelling . . . the “head of household” designation that feminists have been so desperately attacking for years.  In our transient, post-industrial world, that merely means his name is on the lease or the mortgage – no big whup.

Only it is, or at least it was.  Before we changed homes every five years, the establishment of a permanent dwelling fit to raise children in was a major accomplishment to aspire to.  Nor was it easy, thanks to laws and customs and class and economics.  And yes, the laws did indeed prevent wives or single-women to be considered “heads” of households, except in special circumstances.

But for thousands of years the defining issue of “husband” was a man who had established a House.  He had built a home, or provided one, and was intent on raising a family, one that would ensure his survival into dotage.  That was the entire purpose of the institution of marriage in the Agricultural Age.  Your family was the ONLY “social security” anyone had, and building a strong family was a matter of survival, not just an occasion to go to bridal shows.

Being a husband had a social component to it that it currently lacks.  In the Middle Ages in Englandthe term transformed into “Goodman”, but a husband was not merely the spouse of a wife, he was a unit in a larger social and political organization.  The investment in a marriage and a family and a House was a substantial commitment, not just to a woman but to a community.  You had a social obligation to protect and provide for your wife . . . but you also had an obligation to see that she didn’t “stir up trouble”.  The goodmen and the goodwives of a village were part of a sophisticated social network in which the responsibilities and expectations of what role a “husband” and a “wife” were well-defined, to each other and to the community.

Over-defined, if you ask feminists, who are the ones largely responsible for the denigration of both the term and the institution.  Such “gender-based roles” were barbaric and crude, designed only to keep women oppressed and silent, they say.  Removing the layers of expectations implicit in the institution of marriage may have “liberated” women, back in the 60s and 70s, but as so many women are discovering now, those “archaic gender-based roles” held more value than they thought.  Otherwise, why are they so unhappy in their marriages . . . when their horrifically-oppressed-by-the-patriarchy ancestors didn’t seem to have those problems?

That is an unfair comparison.  We don’t live in the Agricultural Age, we livein the Post-Industrial Age.  Now we get married because we’re “in love”, and children are a checkbox or a dealbreaker.  Raising a family isn’t social security, it’s a time-consuming and expensive hobby.  Plighting troth isn’t the solemn commitment it was, it’s an excuse to look at silver patterns. 

“Establishing a House” means signing a lease or mortgage, and you aren’t looking to establish a dynasty as much as making a thrifty investment.  All too often, it’s merely the largest asset to divide in the divorce, so even that small claim to dignity as a “house holder” is denied a husband. 

Modern women just don’t respect the term as a title or position – hell, they often mumble it “Hey, Alice, I wanted to introduce you to Barry!  (he’s my husband)”.  Plenty of women want to Be Married, and their ring is one of their most prized possessions.  But far less women want to Have A Husband.  Important distinction.  

In fact, the only people who seem to see husbands in a positive and respectful light these days are gay men. 

If you can re-define what the term means in your head, and shift it away from Al Bundy, Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin and more toward the traditional conception of the Head of Household.  Yeah, I want you to imagine Bob, back in the 1950s, being Head of Household.  It might make the remnants of your feminist soul boil, but back then being a solid, good provider and a Perfectly Decent Beta Dude was something to aspire to, the fulfillment of the American Dream.  I’m not saying you have to go put on an apron and make a pot roast, but start re-conceptualizing husbands, in general, as more than the accessory you get with your wedding ring. 

Now, take a cold, objective look at Bob and see where he falls short of that.  Don’t despair – I told you it would be work.  But you have to know what you’re dealing with before you can deal with it.  Just where would you like to see your husband improve his husbandly performance, and how?  Don’t go all fairy-tale – this is Real Life.  List some concrete, objective performance standards that you believe would give him a lift into the Alpha you crave in him.  If you find his taste in humor disgusting and banal, and it reduces your attraction to him, then list it.  If you hate the way he calls you “babe” all the time, list that.  In fact, list everything that reduces your attraction to him. 

What you’ll end up with will look like a wish-list for your next husband.  And in a way, it is . . . but not the way you think. 

Group your concerns by category, and if you have difficulty doing that, try really hard to break them down to their constituent pieces.  For example, if you think you’d like to see him drive something classier than his old heap, his wardrobe needs a makeover, and it would be really nice to stop dodging creditors all the time, then group all of those under FINANCIAL SECURITY ISSUES.  If you want him to really connect with you emotionally, be able to discuss his feelings, and share the deepest part of his soul with you then put those under EMOTIONAL ISSUES.  If you would like to see him buff up, lose weight, quit smoking, start eating properly, etc. list those under PHYSICAL ISSUES. 

And yes, if his dick is too small, list that.  In code.  Don’t be a bitch about it, but it is a concern.

You get the idea.  Once you have your concerns grouped like that, it’s easier to tackle them comprehensively.  Some, like financial security and physical fitness, will take some time.  Others, like “I hate his cheesy little mustache” can be quickly and easily rectified. 

But here’s the trick: you have to persuade him to deal with his deficits . . . without letting him know that’s what he’s doing.

Don’t get me wrong, if you tell a man you’re sleeping with you want X he’s going to move mountains to get you X, just because most of us are that partial to vaginas.  But if you come right out and say “I really am just not turned on by your passive demeanor and your indecisiveness, please grow some fucking backbone” all you’re going to do is plunge him into a depression, make him withdraw, and/or start a fight.  It’s insulting to hear such direct criticism from a woman, even for a Beta.  Especially for a Beta.  You have to be far more subtle than that.

It’s tricky, and you may have to use some rusty feminine wiles to do so.  It’s a long, involved process, often fraught with mistakes and false steps, but once your hubby starts to realize that Something Is Going On, then you can start to influence howhe changes. 

That’s a huge process, and will require a lot more posts and probably a book, before long, but here’s a place to start.  The Boob Test.

One of the big mistakes many future ex-wives make is assuming that your husband knows what you want.  From your perspective, it seems like a no-brainer . . . but if he was seeing things from your perspective, you wouldn’t be here.  The truth is, he doesn’t pick up on more than half of what you say, and he probably is wary of taking anything you say at any particular time seriously, thanks to the feminine nature of examining an issue from many, many different sides before staking out a position. 

Women understand instinctively that another woman has to “try on” her feelings about something before she decides which one she’s firm on – but to dudes, it just looks dangerously indecisive.  Until he’s sure about what you think about something, he’s unlikely to commit because he doesn’t want to end up on the wrong side.  So he sits there with a dumb look on his face and mumbles “Idunnowhateveryouwantbaby” because he’s afraid that if he commits to one of your decisions, he will be judged and ultimately challenged, and that’s just not something he’s comfortable with.  It endangers the pussy supply and the wu of the marriage.

So make your desires clear to him without making him feel like it’s an ultimatum or judgment.  And in doing so, also lay out both your expectations of him, and the potential reward involved in a successful accomplishment.  It could go something as simple as this:

WIFE: “Hon, I’d love to go up to the lake this weekend.  Will you think about it?  If you book a room somewhere by Thursday, that would give me plenty of time to buy something special to wear for you.  Let me know what you decide.”

This was a good Red Pill way of inviting and encouraging your husband to take the initiative: you’ve spelled out your wishes, you’ve invited him to participate, you’ve given him some conditions, and you’ve outlined and hinted at the potential reward.  Now all you have to do is stand back and be amazed.  In fact, that’s part of the deal: you have to extend the invitation to lead, and then let him do it.  Or not.  It has to be his choice – all you can do is let him know what the stakes are.

If he’s smart, he’ll be having hotel sex and you’ll be having exciting interpersonal intimacy by the weekend.

Or, if Bob (or whomever) holds true to form, he’s not going to do anything.  Why?  Because you talk about stuff all the time, and he only half-listens to you anyway because most of what you say doesn’t concern him or things he’s interested in.  He may see your invitation as mere idle talk.

So . . . show him your boobs.

Seriously.  I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again.  If you want your husband to really listen and pay attention to you, remove your shirt and bra while you’re speaking.  Then repeat it.  Then ask him to repeat it back to you, until he gets it right.  He might – on purpose – fumble it a few times, just to keep staring at the unobstructed Twins, but he’ll eventually be able to repeat it back to you, verbatim. Then kiss him on the lips, let him cop a feel, and put your clothes back on, while asking, “Now, did what I just did demonstrate how important I felt it was to bring this to your attention?” and walk away before he can answer.

If you’re rolling your eyes, unconvinced that this will jar him out of his betacized lethargy because men couldn’t possibly be that . . .predictable, or if you’re snorting in disgust that I would suggest that you use your body and your sexuality to propose a perfectly normal and sensible suggestion to your husband, who should be listening to you anyway because he's your husband and he loves you, then allow me to dispel some myths about male psychology:

1)      Yes, men (most men, at least) really do react that way to the mere sight, much less physical presence, of naked boobs out of context of a shower or bathroom.  It’s banal, it’s crude, it’s unsophisticated, but it’s also a fundamental element of male sexuality in our culture.  Show us boobs and we listen.  Just ask the Lite Beer and Sports Car industries.

2)      Yes, you should be using your sexuality and your body (despite what you might think about it) to elicit interest and attention from your husband . . . because he didn’t marry you for your resume or your snappy wardrobe or your witty conversation, although any or all of those things could have contributed.  No, he married you because he wanted to fuck you – you, personally – for the rest of his life.  Period.  Kids, house, job, all that is secondary to the fact that he got hitched so that he could bump uglies with you.  A lot.  And if you are, indeed, somewhat disgusted that you would have to “demean” yourself with such an “undignified” display of your private sexuality merely to ensure your husband’s interest in a simple conversation, then you have to admit to yourself that yes, it is your pussy and not your brain he wants to spend time with most.  That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love, honor, and respect you, or that he wouldn’t take a bullet or hide a body for you.  It just means that he’d prefer to fuck you than just about anything else.  And you should make use of that fact, if you want to boot him out of Beta.

I understand that low-desire husbands do exist, and that the naked display of boobs may not be as efficacious in that case.  Still, if you aren’t the type of woman who would ever show her boobs so brazenly, just to get her husband’s attention, the consider the fact that such an act would, indeed, get his attention purely because of its novelty. If you have kept the Twins out of his hands on a regular basis, then suddenly thrusting your boobs in his face is going to be a major shock to his psyche.

And that is precisely what it is designed to do.

It’s not a pancea, but it’s a place to start.  Show him your boobs.  Don't be self-conscious -- he married those boobs, after all.  He sleeps next to them every night.  He likely knows what they look like, every hair, vein, and mole.  He will not, believe it or not, compare them to every other woman's boobs he's seen, because in Dude World the most important rack is the one that's right in front of you.  Don't think he won't go for it because "he's just not that kind of man."  Of course he is -- I know gay men who like to play with boobs.  The man who says he doesn't care for tits in his face is lying or asexual.  If I were you, I'd guess the former.  The truth is, if you gave him license to do so he'd be motorboating your girls on a daily basis.

But he’s also (if he’s Beta) so ridiculously timid and respectful about your body that the sight of your boobs in a strange and unusual context will jar him . . . hopefully toward a more Alpha response.  If you want to reinforce the point, give him three minutes to fondle you however he likes while you talk to him.  He’ll love it.  You’ll have his attention.  And you can reiterate your suggestion, invitation, and reward in a way that will stick out in his mind.

And I bet he’s a little more attentive next time you tell him you want to ask him something.  And a little more Alpha   Hell, it's a place to start . . . and if he doesn't react to your boobs, then you know you have other issues to deal with first.  But I'll lay money on a reaction, just because I'm confident that he enjoys boobs.  More than you think.  Probably more than you're comfortable with.  But his entire life he's been told to "treat women with respect" and "don't objectify their bodies" and other feminist tropes that have managed to make Perfectly Decent Beta Dudes into the indecisive, un-masculine specimens y'all are complaining about.

So show him your boobs while you talk, and see if it has any appreciable effect.  I'm guessing it will signify to his subconscious that there is a game-changing movement afoot in his marriage.  You've released your breasts for his pleasure (and attention) and that is a uniquely masculine form of empowerment.  A woman who shows you her boobs of her own free will (to the male subconscious) likes and respects you as a man (and even if she doesn't, who cares?  Free boob). That's the kind of self-reinforcing confidence-builder that can help begin to Break Beta.

Because once he gets tacit permission from you to actually, y'know, BE A DUDE (and dudes love boobs!) then he's far, far more likely to give up his gynophobic handicap and start thinking of himself not as your husband, a co-equal partner in a planned enterprise whose job it is to act as your emotional and intellectual support, but as your Husband, the man in charge of protecting and defending you, in charge of providing for his family like his ancestors before him, and in charge of giving you, his Wife, righteous boning on a regular basis without a lot of obsequious begging and pleading on his part and disgusted eye-rolling on yours.

It's not a cure-all -- and it might take more than one application.  Most women don't understand the depths of Beta to which most American men have surrendered, nor do they understand how hard it is to Break Beta -- hell, they've been threatened with social punishment their entire liveds for that.

But if you want to get your Perfectly Decent Beta Dude to Alpha Up, he has to stop being afraid of offending your delicate femininity with every word and gesture, and start acting like the Perfectly Exceptional Alpha Dude you want him to be.  Yeah, with your boobs.

And if he tries to cop a cheap feel later . . . let him.  Free boobies are one of the significant reasons he married you in the first place, and if he feels at liberty with your boobs (within reason, of course) then he will start feeling more free to take more risks . . . because your boobs have set him free.

More on this subject – probably a whole book more – is coming.  

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You're Just Going Through A Stage

There was another stunning celebration of divorce culture inthe HuffPo, and as much as it turned my stomach to read it, I did.  The Mid-40s EPL divorce-a-thon is in full effect, it seems.  The tragic homewrecker in these impending antinuptials? 

“I don’t feel appreciated.”

These women are usually in perfectly decent marriages to perfectly decent dudes, and they want to split up and destroy their children’s lives and their husband’s souls because “they don’t feel appreciated”.  When confronted with this sudden and seemingly-inexplicable notification of divorce, the poor beta chumps in question are astonished.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” they ask.  “I did,” she replies, tragically, “but you weren’t listening!”

And that’s utter bullshit.

Men do listen – but not the same way women do, and for women to expect that from men is as foolish as to expect women to spend $300 shopping and then not want to show you what they bought.  Men listen, generally, but they do so in analog.  What you say is what we hear, ladies.  It’s like we’re receiving text messages without the benefit of emoticons.  Women communicate in a multi-track channel, with every communication cloaked and layered in context and subcontext and meaning and innuendo.  Men have one, or maybe (in some cases) two tracks, and one of them is probably focused on sex.  But that doesn't mean we don't listen.  The problem is that you aren't saying what you think you are saying.

Men often disparage women for sitting around and “talking about nothing” for hours at a time.  What they don’t realize is that what women are doing is actually talking about everything.  Each sentence, grunt, or expression is part of a complex and sophisticated gender-based language, highly dependent upon relevant social context and consensus opinion. 

Ten minutes of mind-numbing discussion about someone’s aunt in the grocery store can actually be a confrontation, a veiled threat, a warning, and an opportunity to share information about mutual friends and enemies within the Matrix . . . and your husband will be clueless. 

He thought you were talking about Aunt Gertrude, but because he doesn’t understand her relation to the woman in question, or how the scandal she was involved with also involved your mother’s best friend, which puts you on opposite sides of the Matrix and therefore at odds, and if your mother’s friend isn’t careful she’s going to run afoul of Gertrude’s people, and how that’s important because her daughter Eva is gorgeous and engaged to a nice young man who might not appreciate knowing about the scandal . . . you get the idea. 

Most women pick up on those subtextual signals automatically and include them into their general information stream as a matter of course.  (The ones who don't, don't usually make out well in the Matrix). That makes their discussion “perfectly clear” . . . if you know the context, the subtleties, the politics, and the common aspirations and values of all women, particularly those close to you within the Matrix.  Men, not so much.

So when you are in your 40s, you "feel unappreciated”, and you tell your husband “you weren’t listening!” what you are actually doing is holding him accountable for a conversation he had no idea he was having.  By considering divorce, what you are doing is essentially punishing everyone you know and love because of your inability to understand that men and women communicate differently about different things, and you aren’t willing to give a man you once pledged your soul to the basic opportunity to figure it out and fix it.  To make you “feel appreciated” in whatever particular way is going to keep you from killing your family. 

Because by saying “too little, too late” and calling your lawyer, what you are doing is ruining everyone’s life because you are just going through a regular, normal, stupid stage of development that will pass quickly enough.

When you were 14 and dyed your hair blue and got your ear pierced without your mother knowing, when you spent 57% of your life on the phone or on chat with your friends, your parents were indulgent of that – and your suddenly-frequent emotional outbursts – because they knew that you were “going through a stage”.

When you were 17 and had your first love, and the adults around you smiled indulgently and just didn’t understand why he was so wonderful and perfect for you, even if he didn’t have a job or plans for college or even a car, they did their best to keep your virtue intact  because they knewthat you were “going through a stage”.

When you were 21 and partying like a drunken fratboy, making out with dudes whose names you didn’t know and arriving home in the wee hours (walk of shame, optional), then your parents and your friends gritted their teeth and bit their lips because they knew that you were “going through a stage”.

When you were 24 and certain that your life would only have meaning if you applied yourself to your career and focused on building a secure future, your parents may have sighed with relief because they didn’t know what you did on the weekends, but they didn't worry too much because they knew that you were “going through a stage” . . . and were probably past the risk of accidental pregnancy and on reliable birth control.

When you were 27 and met the man you knew would be the father of your children, if you chose wisely enough your friends and family and especially your parents gave a collective sigh of relief because they knew you were finally “going through a stage” they could brag to their friends about.

Ditto three years later, when you gave them grandchildren and they started criticizing your parenting.  If you were smart, you put up with it with graciousness and good boundaries, because you knew that they were just new grandparents “going through a stage”.

Your own experience as a parent of an infant likely introduced and thoroughly covered the entire idea of developmentally “going through a stage”, and you have pictures of the poop on the wall to prove it.

When your husband turned 40 and started looking at sportscars and bikini models and started working out a little, you rolled your eyes and kept them peeled for potential rivals, but you probably weren’t tooworried because every woman’s magazine in the world has prepared you for your husband’s midlife crisis – you knew he was just “going through a stage”.

But now - suddenly - because of your “pent up frustration at not feeling appreciated”, you decide to ditch him, split up the household, permanently scar your kids, and strike out on your own where, presumably, you will find this elusive feeling of appreciation you are willing to nuke your family over.  You feel you have given everything to the marriage and the family, and you have gotten nothing in return (except for love, support, security, but nothing as important as your "feelings of appreciation").  

It's understandable, kind of.  You feel the last dregs of your youth draining away and want to “enjoy life” (without really knowing what that means for you) before you die . . . and your schlubby Betazoid chump of a husband (who is acting the way you have trained him to act, and respond the way you have trained him to respond) is suddenly just not the dashing man of passionate adventure that would make you feel appreciated.  You can do better, you think.

Bullshit.  Let me say this slowly and loudly, so you can understand the full weight of my words:

You Are Just Going Through A Stage.

Acting on this impulse (or even long-thought-out wallowing in the cesspool of your own emotional turmoil) is like your husband being drunk, on the road, and getting hit on by another woman.  Consider it like that. Yes, it feels right.  It’s exciting and alluring.  It has all the promise of a grand adventure and a change in your life.  Finally, you can truly feel appreciated – for who you are, not just what you do for other people.  Someone out there really likes you, independent of your spouse or family or job.

All he had to do was nod his head, or make a bad joke she could laugh at, or give the slightest indication he was open to the idea, and he could have gone there.  He might have even been able to get away with it without you ever knowing.  

But just as your husband (presumably) waved his wedding ring under her nose and said, “sorry, it’s flattering but I love my wife”, you need to look at that wedding ring on your finger and consider something: if you could go back to that 17-year-old version of yourself and give her guidance about her tragic boyfriend situation, would you tell her that yes, indeed, her hope of a happy life was truly over without this loser . . . or that she was just young and horny, he was cute and well hung, and she was just going through a fucking stage?

Then consider this: if your 70 year-old self could come back and advise you about your present situation, would she tell you that yes, you aren’t really appreciated by the man whose children you bore or even your offspring, and you will be far, farbetter off on your own . . . or will she tell you that your sudden longing for new places and new experiences and a man who “truly appreciates you" in the approved romance-novel fashion will lead to a miserable existence of a slowly decreasing circle of old women who lean on each other for support because no one else values and appreciates them any more? 

Will she tell you that far from being sorry you left him and genuinely repentant about his poor management of your marriage and his relationship with you he’s going to find a woman ten years younger who treats your kids like gold and raves about what a devoted husband he is, and how foolish you were for letting him get away?  Will she tell you that the fertile pool of handsome, well-educated men eager for a life with a 40-something woman does exist . . . and is in its 70s?  Will she tell you that men your own age will politely decline your attempts to flirt without hurting your feelings, while younger men look at you as either just another horny old cougar or a pitiful old wreck . . . if they see you at all? 

Will she tell you that after the split your kids just kind of stop calling?  That they’d rather spend their holidays with their dad and his fun new wife than with you in your dreary “economy single’s condo”?  Or that when they do show up, it’s out of a sense of obligation and filial duty to let you spend time with your grandchildren while they suppress the rage they feel toward you over how you ruined their childhoods because you “didn’t feel appreciated?”

Will your future self tell you that getting a divorce and becoming a single career woman at your age puts you competing with 24 year-olds who have far more experience and understanding of the emerging technology needed to get even an entry-level job that doesn’t involve a spatula – and they have perky tits?  Will she tell you how those same young women, primed for combat in both their personal and professional lives, will betray you in an instant and keep you from advancing while trashing you behind your back?

Will she tell you about your rapidly-declining professional and romantic market value?  About how the dreams you have today of “feeling appreciated” rapidly turn into a series of concessions and compromises that see your standard of living decline to a low plateau?  About how your circle of girlfriends and the occasional pet will be the only real support you have through your declining years . . . while your husband’s second wife is faithfully standing by with YOUR children at his side in his hours of need? 

Will your 70 year-old self tell you that making a decision like this based on “going through a stage” is the moral equivalent of getting married at 19 because you’re “in love” with some uneducated goober?  Will she tell you that the hours of “me” time you fantasize about now will all-too-soon become endless stretches of loneliness and solitary despair?  That the guilty pleasure of reading or watching movies or gardening you covet now will become the essential distractions of the next thirty years to keep you from dwelling on your solitude, your bitterness, your regret for the decisions you’ve made and the knowledge that you will most likely die alone?

Think about it.  Think about it from your 70-year old self’s perspective for a moment.  Look around at the women you see in their 70s, and count happy faces.  Now count wedding rings. 

Because the feeling that “I don’t feel appreciated” is notjust one of spoiled, solipsistic selfishness that we would shame our children for displaying, it’s also a repudiation of your own claim to adult status, the responsibility for making the adult decisions you did and living with the consequences.  You didn’t get married and have kids to feel appreciated, or you did it for the wrong reasons.  You did it to bring more love into the world.   Leaving a marriage because you don’t feel appreciated is, likewise, the wrong reason.  And all it will do is bring more suffering into the world . . . yours, included.

Oh, the first few years will be fine.  After you get through the nasty process of divorce, settle your differences with your ex-husband, try to repair the relationship with your kids, and mourn the loss of that which you killed,  you’ll have a little money in your purse, your own car, your own apartment, and it will be like college again – just you and your girlfriends, your very own Sex In The City.

You’ll initially delight in the prospect of sampling the exotic adventures implicit in a new man, and you’ll pore through the MEN SEEKING WOMEN section of half-a-dozen dating sites with unabashed glee.  There are men out there who know how to make you feel appreciated – you just know it.  All you have to do is find them.  If Bob the Ex-Husband wasn’t appreciative enough, then certainly the successful 45 year-old executive you can’t BELIEVE has a body like that will be . . .

. . . only he doesn’t answer mail from anyone over 30.

You’ll go to singles’ nights with The Girls, just a bawdy gang of cougars on the prowl.  You might even get lucky, and seduce some hot stud with the remains of your feminine charms.  But the next morning you’ll find him gone, and you’ll find the contact information he gave you is bogus, and then you’ll discover a few months later that he took naked pictures of you while you were asleep for his internet “MILF Trophy Room”.

You’ll carry on, meeting one balding loser after another, your heart sinking even as your girlfriends encourage you to try a new hairstyle, a new look, new shoes . . . a new bar.  A new dating site.  But every time you go forth looking for adventure and – yes! – appreciation, you go home a little sadder and a little more frightened.

And then someday, sometime, you’ll wake up in the middle of the night, the terrors of your subconscious breathing down your neck, your whole body covered in sweat as you wrestle with some primal fear from the depths of your brain.  You’ll sit bolt upright in the darkness, your eyes wide, your body wracked with chills, panting with imagined exertion and very real fear, your mind reduced to the whimpering incoherence of a terrified child.  

And then you’ll instinctively reach across the bed for the warmth and comfort you once had, that you promised you’d keep forever, and the bed will be cold and empty. 

You’ll realize that you have no one to talk to about your nightmare.

Then you’ll realize that no one would really care about it, anyway. 

Such things are inherently intimate, not for “girls’ night” or even the whispered confessions between “besties”.  Only a sister, or a parent, or a husband is capable of soothing fears on that level.  Someone has to reassure you that Everything Is Going To Be All Right . . . otherwise you’ll know everything isn’t going to be all right.  Then you’ll think of your ex-husband’s second wife, clinging to the comfort and the strength of the arms that you accused of making you “not feel appreciated”, and there will be a bitter pang in your stomach and a fierce, savage psychic wail of despair as you – at last – realize what a tragic mistake you’ve made.

Oh, you’ll dismiss me as a doomsaying misogynist, and that’s your prerogative.  But I’m notwrong.  Surf the internet any way you choose.  The number of divorced women living a “fabulous” lifestyle is dwarfed by the number who are living with an increasing state of despair over their bleak futures.  Divorce is good for men, you see, not women . . . even if women initiate 70% of them. 

You’ll find plenty of accounts of women who regret their rash decision, who recognize – now – that they were “only going through a stage”, and that their desire for appreciation was actually a desire for a deeper interpersonal connection with and attention from their husbands . . . or someone.  They are bitter about their decisions, even as they recognize that they must live with them.  Even the Eat, Pray, Love lady ended up with a trollish dud who just wanted a green card. 

There’s even a name for these women, these divorced past-the-Wall women that men walk past and don’t even see anymore: Plankton.  That’s what some of them call themselves, for obvious reasons. 

Sure, your girlfriends want you to do it.  Hell, the ones who took the plunge first want you to do it to validate their own decisions, and the ones who are considering it want to live vicariously through your experience – and how is a happy marriage anything to gossip about at brunch? 

But what you don’t want to admit to yourself is that part of their encouragement isn’t out of friendship and sisterly loyalty, it’s out of spite.  If they didn’t get Happily Ever After, then you shouldn't have it either.  And some of them will even be very, very supportive of your divorce . . . and be boinking your ex before the ink is dry on the divorce papers, if not before.  When abuse or neglect aren’t involved, when your girlfriends encourage you to divorce because “you aren’t happy” or “you don’t feel appreciated”, then it’s functionally the equivalent of them telling to get your hair cut off short because “it looks so cute”.  When, in reality, it really doesn’t. 

But standing next to a chick with a bad haircut always makes you look good . . . and they know that.  Standing next to a woman who voluntarily pulled the self-destruct on a perfectly good marriage makes you look good . . . and they know that, too.  

So sure, they’ll tell you to divorce, and go after everything he’s got.  They’ll let you lean on them, cry, grieve,  and bond and be like sisters in your hour of need.  

And then the catty bitches will stab you in the back, just like you knew they would.  Things start to erode.  The friendships you relied upon to get you through the darkest parts of your divorce are, you discover to your horror, rarely as stable or as permanent as you thought.  The rowdy group of divorcees tearing up the local scene breaks apart, breaks down, get new boyfriends and husbands, move away, just stop returning your calls.  And then it's just you.  Alone.

They want to tell you that everything is great on The Other Side of divorce, how self-fulfilled and happy you’ll be on your own.  They tell you that your husband is stifling you, your family is holding you back and keeping you from being everything you want to be.  They’ll tell you that the world is full of interesting, handsome, successful men, that your kids will be fine, that you’re only cheating yourself if you stay in your gloomy, unappreciative marriage.  Their divorce was the best thing that ever happened to them, they’ll assure you.  It’s a non-stop party, and now you’re old enough to enjoy it. 

They want to tell you all of this because if they tell you anything else, then the tissue of rationalizations that is the only thing staving off unmitigated depression about the mistake they made in divorcing their kind, decent, loving, and largely clueless ex-husbands would evaporate.  They’d have to admit that they made a mistake.  That they should have rode out the stage and hung on for another year or two, and then everything would have been fine.  They’d have to admit that they burn with savage jealousy when they see their ex’s new wife or their new baby.  They’d have to admit the number of times they've been lied to by men who used them for sex and then disappeared or the fact that the men they want don’t want them. 

They’d have to admit that they were wrong.  And that their lives are, indeed, their own fault.  And they can’t have that.  That would involving self-accountability, and that kind of stark and blunt introspection is as far from their nature as a NASCAR service pit.  The divorced women can’t tell you about the night terrors, the pervasive loneliness, the sense of despair and depression and isolation, or they would have to admit that they made a tragic, terrible mistake that they now have to live with.  That way madness lies.

So they tell you how great it is, and watch with glee as you destroy your own life and the lives of those around you because of your “feeling” of not “being appreciated.”  And they don’t tell you the one piece of advice that would actually be of use to you, about now:

“Relax.  He really does appreciate you.  Far more than you realize.  If you don’t feelthat, then you have to consider that part of the problem is with your expectations, and not with his performance.  Your attitudes and perspectives will change as you mature, and a better understanding of yourself and your husband will – ultimately – allow you the space you need to feel the appreciation you crave, and that has been there all along.  This is perfectly natural, perfectly normal.  This will pass.
 “You're just going through a stage.”

Here in the Manosphere (a foreign and dangerous place for most ladies – Here There Be Draygons), particularly in the Red Pill areas, we understand what’s happening better than you do.  We've seen it, discussed it, and understood it until we can pretty much predict exactly what is going to happen, based on thousands of case studies which support the underlying theory:

You aren’t feeling appreciated because you simply aren’t attracted to your husband anymore.  

That “yearning” for “something more” is actually – pardon the crudeness – a desire for romance, passion, and big thick meaty dick attached to a big, strong, masculine- yet-sensitive man.  We understand that at this stage of your life, your body is telling you that – reproductively  speaking – you are at the end of the road, and you have but a few scant years of youthful bloom left.  Biologically and psychologically you have passed through the Maiden stage, beyond the Mother stage of life, but are not yet ready for the Crone.

So you examine the source of your unhappiness . . . and the best you can come up with is “I don’t feel appreciated.”

And the reason you don’t feel appreciated is because for the last decade or so, you haven’t desired appreciation as much as getting shit done: your career, your household, your children, school, work, family, house, cars, insurance – you’ve probably spent the last decade of your life trying to be a grown-up, and likely felt you dragged your husband into that state with you kicking and screaming.  

Finally, when you got him to a point where he was doing more or less what you wanted him to do to keep the trains running on time, you fell out of attraction with him because, well, he was just this boring dad dude who spent all of his time and passion keeping the trains running on time, and not adoring and cherishing his wife.

Yep.  I said it.  It’s largely your fault.

Sex was in there.  Youlike sex.  Hell, you love sex.  Sex with hubby used to be awesome, a tantalizing delight you looked forward to with undisguised enthusiasm.  Now, it’s a dreary chore made banal by endless repetition and an utter lack of innovation or inspiration.  Yet when your husband tentatively suggested exploring other possibilities, you shut him down – subtlety, perhaps, or maybe you did it in such a way that humiliated and shamed him to the point where he would never dare bring it up again.  But if your hubby’s a dud, remember who trained him to be that way.

When it comes down to it, that’s what “I don’t feel appreciated” means.  It means “I don’t feel vaginal tingles when I look at my husband, I feel a slightly disturbed sense of resentment with maybe a side of loathing.”  

When the only time you feel possessive of him is when another woman admires him, and the rest of the time you just kind of wish he would have an affair to demonstrate some signs of life (or at least give you a convenient escape clause from your “unappreciated” life) then yes, you have fallen out of attraction for your husband.  You may still love and care for him deeply, even respect him as a man and a father.  But your unvoiced and subtextual screams for attention, many of which he actually heard but did not understand, have left you with a monster of your own creation.

You can fix it.  You can fix it a lot less painfully and a lot more easily than you can get a divorce, believe it or not.  Your husband is a perfectly decent man – just ask any of the thousands of women ten years younger than you who see him not as a schlubby Beta chump but as a proven and reliable provider, an experienced lover, and a huge prize at the altar worth bragging about.  

And while you might think “you can have him!” now, I assure you that in two years you will be sobbing into your pillow over what you have given up.  When you realize that a little re-assessment and education could have prevented your tragic mistake, and kept a devoted man next to you in bed to confide your deepest terrors to, you are going to feel like the biggest fool in the world. 

And then you’re going to come up with all sorts of rationalizations why you “did the right thing”, “it was for the best”, and “we’re really better off as friends.”  You’regoing to be the one singing the praises of divorce, even as you realize how hot your ex suddenly is now that he has other women chasing after him . . . and you’re only getting hit on by losers and pervs. There’s a reason why so many people cheat with their ex.  Once you dump him and destroy his family, your hubby’s going to work out like a fiend, become more professionally driven, and essentially become the man you desperately wanted him to be before you dumped him. Congrats.  You finally changed him.

When the man you loved for years – and once had a wild sexual infatuation for – suddenly presents himself as a mature, confident, successful stud, you’ll feel that tingle again – hell, it will ROAR back in a foam of regret and sorrow.  He will be nearly irresistible to you.  When he shows up to a scheduled meeting looking good and smelling good and with that serious look in his eye, your attraction to him will start to grow again . . . and the first time you see another woman in his arms, it will drive you insane.  When you hear how much she raves about him, you’ll feel bitter.  And when you rationalize some damn good reason why trying to sleep with him one last time – for “closure”, for “old time’s sake”, because “I never stopped loving him”, you’ll feel that tingle of excitement once again.

There he will be – the man you wanted.  Ready to appreciate you, finally. If he can stand the sight of you after what you have put him and your children through,if he tries to “be friends”, you’ll even start dreaming of some romantic reconciliation where he finally understands and appreciates you.  In the back of you're mind, every romance novel of reconciliation you've ever read and every bad chick flick about damaged relationships will give you the hope that maybe -- if everything works out right -- then you will end up back with the man you started with, 2.0, better and more devoted to you than ever.  So devoted that you feel appreciated . . . finally.  One look, one wink, one kiss, one quick screw, one rendezvous at "your" old spot to "finish up some business" that leads to a hotel room nooner.  One spark to rekindle your old flame into a roaring, passionate blaze, and Happily Ever After.

But it probably won’t work out that way . . . because he probably really is a stand-up guy.  If he stood by you all of those years, through all of your flakiness and put up with all of your crap and didn’t leave your ass or cheat on you, then you can expect him to give that same level of devotion and love to his next wife or girlfriend.  He’ll probably reject you, brutally. 

Best case scenario, you’re the “other woman”, destined to ruin his life all-over again. 

So ladies, future ex-wives, please take more than a few moments to consider what you are doing.  Step away from the Rah-Rah Sisterhood of divorce cheerleaders.  Stop seeing divorce as a regrettable but inevitable feminist rite of passage, a means of proving your independence as a woman.  It's not.  It's a callous and selfish indulgence of pettiness that demeans every marriage.  "I don't feel appreciated . . ."  Investigate what really happens to women your age after divorce, and go talk to a bunch of them.  Hell, have a few cocktails – get them liquored up and let them tell you how life really is when you're divorced after 40.  And 50.  And 60. And 70.

And if you believe that it's the grand escape and adventure you think it is, then go ahead.  Call your attorney.   Clearly, if you value the inherently selfish idea of appreciation more than you value the love, devotion, and – yes, passion, if you can inspire it, of your husband and the family you have built together, then you do not deserve the man you are married to, and you should call your attorney. 

Because your husband’s next wife is eagerly standing by.

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