Casual Conversation

Being a really emotional guy is wonderful! I love how much joy I can find in the smallest things. I adore how much warmth and goodwill I feel towards people I barely even know. And it warms my heart knowing that I strongly wish to spread love and joy, be there for friends in need, and offer gentle, compassionate support. My whole being yearns to connect deeply with others and show them great affection through my words and actions.

I was put on this planet to be a sweetheart, gosh dang it! That's just who I am, and I'm not going anywhere!

I didn't always feel that way, though...

I grew up in an abusive household, and I was taught by everyone around me, at home and at school, that being emotional was a terrible thing. I was bullied because it was so easy to make me cry. Boys weren't supposed to be emotional, they would tell me. Eventually, I believed them. I hated myself for years, convinced that I didn't belong in this world and nobody would ever like me. Believing that social interactions were harmful and would erode my identity, I retreated into perpetual isolation. I only spoke when necessary and kept interactions impersonal and distant.

But it only took the kindness and compassion of one person to change my life.

As much as I tried to hide who I was, people could still kind of tell. One day at work, I made a silly, harmless mistake, and my coworkers all laughed. As I became flustered and apologized, one of them, who was a couple of years older than me, emphatically said, "Oh my god, you're adorable, you know that?"

In the moment, I was utterly confused, having just received a compliment that fundamentally clashed with my idea of masculinity. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Did someone actually like my soft side? Was that possible? The next day, I mustered just enough courage to talk to her about it. And I mean JUST enough courage. I was so nervous and shaky that I could barely speak, which drew immediate concern from her as I practically choked out the words explaining my plight.

She affectionately reiterated my adorableness, describing me as a sweetheart who lots of people would really like if I opened up more. I was in disbelief, citing the fact that I have often heard the exact opposite regarding those who break male gender norms. "Don't listen to those people," she said. "They are miserable and will only drag you down with them." At the end of our little impromptu therapy session, she added, "By the way, is anyone here telling you this? If so, tell me who they are so I can kick their ass." She was wonderful.

After being burned countless times, it was hard to accept that anyone truly liked me as a person. But my curiosity kept me coming back to her, because I had to know if I was wrong. She became something of a mentor to me, and every time I confided in her, she would say or do something genuinely helpful that nudged me in the right direction. I was filled with doubts and cognitive distortions, but she never once lost patience with me, gently redirecting me each time they showed.

"I promise there are people, like me, who genuinely like you and enjoy talking to you!" She wrote in a text message. "I think once you learn to let go of your worries, you'll learn just how awesome you really are and how much people will want to be your friend."

Blinded by my desperate attempts to cling onto my old belief system, I didn't immediately internalize her message. This was in part because I couldn't be friends with her in a conventional, reciprocal sense due to how emotionally unstable I was. In a message explaining the purity of her intentions and the joy she felt in helping me, she affectionately wrote, "You're like a little brother to me." While this is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, it also gently implied that I wasn't an equal friend, which complicated my feelings at the time.

But while she wasn't the kind of friend I wanted at the time, she was exactly the kind of friend I needed. She single-handedly dismantled the foundation of my self-hatred and provided irrefutable evidence that I had been lying to myself the whole time. She went so far above and beyond that I could no longer explain her actions with anything other than genuine care. With my core harmful beliefs severely compromised, it was inevitable that the sophisticated mental construct that tormented me for years would finally collapse.

I feel so lucky to have met my coworker, and I am forever grateful for the irreplaceable role she played in my life. Although I was far from healed, she was the one who gave me the tools I needed to take myself the rest of the way there. And for that, she is my hero. While I may never get the chance to properly thank her, I wish to follow in her footsteps and use kindness to change lives in her honor, just as she did for me.

Now that I'm a bit older, I know that the takeaway from this story isn't all sunshine and rainbows. I wasn't completely delusional; there was a very understandable reason for me to develop the insecurities that I did—people who hate soft guys are everywhere. Traditional male expectations are deeply ingrained throughout much of society. But what's critical is that she provided concrete proof that not everyone believes in them and I have the agency to choose who to surround myself with.

The truth is that there are no rules. The social landscape is a decentralized web of connections where no single authority dictates what is or isn't acceptable. The people you're with and the contexts you're in influence the subjective sense of what's normal, common, and acceptable. Is it weird to wear a Spider-Man costume? Well, it depends. At your local coffee shop? Probably. At a comic book convention? Probably not. Are the majority of people geeky introverts? Generally, no, but at your local book club? Quite possibly!

And that's where the power lies—you can rig the odds in your favor by being intentional about which social settings you choose to engage with. This way, you can more easily find people you vibe with and who will love you for who you are. And because of that, there is great hope.

Each one of us has millions of people out there who would hate our guts if they knew us. But we also have millions of people who would sincerely care for us and cheer for our happiness and well-being. I don't know about you, but I'm going to be focusing my efforts on finding people from the latter camp.

I know for sure that I've found at least one!