This one’s for my guys. But pretty much everybody needs to hear this.

I’m a little embarrassed that I’m writing about Frozen II (2019) again. But whatever, it’s really good. There’s psychology, there’s politics, plus cute things to laugh at. What more could you want in a Disney movie?

My girlfriend saw it after I did, and when I asked her what she liked, she mentioned a line in a scene I completely missed.

Anna, one of the main characters, is leading these massive creatures made of stone towards a river dam. (You’ll have to watch the movie to see why she’s doing it — it’s a key moment in the plot.) She trips and falls just in the path of one of the creatures’ feet. Out of nowhere comes her fiancé Kristoff, who scoops her up on his horse.

“I’m here,” Kristoff says, as they ride away from danger, “What do you need?”

I’ll let author Rachel Dickzen explain why this is a remarkable line: “Kristoff is feminist goals. He runs up to save Anna … and immediately says, ‘I’m here, what do you need?’ instead of trying to stop her or take over the situation.”

Point being, Kristoff didn’t try to control Anna. He didn’t try to pretend he knew what was best. And that’s what I want to get at in this post.

Those of us raised as boys were taught — “socialized” — a certain way.

We were given Legos and chemistry sets rather than Easy Bake ovens and dolls. We watched movies about cowboys, detectives, and soldiers single-handedly performing heroic feats.

We were praised for writing unique stories and solving complex math problems. We learned that being clever and resourceful made us valuable (and therefore lovable) in the eyes of adults.

That’s how socialization works. Messages about “being a man” are all around us, in movies, on the news, in politics. Even parents who believe in gender equality can unconsciously reinforce different expectations based on their kid’s gender assigned at birth.

There are signs that it’s getting better. More and more parents appear to be raising their kids in gender-neutral ways, allowing kids to be fully human. But it’s still the water we’re all swimming in.

Among the many expectations put on boys is a certain way of problem-solving.

Studies show that teachers often praise boys more than girls, and they give boys more opportunities to expand on their ideas. Boys are also encouraged to compete against others, while girls are encouraged to cooperate.

This leaves many of those of us who grew up as boys looking for problems to solve. If our partner or friend or coworker is struggling with something, we want to help. But not by listening and collaborating — by figuring out the problem and giving advice on how to fix it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, ingenuity is a powerful tool for any human, regardless of gender. But not when it takes away another person’s agency. Not when it’s a subtle form of control. Which is what trying to fix someone else’s problems really is.

I am guilty of this as the next guy. I get it intellectually that I’ve been socialized in a certain way. But every time my girlfriend talks to me about feeling stressed out or sad or angry, part of me wants to solve her problem. A little Kristoff in my head wants to end her discomfort as soon as possible.

And that’s the rub. I want to end her discomfort so that I can stop feeling uncomfortable. It’s about me, not her.

Instead of feeling her stress or sadness or anger alongside her — which is what happens when humans relate to each other — I want to get rid of those shitty-feeling emotions. So I try to fix her problem for her.

My girlfriend and I actually joke about how this is my inner “knight in shining armor.” It’s a part of me that was socialized to problem-solve on her behalf. A part of me that got praise for doing so as a boy.

Now, if you’re feeling ashamed about any of this, don’t.

And if you’re feeling angry and defensive, it’s probably because you don’t want to feel the shame underneath your defensiveness.

The problem with shame is it keeps us stuck in a back-and-forth of acting out and blaming ourselves. “Internalized feelings of inadequacy are a massive block to moving forward in a good and healthy way,” writes English literature professor Nora Samaran.

Samaran’s book about rape culture, Turn This World Inside Out, helped me understand the inadequacy of shame when it comes self-growth. She writes:

“To completely transform this culture of misogyny, men must do more than ‘not assault.’ The truth is that you already are good enough. You always were. Your actions can be not good enough, and your essence remains good.”

Cut the shame, cut the trying to fix. Instead, the next time someone comes to you with a problem (especially a woman), ask something like, “What do you need?” Or, “Do you want advice or for me to just listen?”

And if you’re too stretched or busy or stressed out to actually listen, let your partner know that. Say, “Sorry, I want to listen, but I can’t right now. Let’s talk about it over dinner later. How does that sound?”

Because what other people often need from you isn’t to fix their problems. It’s to show up as fully as possible so you can help them in the ways they actually need you to.

Hi, I’m Jeremy, a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. Subscribe to my weekly email on how to be more mindful at your job, in your relationships, and when it comes to politics here.

Download my free ebook on how mindfulness can decrease your anxiety and transform your life.

Photo from PxHere.

I’m sitting here thinking: Why am I writing about this in public? I have to, though. Men don’t talk about this stuff enough.

Long story short, I couldn’t get it up.

A few years ago, I dated a woman I found really attractive. On our first date, we made out in a weird but cute little restaurant in my neighborhood. We were having tons of fun.

But I wasn’t honest with her. I didn’t want to have sex so fast. I liked her and wanted to go slow.

Instead of telling her how I felt, I played along. I acted like the man she seemed to want me to be.

For the second date, I invited her to my place and then up to my room. I undressed her as she undressed me. I tried to act the part — stoic, assertive, in control.

But when we got to the sex, I couldn’t keep an erection. I tried and tried. Nothing worked. My body wasn’t cooperating.

She was understanding and gentle. “Relax,” she said. “It’s not a big deal.”

But I was a wreck. I walked her to her car and said an awkward, “Bye,” like nothing had happened. I went back inside and racked my brain for what had gone wrong. I shamed myself for being “soft” and “weak.”

Somehow, though, a part of me knew that underneath all the posturing had been a swirling ocean of anxiety.

I didn’t know how deep it was or what was submerged below. But some part of me wanted to find out.

The next day I asked friends for advice. One recommended horny goat weed pills (seriously). Another suggested various moves to try. None of it felt like what I needed.

I eventually found a therapist who I still see to this day. I joined a men’s therapy group. I was determined to figure out what the hell I was so afraid of.

Over time, I learned to slow down, get in touch with what my body needs, and focus on emotional — not just physical — connection. I haven’t experienced erectile dysfunction since. (Not that I should be ashamed if I did. Nearly a quarter of American men have suffered from it.)

My current relationship has taken me to depths of connection I always knew were possible but had never experienced. So deep, that I’m grateful I went through what I did. All those dark, lonely moments — and all that work on myself — paid off.

But that’s not the point of what I want to tell you.

I want to talk about something psychologists call “repair.” And why it’s crucial to any relationship I want to be in — romantic, friendship, or otherwise.

Looking back, I wasn’t honest because I was scared. Scared that if she knew I liked her, she’d turn around and run. Terrified that if she knew I wasn’t dying to have sex with her — that I wanted to get to know her more — then I wasn’t “man enough.”

That used to be where my analysis ended. Outdated ideas about what it means to be a man were making it hard for me to be vulnerable. But it goes further than that.

My deeper fear was actually an easier one to face: I was afraid of the discomfort it takes to be brutally honest. Savagely, viciously, lovingly honest. And that’s where repair comes in.

Repair is the process of healing a lost connection.

It can happen after a big fight or a small bickering match. It can happen when you’ve just got a sense that something is “off” about your partner (or friend).

Asking, “Is everything okay?” is a form of repair. Setting aside some time to check in with each other is a form of repair. Saying, “Sorry,” is too.

Sometimes all I can say to my girlfriend is, “I feel disconnected.” It’s uncomfortable. I don’t know really know why I feel disconnected or what I want. But I’ve learned that it’s less uncomfortable than staying in the tension of that disconnected feeling.

My girlfriend almost always responds in a way that makes me question why I was scared in the first place. We get curious about why I’m feeling disconnected. That curiosity breeds intimacy. We hug and kiss and laugh. One of us might even cry a little.

It’s like ripping a band-aid off. The temporary pain is easier to handle than the slow burn of tension and disconnection.

Repair is “any statement or action — verbal, physical, or otherwise — meant to diffuse negativity and keep a conflict from escalating out of control.”

It’s two (or more) people taking responsibility for their part in a conflict — or disconnection. It’s being vulnerable and making a bid to connect once again.

John Gottman, the pioneering couples counselor, goes as far as to say, “The success or failure of a couple’s repair attempts is one of the primary factors in whether [a relationship] is likely to flourish or flounder.”

Almost any conflict or moment of disconnection can be worked through. In fact, working through things creates connection and intimacy.

Avoiding conflict creates disconnection, tension, and numbness. Exactly what you don’t want in any relationship.

And that’s what I didn’t know a few years ago. I was too scared to say how I really felt because I didn’t trust myself to repair if things went sideways. I was too afraid of the discomfort.

So, I played along. Even though I wasn’t really connected. And my body let me know the truth.

Hi, I’m Jeremy, a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. Subscribe to my weekly email on how to be more mindful at your job, in your relationships, and when it comes to politics here.

Download my free ebook on how mindfulness can decrease your anxiety and transform your life.

Photo by Franck Mahon.