The Wonderment of Men Leaving
An Essay by Kristine Esser Slentz
“Do we like being annoyed by men? We do.”
—Clarice Lispector
Men leave. I was standing in the kitchen of our new-to-us Astoria apartment as I said this to my husband over some order-in Indian food. He looked down at his food, nodding in agreement. I’ve had a series of not-so-great dating situations as our marriage is open and I am polyamorous. I quickly follow-up with, I’m sorry — I’m not meaning you in particular or all men. To which he immediately responded with, I know. This sentiment is expressed because of previous conversations we’ve had, but also knowing how things have changed since he too started dating men in our open marriage.
During this conversation, I continue to try to dissect what I think I mean, what I’m really trying to say. For what truly feels like the first in my existence, through the abandonment issues I have with my original family, I’m speaking from a place of logical contemplation, and not only complete hurt. I go on to try to explain to my husband, my married-to-male-gendered partner, that I think our society and culture has been setup to make it not only easy for him to leave, but encouraged.
I take a sip from the condensation-frosted glass and continue to ponder. The messages so often given to men is that they are the most important person in their relationships (and careers, family, and most blatantly, romantic relationships, right?) and whatever they want to do, while it may be messy, will work out for them — that a happier life lies right over there and it’s all up to them to make it so. Right.
Setting my crystal cup down, I began to reflect on not just the few-months attachments I had while being openly non-monogamous to Mel, Chris, Trevor, Ahmed, and James, but also the “long-term” relationships, both monogamous and not, with Jon, Taylor, Miles — and even my current husband, that the search for and easily found external factors to reduce our romantic connection was always present.
Sitting at my college coffee table, Tom and I discussed our futures. He had been in the Naval ROTC on scholarship the last three years and I was an English major. Our Midwestern sensibilities asked us to be slightly more pragmatic about such issues than some 20-year-olds. Staring at the assortment of shot glasses and iconic red Solo cups, I knew I needed a career of my own. I had been warned about what happens to women who didn’t, like my estranged half-sister or Tom’s deceased mother. He was to choose where he wanted to be stationed after graduation and none of the options included my hope of Chicago. Then, I asked, if I followed him during his four-year commitment would he then let me choose where we go for my career? He said, No. He was already given so much so he needed to keep going.
And here it was. At this moment in the repurposed industrial-building-into-apartment home with thinning walls that I looked to my parents, my stepfamily, my friends, their families, those from my college days and beyond, to see the patterns of relationships involving male-identifying individuals, straight or queer continue. I give my spouse examples: the missing husbands from family events with only the wives and children at the dining room table, the mute fiancée at the bridal shower, or cranky boyfriend at the bar — they all signify this space, they all signal the disappearing act on the man-side of the relationship. I can now see the patterns of putting their needs and wants consistently and considerably above their partners’ and unwillingness to truly compromise, empathize, or assume accountability. How did I not see the inevitable but instead put my entire worth on it? Oh yes, I was told to put my “all” in every relationship for it to stand a chance of survival — a lasting relationship signifies your success in life. This story I hear oftentimes in my childhood home, the home I shared with a boyfriend, and then the matrimonial home I would work to make later. The one I’m in right now.
We had just finished fucking when I placed my hand on his collarbone and head on his shoulder. Naturally, Josh and I were still sweaty and hot in our non-monogamous tryst. He picked up his phone to, what I assumed, was to check messages. Instead, he received a notification to start scrolling, looking at seductive yet innocently clad bikini models, the red spaghetti straps falling just right. I wondered out loud, “Oh — is this your type?” His response was to get out of bed asking how I could ask something like that of him: to judge a woman like that? When he leaves the room, I hear him talking to his roommates about the sex we just had. They all laugh. Our relationship ended a few weeks later because he wanted someone to emotionally and physically be devout to him and still engage with other women. He said he felt no one would commit to him in the way he needed them to.
The comical thing is, none of this seems to take place in the male mind; rather, they appear to have a different perspective of themselves making the greatest of sacrifices in any circumstance. This all sounds harsh, however, according to many social media trends, as I point out to my now- husband, I’m not speaking untruths. We see these patterns in places like the trope of the office romance where a man leaves his wife for the younger, hard-nippled co-worker, the appeal of a promised faraway promotion with money, power, grandeur, and a younger, more appreciating waited fling with only the relationship/family holding him back, and so on.
Nick grew up with money. He had a great education that lead to a great job. By great job I mean that it paid six-figures and he genuinely enjoyed the work. He wanted to quit his job and travel to Sri Lanka or maybe Montana. He wanted to buy a home to renovate but also move to a new city across the country, perhaps LA. He wanted a wholesome partner, who never watches porn, to stay home and raise their future children but also wants to be able to go out with the boys every weekend to hook up with the cute bartender in the public bathroom. He told me how I’m usually his type: big eyes, tattoos, artist but he loves his classically beautiful girlfriend. He stays with her even though he has so much resentment towards her because she followed him to this city. He was now strapped with his sweet and socially idyllic girlfriend. However, it didn’t matter because this list isn’t just a list, he is doing all of them because he can. Because there will always be something else that will never exactly be right and he will always want more. And he will get more.
Which brings me to the question: no matter how I, admittedly a femme-presenting queer woman, though I think any women-identifying person approaching a relationship, will always experience the man leaving them first either emotionally or physically. That, really, we need to be comfortable knowing that all relationships will end. That they are wonderful (if they truly are) just for the now — however long that may be. How much happier could we possibly be accepting that fate? Would it free us up to live more in the moment of joy in the current relationship?
Maybe, and maybe not. I adjust my stance on the cold tile floor, and I tell my husband, “But, there is the knowing that it’s always going to be pressure for the man you are with to leave you, not just from himself with his own personal issues, but also from the outside world telling him to do so—begging him to do so with the infiltration of podcasts, threads, and so on.” And now I feel like some sad, inexperienced pop-psychologist or woefully jaded divorcee, to which, maybe I am. But, what if this is a window into a space of less placement of self-worth is rested on a male archetype in our lives and more on our value of happiness in the current moment? This isn’t a new idea by any means, but a difficult one to truly grasp, let alone put into practice. Our value system is so ingrained as socialized women in a heteronormative world, how we do even begin to realize this concept? But if we did, what could this open up to us with our emotions, time, and lifestyle? How much more space could we create for enjoyment inside and outside any type of relationship with a man?
I’m visiting home right now and have found myself in yet another long-distance relationship. Staying with my long-time friend and chatting on her front porch covered in fall leaves, she asks how I can do it, fall in love with someone so far away, he’s at least a half- day’s drive or three-hour flight. Part of me wonders if it’s because I had a long- distance relationship with my father growing up, and another part of me wonders if it is the post-marriage separation acceptance of imperfection in relationships, especially more heteronormative ones.
Now sitting in eerie silence at our kitchen hutch, I take a rather long drink of the now room-ish temperature water looking over at the one I am one-day-not-to-be-married to. He hasn’t said much this whole time that I’ve been entertaining my observations but he has been giving non- verbal cues of agreement. He gets up and pushes in his seat to walk over to the sink and dispose of his dish before walking into our spare room we now call his room. He has left.
I will be attracted to men. I will still date men. I will still fall in love with them. I will still chase the feelings and mind-painted potential of each new engagement. But now, maybe now, I will be a little less in pain when it ends because I always knew it would.
Men leave.
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