Continuing from the book “Wild at Heart” and a previous post: ‘The Father Wound’ John Eldredge wrote:
I mentioned earlier that for years I was a very driven man, a perfectionist, a hard charger and a fiercely independent man. The world rewards that kind of drivenness, most or the successful men reading this book are driven. But behind me was a string of casualties, people I had hurt or dismissed—including my own father. There was near causality of my marriage and there was certainly the causality of my own heart. For to live a drive life you have to literally shove your heart down, or drive it with whips. You can never admit need, never admit brokenness. This is the story of the creation of that false self. And if you had asked my wife during the first ten years of our marriage if we had a good relationship she probably would have said yes. But if you had asked her if something was missing, if she sensed a fatal flaw, she would have immediately been able to tell you he doesn’t need me. That was my vow, you see. I won’t need anyone. After all the wound was deep and unhealed, and the message it brought seemed so final: I am on my own.
Another friend Stan, is a successful attorney and a genuinely good guy. When he was about fifteen his father committed suicide—stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His family tried to put it all behind them, sweep it under the rug, They never spoke of it again. The message delivered by that gruesome blow was something like this: Your background is very dark, the masculine in your family cannot even be spoken of, anything wild is violent and evil. The effect was another sort of vow: “I will never do anything even remotely dangerous, or risky, or wild. I will never be like my dad (how many men live with that vow?}. I won’t take one step into that direction. I will be the nicest guy you ever met.” You know what? He is: Stan’s the nicest guy you could meet—gentle, creative, caring, soft-spoken. And now he hates that about himself, he hates that thought that he’s a pushover and that he won’t take you on, can’t say no, can’t stand up for himself.
Those are the two basic options. Men either overcompensate for their wound and become driven (violent men) or they shrink back and go passive (retreating men). Often, it’s an odd mixture of both. Witness the twin messages supported by young college age men especially: a goatee, which says, “I’m kind of dangerous,” and a baseball hat worn backwards, which says, But really I’m a little boy, don’t require anything of me.” Which is it? Are you strong or are you weak? Remember Alex, who stood at the door waiting for a daddy who would never return? You wouldn’t in a million years have guessed that was his story if you’d known him in college. He was a man’s man, and incredible football player. A hard-drinking, hard-living man every man looked up to. . . . . But it was a show—a whole macho man’s persona.
Charles, the artistic boy, the piano player whose father called him (derisive names) never played the piano again—what do think happened there? He never played the piano again after that day. Years later as a man in his late twenties, he does not know what to do with his life. He has no passion, cannot find a career to love. And so he cannot commit to the woman he loves, cannot marry her because he is so uncertain about himself. But of course, his heart was taken out way back there in his story. Dave is also in his twenties now, drifting, deeply insecure, and loaded with a great deal of self-hatred. He does not feel like a man and believes he never will. Like so many, he struggles with confidence around women and around men he sees as real men. Stuart, whose father abandoned him, became a man without emotion. His favorite character as a boy was Spock, the alien in Star Trek who lives solely from his mind. Stuart is now a scientist and his wife is immensely lonely.
On and on it goes. The wound comes, and with it a message. From that place the boy makes a vow, chooses a way of life that gives rise to a false self. And the core of it all is a deep uncertainty. The man doesn’t live from the center. So many men feel stuck—either paralyzed and unable to move, or unable to stop moving. Of course every little girl has her own story too. But I want to save that for another chapter, and bring it together with how a man fights for a woman’s heart. Let me say a few more words about what happens to a man after the wound is given. ~~~ John Eldredge, Wild at Heart, Thomas Nelson Publishers, Nashville, Tennessee, p. 70-74 (continued)
