***

I need to come clean,

I’m a bandwagoner.

It’s how I find my books, my music, my films,

A thought leader, an influencer, a tastemaker, I am not.

And my jumping on a bandwagon is exactly how I happened across Heated Rivalry earlier this week.

I was told to watch a show about hot, gay hockey players,

And I was in,

‘Say less’,

And so, I turned it on.

I vaguely knew what I was in for; I’d seen their faces at the Golden Globes, and I’d heard about the bodies they possessed,

And so, I organised myself a tasty treat to tune into each night.

And then, here I was, four episodes in, and boy was it making me feel things –

My one issue, however,

My one gripe,

And the reason we’re here today,

Is because more than anything it made me feel things…well above the belt.

***

To set the scene,

I was home alone.

I picked a week where my husband was away so I could get my Mills and Boone-esque hit of horny hockey boys for my viewing pleasure,

Without the guilt of having to admit I was watching a trashy show.

But then there I was, later that night, haunted beyond belief as this show hit me right in the heart, right in the feels, and then took it out for a bit more of a stomp!

I was promised a mindless, hot show,

A feast for the eyes –

What I wasn’t warned about, was how good it was going to be –

And how it would find a way to hit so close to home.

The subsequent vivid flashbacks of the coming out experience, and the ups and downs of closeted love it elicited; busting through my chest, and bringing tears to my eyes.

Sitting there, at the end of Episode 4, as a techno cover of All The Things She Said thumps away, these two hockey boys broke my heart.

For the uninitiated, I may lose you here but keep on – I’ll get you back.

But for those in the know…

These two knew exactly what they truly wanted from each other, and yet neither is ready to accept it or verbalise it, or act on it in any public way.

And they battle with themselves, and with each other,

Sandwiched between what they want, what feels right,

All the while, wrangling with the worlds perception of what it is to be a real man being placed squarely on their shoulders.

And in an attempt to hide away from these daunting, very real fears,

The boys put women between each other as they battle to be the most nonchalant, the most detached, the one who cares the least – while secretly, actively feeling anything but.

And as a gay viewer, the feelings and the memories that come flooding viscerally back when you see an experience played out in a way that really hits home.

And while my experience is far from Montreal, far less athletic, and far less chiselled, 

While I haven’t been in that situation for well over a decade now,

And while I’ve had strangers online tell me it’s simply time to ‘get over’ the gay experience of growing up in the pre-2010s,

Like anyone watching any of their lived experiences on a screen knows,

When good media finds you and hits you – it can hit you hard.

And so as the credits rolled, I was left grappling with a whole raft of thoughts and ideas that had been rolling around in my mind, somewhat dormantly, for years.

One show bringing forth so many memories and deep feelings I wasn’t prepared for.

But we’ll get to that in a minute.

***

I was told to watch Heated Rivalry by many a hetero-female in my life, and that in itself is a marked success of this show.

A male-male love story finding viewership in a range of different audiences – lived experience or not.

And yet I initially found myself still getting worried that a no-holds-barred gay story might be too graphic for these fragile flowers.

I found myself grateful that I was watching it alone,

That the small, shame-riddled prude that still exists somewhere inside of me didn’t have to watch two guys going at it in front of any straightys.

But as I sat there, I realised what my therapist had tried telling me so long ago,

That I still lived in a way that was almost pre-apologetic for my ‘gayness’.

That part of myself wanted to have people see that same-sex love was ‘so much more than just sex’,

That to display our love didn’t always require clothes to come off,

Before realising that I’ve seen Dakota Johnson and Mr Grey go at it unapologetically for four movies straight,

I’ve seen James Bond bed half the women across the globe,

And I’ve seen enough horror movies tick off the ‘naked dead blonde’ trope to realise that these fears and this shame I harboured were only ever my own,

And that sometimes it’s just fun to see attractive people find attractive people and do attractive things together.

And that in a story where lust turns to love,

There’s bound to be the odd bit of sex wound in, too.

***
And to the deeply dormant memories it brought back up to the surface.

There were the visceral reactions to seeing these two characters walk down a path I recognise treading down from my own life, so many years ago.

Seeing the two race to see who can show how much less they care about the other guy,

When you’re closeted and coming to terms with who you are, the relationships we find ourselves in can often turn into a game of who can care less about the guy they’re getting with,

Endeavouring to be seen as someone who is only acting on an urge that needs to be satiated,

And nothing more.

And then responding to this by racking up the number of women you get with at the same time to even yourself back out

Trying desperately to buy yourself some time,

Some breathing room.

Because One man + one man, but also + one woman = one regular, normal man again.

These are the parts of my story that often lingers within me most,

That can bubble up again while watching these tropes play out on screen,

The pain and lies that came about in the endeavour to avoid feeling othered,

When all you wanted was to hide away in your forced normality.

That because there is pain within yourself,

It can result in inadvertent pain then being placed unto others,

Even those that you may accidentally find yourself in the early stages of love with.

When two people are at different points in their journey to the other side of ‘out’,

Feelings get hurt, and egos can take a hit when we each aren’t ready to be fully ourselves.

And you find yourself trying to bury these feelings of connection and wanting,

Because the fear of the vulnerability of love, comes second only to the vulnerability of how you feel you will be perceived if that love is ever made public.

And so, you end up hurting those who your feelings long for,

To avoid having to face anything remotely real.

For as long as you can hold out.

***

But the strangest thing for me in watching this play out on screen, was how it also made me feel about my life now.

Because even out the other side,

Once you’re thirteen-hundred steps passed that initial period,

The obstacles and the mindset readjustments rear its head again.

In a world where the roles of the sexes are ruled with an iron fist,

You begin wading through trying to make your world fit into a mould it wasn’t ever made for.

And for me, this often came in the form of answering the question,

‘So, who’s the girl in the relationship’,

Or the knowing look that comes after saying that there’s no woman in this relationship but then saying that you do the bulk of the cooking and the cleaning.

I don’t begrudge any of it, really.

It’s not a big deal, it’s more of…something to deal with,

And to be honest, the fact that I’m living in a world where the people around me don’t want to spit at home or hunt me down because I am living out loud is often peace enough for me,

But that doesn’t then make any of it ‘right’,

Nor does it make it easier trying to have your love not be constrained by ’the rules’.

***

When I was brought into the world bearing my golden ticket, which read:
‘White Man’,

I thought I had it in the bag.

I was brought up with the knowledge that my goal in life was simply to work hard and marry well.

I’d make the money, and I’d have the best girl in the world cooking, cleaning and rearing for me.

Cha-Ching.

But then I find myself, thirty years later, standing in a house earning less than a man, and also washing that man’s dirty jocks?!

We had a deal – this was not where I was meant to end up.

Society had readied me for bringing in the most money, getting the best job.

Whilst setting the females around me up for a life of pregnancy, marriage, and supporting a man.

(And the knowing that they should go out and hunt for one now, lest they end up an old spinster).

Then I ended up being the one supporting a man.

I found myself doing the dishes,

Carrying the loads of washing to the line,

And planning the dinner parties.

It’s something I had never really given much mind to,

Nor been prepared for in the process of finding myself and then finding love –

Trying to find a way of splitting the ‘gender roles’ in a house that only held one gender.

And then finding myself doing the cooking, cleaning, folding, and planning,

And finding a purpose and enjoyment within it.

Blasphemy!

I realised that I had taken on all that labour – and yet I wasn’t equipped with the mindset of how to deal with it when thinking about it from an outsiders perspective.

How to make sure I felt like – but more importantly, could still be seen as – ‘the man’.

***

Here I was very much a man,

With the genitals and documentation to prove it,

And yet I soon realised I was never going to earn the same amount as my partner.

And that confused me,

But I also wasn’t going to live in filth in an attempt to stick it to the man,

So, I had to buck up, and find a way of feeling OK within my role.

And so, I cooked,

And I cleaned,

And I found a way to feel safe and secure inside my home.

But then I noticed that the call was coming from outside of the house too.

And the waiters seemed to know that I didn’t earn the same amount as him either.

So, they’d pass the cheque to him every time.

And the builders would give me questions to pass onto my man,

And that felt just as strange too.

Now I know that it’s a very first-world problem, not being handed the cheque,

Yet, my fragile masculine ego still didn’t know how to handle that.

And I’m not sure if I still do either,

That amorphous thing of wanting to be seen as a man,

While standing here, existing as a man,

But being seen as a different kind of man than the man to whom I was married.

Man.

***

And so, I found myself seeking that acknowledgement from people I didn’t really know.

I would get caught up in my perceptions as I tried to police what I perceived others’ perceptions were of me –

And let me tell you that that was one way to tie yourself in knots and drive yourself crazy.

And what it came down to, was my continued, fruitless search for this amorphous ‘acceptance’.

Something I’ve been seeking since I was a child.

I’m not sure who I need it from,

Or what form it would need to take to finally quiet my mind,

But what I’ve figured out is that the search for acceptance from an external source will never be achieved.

Because no matter who we are in this world, or what we are after,

Seeking acceptance or validation from the masses will only leave us depleted and failing.

And the biggest failing in my endeavour to become the ultimate People Pleaser,

Is that there is no universe where all people are pleased.

Especially with the percentage of this world we live in that will never accept anything outside of the tight cookie-cuttered limits of male/female love and relationships.

But hey, it takes a bit of letting go to realise and be OK with that.

And what I’ve found is that there is no joy to be found in desperately seeking acceptance from someone closed-minded.

Because once we place the power and control in how we feel about ourselves in the hands of the opinions and acceptance of others, we’ve already lost.

***

But where I have found that joy, this week,

Is sitting in front of the TV,

Watching the story of two people fall in love,

And giggling and kicking my feet in joy –

Like a real man,

As I watch my gay, horny, hockey player TV show.

There was simply nothing less than sheer joy here.

Even in the moments that broke my heart.

So thank you to the ‘hot dumb hockey show’ for corrupting my mind for the last week as I faced deep introspection, haunting memories of the dumb, winding road I took to get to this place,

And the deepest hope that the world may one day become a kinder, softer place for people to walk the road to becoming who they truly are.

If we could just push out a dumb show that doesn’t make me feel so much next season,

That’d be much appreciated.