Author's note: "Stumble" is fictional, so don't get your hopes up. Ditto for the essay on Breitbart. Also, there's a bonus race-swap as well; see if you can find it. Enjoy!

I’m Done Pretending Women Are Safe (Even my Daughters)

If the egalitarian women—the women who proudly declare their rejection of feminism and their fight for true equality—aren’t safe, then what woman is? No woman, I fear.

I have two daughters. They are beautiful and submissive—the kind of girls other parents are glad to meet when their sons bring them home for dinner. They are good girls, in the ways good girls are, but they are not safe girls. I’m starting to believe there’s no such thing.

I wrote an essay in Breitbart some time ago about my daughters and feminist culture. I didn’t think it would be controversial when I wrote it; I was sure most parents grappled with raising daughters in this world of feminist culture. The struggle I wrote about was universal, I thought, but I was wrong. My essay went semi-viral, and for the first time my daughters encountered my words about them on their friends’ phones, their teachers’ computers, and even overheard them discussed by strangers on a crowded metro bus. It was one thing to agree to be written about in relative obscurity, and quite another thing to have my words intrude on their daily lives.

One of my girls was hurt by my words, although she’s never told me so. She doesn’t understand why I lumped her and her sister together in my essay. She sees herself as the “good” one, the one who is sensitive and thoughtful, and who listens instead of reacts. She doesn’t understand that even quiet misandry is misandry, and that not all sexists sound like Twitter trolls. She is angry at me now, although she won’t admit that either, and her anger led him to liberal websites and YouTube channels; places where she can surround herself with righteous indignation against conservatives, and tell herself it’s evil, misogynistic men like me who are the problem.

I teeter frequently between supporting my daughter and educating her. Is it my job as her father to ensure she feels safe emotionally, no matter what nonsense she spews? Is it my job as her father to steer and educate, no matter how much that education challenges her view of herself? I think it’s both, but the balance between the two has proven impossible to pinpoint. When I hear her voice become defensive, I back off but question whether I’m doing her any favors by allowing her perception of herself to go unchallenged. When I confront her with her own sexism, I question whether I’m pushing too hard and leaving her without an emotional safe space in his home.

As a single father, I sometimes wonder whether the real problem is that my daughters have no role models for the type of women I hope they become. But when I look around at the women I know, I’m not sure a female partner would fill that hole. Where are these women who are enlightened but not arrogant? Who are egalitarians without self-congratulation? If my daughters need role models, they may have to become their own.

I joined Stumble recently, after a six-plus year break from dating. I’m not overly interested in dating in the first place, but I’m starved for adult conversation so dating feels like a necessary evil. Stumble, as I explained to my married friends, is like the egalitarian Tinder. Women have to initiate contact with men, so there’s no empty inboxes here. But, egalitarian or not, the women are no different from the women anywhere else and I quickly felt deflated. If the egalitarian women — the women who proudly declare their rejection of feminism and their fight for true equality — aren’t safe, then what woman is? No woman, I fear.

I know I’m not supposed to cast an entire sex with a single paint brush — not all women, I’m sure some readers are thinking and preparing to type or tweet. But if it’s impossible for a black person to grow up without adopting a work ethic, simply because of the environment in which they live, how can I expect women not to subconsciously absorb at least some degree of sexism? If black people aren’t safe, then women aren’t safe, no matter how much I’d like to assure myself that these things aren’t true.

My daughters probably won’t marry rich suckers and then take them to the cleaners in divorce, or falsely accuse innocent men of raping them, and neither will most of the egalitarian women I know. But what all of these women share in common, even my daughters, is a relentless questioning and disbelief of the male experience. I do not want to prove my pain, or provide enough evidence to convince anyone that my trauma is merited. I’m through wasting my time on people who are more interested in ideas than feelings, and I’m through pretending these people, these women, are safe.

I love my daughters, and I love some individual women. It pains me to say that I don’t feel emotionally safe with them, and perhaps never have with a woman, but it needs to be said because far too often we are afraid to say it. This is not a reflection of something broken or damaged in me; it is a reflection of the systems we build and our daughters absorb. Those little girls grow into women who know the value of men, the value that’s been ascribed to us by a broken system, and it seeps out from them in a million tiny, toxic ways.

I don’t know what the balance is between supporting these women and educating them, but I know the toll it takes on me to try. I am too valuable and too worthy to waste my time on women who are not my flesh and blood. But as my girls grow into women, I wonder whether I’ve done enough to combat the messages they hear from everyone but me. They are good girls, and maybe that’s the best they can be in the system we’ve created for them.