EP 187: An Honest Conversation About Masculinity

As part of our Dry January series—a month dedicated to breaking format and exploring the unexpected—we bring you a deeply raw and personal episode of Live, Laugh, Larceny. In An Honest Conversation About Masculinity, Trevin shares his intimate essay, My Life as a Little Girl, offering a vulnerable look at his lifelong struggles with societal expectations of manhood. From being labeled as “less than” for enjoying leisure activities to the subtle yet damaging pressures of growing up on a farm, Trevin reflects on how these moments shaped his understanding of masculinity.

But this story isn’t just Trevin’s. In an open conversation with Amanda, the discussion broadens to reveal how these same dynamics play out in families today—even in homes that seem happy and loving. They explore how well-meaning parents can unintentionally reinforce harmful stereotypes, humanizing both sides of the relationship and uncovering the complexities of parent-child connections.

This episode steps away from our usual lighthearted tone to tackle an issue that’s both deeply personal and culturally significant. If you’ve ever questioned the meaning of masculinity, witnessed its impact, or sought to understand how these challenges persist in modern families, this conversation will leave you thinking long after the episode ends. Don't miss this special Dry January installment that’s truly out of the ordinary.

Below is the written version of Trevin's essay, My Life as a Little Girl, From May of 2024.

My Life as a Little Girl

Throughout my three years of writing silly stories and cracking butt jokes (pun intended) for the podcast, I’ve been going through a long journey of self-discovery. With each story I tell, I challenge myself to revisit even the most basic of concepts, allowing me to better understand who I am.  Not fitting in, the relentless pursuit of success, and the stark realities of economic inequality are themes I’ve touched on in recent stories, making sensationalized small crimes the vehicle in which I express my deepest truths. Yet, despite my commitment to be fun, light and what I call “cynically wholesome,” I let the amplified words of a small man get the best of me.

Each one of our episodes begins with our Dreadful Dilemmas, a first segment designed to let us get some banter out of our system, while observing an inconvenience/subject in our lives as a much more dramatic issue. I was between a couple different topics for this episode, but decided to talk about the big local news of Kansas City Chiefs’ kicker Harrison Butker giving the commencement speech to Benedictine Catholic college in Atchison, Kansas; a long twenty minute tirade involving anti-Biden, anti-covid and anti-LGBTQIA+ rhetoric, as well as strong sentiments towards the binary beliefs of how men and women should live. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get political. This seemingly innocuous dilemma, however, brought me back to my own experiences, blindsiding me with some emotions I wasn’t prepared for.

Growing up as a child in rural Missouri, I was confronted very early with the strong belief of what a man is. A man is a provider who works hard, demands respect, is strong (both mentally & physically) and is always right. When the man of the house speaks in certain situations, “because I said so,” is generally the strongest evidence needed on why their way is the best. But, of all the things that a man is, there is one thing that a man NEVER was: a girl.

For me, I spent most of my childhood as a little girl. Now, before you think of me as more interesting than I am, this is not about my internal gender identity or a secret transition that none of you knew about. I had an external gender identity issue, because of how I chose to spend my time.

Gaining emotional issues from an unstable mother, and riding the turbulence of my dad’s divorce from her when I was two, I wasn’t the most confident or outspoken kid. Depressed since as far back as I can remember, I didn’t feel like challenging myself physically, especially since I had a terrible relationship with my body. With the challenges already present in my upbringing came a social contract that I never signed; the agreement to maintain my title as a man.

Throughout my most formidable years, this title would be given and taken away at a moment’s notice, generally depending on my willingness to perform physical labor. My dad would wake up after a late night of work, prepared to now maintain his farm, only to see me playing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles video game on a hot summer afternoon. I would preemptively cringe, knowing how I would be greeted: “Are you going to stay inside all day, like a girl, or get outside and do something?”

Each time there was work to be done (which, let’s face it. There was always work to be done), the act of pursuing my leisure activities was viewed as denying the manliness I was gifted at birth. I didn’t want to go out and work on project cars or fix fences for the cows. There was no sense of pride felt by me when I maintained a farmland that I didn’t choose to have. Still, each time I showed any bit of resistance, there I was, a girl who would rather be inside. 

This led to my family eventually sticking me with the “girl chores,” because I would rather stay inside all day. Vacuuming, dishwasher, laundry, etc; all of these were mine to do, almost feeling like a punishment or probationary task for not being a man. Although I rebelled quite often towards the masculine activities I should have been doing, I accepted the fact that I was the boy who did “girl chores.” It was the lesser of two evils, still granting me the comforts of having a roof over my head. 

Every reminder of my femininity got buried deep into my brain, creating the narrative for what kind of life a boy like me could have. Each time a different jab would come my way, I added it to the pile of hurt and confusion already there, still trying to find a stable existence on this ever growing mountain of masculinity. During this time is when I was fed one of the most damaging lies that has stuck with me for my entire life, a lie that I mistakenly thought I’d be able to share during my dilemma without issues.

I chose to handle the subject of the commencement speech without preparation, since our dilemma segments are more off the cuff. My wife and I had watched the entire 20 minute speech the night before, so I felt comfortable in my understanding of the words used and the context behind it all. Our show has always been very empowering towards women, while light-heartedly making a villain out of toxic masculinity. So, although it was a hot button issue, the discussion wasn’t too out of place. 

Amanda and I started bantering about the speech as a whole, something she was just learning about. I filled her in on the biggest opinion he shared, which was his idea of women’s personal or career accomplishments (including the graduation he was congratulating them for) coming second to “the most important title of all,” being a homemaker. We went back and forth about limiting beliefs, the generalizing of women and how, even in that very room, there were probably women who didn’t match the perfect circumstances he was trying to play up as the ideal life for a woman.

Trying to keep the segment brief, I wanted to touch on his stance of the masculine way men should be. “Be unapologetic in your masculinity. Fight against the cultural emasculation of men. Do hard things. Never settle for what is easy.” Honestly, nothing I haven’t heard before. I’m sure I’ve probably written a similar quote for a toxic male character in one of my stories. As an adult, I’m not sensitive to it, especially a quote as basic as this one. However, the fact that it was a Chiefs player, a local issue and a quote that my brother found moving enough to show a strong stance towards, it struck a major nerve.

Recently, I had a conversation with someone about education and how well I did in school. For me, I struggled a lot with assignments and testing, leading to me receiving mostly average grades. When I was first asked how I was in school, I wanted to give a passing response by calling myself a dumb or average kid, but then I processed it and really thought about why I wanted to retreat to that answer. In the span of that conversation, I realized how much the continuous narrative of me being average held me back. It took me decades after high school to see the intelligence I carry as a person, leaving me wondering what I could have achieved in a better system.

That recent realization began to intersect with the conversation I was having with Amanda, leading me to make the same connection. How much quicker could I have found my place in the world if I didn’t spend my first eighteen years feeling like I failed at becoming a man? What if maintaining the house wasn’t framed as “girl chores,” that I was relegated to because of my gender handicap? What if I was empowered for being different instead of judged for not doing the same as everyone else? 

The self doubt and frustrations I’ve carried for most of my life stem from that same narrative; a shame that even I perpetuated long after leaving the farm. Everytime I mentally or physically couldn’t succeed in something I tried, I’d be quick to remind myself of the rules I learned long ago; that I was different and due to my choices, not deserving of what others had.

I considered all the transitional years I had, spinning my wheels in the name of progress only to find myself upset and still in the same mental place. The body image issues, the weight fluctuations, the injuries from overexercising to fix myself, the midlife crisis at 30—thinking I had nothing left to give—all of this was time wasted that I blamed myself for. It's only very recently that I have even reached a point where I am happier with myself. I thought about where I would be now if I lived in a world I belonged to.

Reflecting on my brother's unwavering support for the quote, I couldn't help but notice how deeply it resonated with him. Not only did he stand firmly behind its message, but he also shared it in an inspirational manner, even going so far as to boast about his jersey sales, which had soared as a result. It became evident to me that this message held significant importance for him, to the extent that he felt compelled to brag about his endorsement.

Curious about his potential response to my personal offense at the quote, I turned to Amanda and posed a hypothetical scenario: What if I directly expressed to my brother that I found the quote personally offensive, that I identified with the notion of "cultural emasculation of men"? As I considered his potential response, I could almost hear his self-preserving rebuttal: "Well, I don't mean you." But still, after years of being reminded that I was not the ideal expectation of a boy, that it was necessary for my tasks to be deemed “girl chores,” I saw myself in that quote. And in my brother’s support, I saw a future of more kids feeling like they needed to wait decades to find themselves, or worse, maybe never find the peace I’ve felt at all. 

But where my biggest mistake lay was in my next decision. Attempting to maintain a lighthearted tone for my comedy show, I decided to recount a quote from my childhood—a quote that my friends and I used to share for a good, self-deprecating laugh at my trauma. It seemed so absurd that no rational adult would take it seriously, making it perfect fodder for a funny observational bit. Yet, as a child already struggling with feelings of worthiness, the quote had a lasting impact.

During one of the times I resisted participating in typical boyish, country activities, I was told that if I didn’t spend more time outside, my “hair would grow long,” I’d “grow boobs,” and “my ‘thingy’ would disappear.” I would literally turn into a girl. 

You can see how this would play out well in a conversation between friends with similar worldviews. My friends and I would always mock the ridiculousness of it, coming up with hypotheticals, like a man doing his own laundry only to find his penis had disappeared from performing a feminine act. I'd recounted this story countless times, always evoking laughter with its absurdity. but, realizing that demeaning messaging was part of why my confidence was always so low shattered my comedic timing.

I figured I could open up a little bit about myself, share that sad truth, have a fun laugh at toxic masculinity with Amanda, bada-bing-bada-boom! However, my emotional hiccup removed the humor from the start.

As a person who has just recently learned how to be okay with not being good at something, I still do worry about how collected I am. Of course, I think it’s ok for anyone to show emotion, but not me, not on a comedy show! That’s not funny; not to mention the fact that it looks like I’m about to cry over the words of one rich douchebag and a meme made from an illegitimate sports website.

But still, there I was; fighting for air just to go into a bit that required a specific kind of energy. Observational humor loses its impact when delivered with tears. I already replay the moment in my head like a Chernobyl-esque disaster documentary. The cause of the accident always seems so obvious in hindsight, like an entire safety team taking a day off or sending an atom bomb on a train with no brakes.

That’s exactly how I felt like my brain was working. I’m about to cry, having this major breakthrough about why I always felt so different, while my mouth is still trying to trudge forward with a recollection that’s going to play more like a tragic confession than a witty reflection.

It went exactly like I expected it would. Amanda looked at me more in a sympathetic tone. It was not funny, and I had lost my cool so badly that I couldn’t even articulate why it affected me so much. I typically elaborate on my thoughts to leave no question about my intentions, but for the first time in forever, I was speechless. Not only that, but I once again felt powerless against those beliefs.

Amanda eventually swooped in, transitioning us into her dilemma and allowing me to bounce back. I was running long on my time anyway, so the show needed to go on. You know how it is, you don’t want any one-star reviewers to complain that we talk too much about ourselves! 

The episode went on and I was pretty rattled for the rest of it, but I feel that I recovered well enough. I kept reflecting, connecting dots to questions I’d always had about myself. Any listener of the show knows about my ongoing joke about not being a man. As an adult, I’ve made peace with the joke, knowing that I’m making fun of a very specific ideal.

The issue is, I've been making that joke for decades, even though I don't think I truly understood it back then. Now, after years of processing my emotions, I'd describe my childhood gender as a boy desperately pulling on a locked Men’s Room door.

In the narrow worldview of my farming family in small-town Missouri, I was often 'teased' for not conforming to the expectations of typical farm boys. I wasn’t playing with dolls, coloring my nails, preferring the color purple, wearing skirts, or doing any of the other things you see these memes point out in “non-masculine boys.” I just didn’t want to spend my time toiling over farmland I didn’t care about or proving my worth through what project car I’m working on that year. I was still obsessed with plenty of boy things, like comic book characters, action movies and video games. I just didn’t want to be miserable doing something that didn't make me happy.

Yet, my disinterest in certain activities still led to parental figures asking if I need to replace my wardrobe with dresses due to my choices. 

Originally, I wanted to write this article because I am going to release the episode either way, and I wanted to explain why this subject made me emotional, while other serious topics we cover don’t. It was a chance to give myself a mulligan in expressing the full picture of my beliefs while pointing out why one segment maybe didn’t land like it should have. However, editing the episode really cemented my decision.

I figured that maybe it wasn’t as noticeable as I thought; like I would drop the files into my episode template and hear that my strong reaction was just in my head. It wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. Amanda didn’t save me from a conversation that I was doing a good job of communicating my way through. When I pressed play on that segment, I heard an all-too-familiar sound. The vocal fry, the hesitation, the attempt at sharing my feelings through heightened emotions and a half-chest of air; this was the voice I spoke through for most of my childhood and young adult life. Hearing that part of me again, after finding the confidence in myself made this bit of writing feel necessary for others rather than just a chance to save my cool.

I am incredibly thankful for my father. There isn’t one ounce of me that wishes my custody went in a different direction. He kept me safe, fed and supported me through things I wanted to do. Although a lot of these quotes and lessons were learned from the way I was treated, I know he didn’t sit down and come up with a gameplan to make his first child feel abnormal. He was raised in the same world. 

There were no challenging beliefs when I was growing up. It wasn't just my dad; it was all the men around me shaping my upbringing. Whether it was an uncle or a family friend, any man had the right to remind me that I was acting like a girl for any number of interests or activities. My dad never saw a problem with others doing it, likely because that's how he was raised and it felt normal.

These were the rules of the world I spent the first couple decades of my life in.

For the first time in my life, at the age of 34, I can finally say that I’m thriving. I’ve managed to stay creative, I’ve broken through a lot of my own mental cycles, I’m in a healthy relationship and I’m happy. Like, a real kind of happiness; not blissfully unaware of a depression spell just waiting to pop back up. 

Ironically, I’m probably the most “masculine” I’ve ever been. I’m more outspoken than I’ve ever been, I’m brave and I just recently allowed myself to start weightlifting after years of avoiding it for being unworthy. I found that part of myself in spite of the things I learned growing up. It wasn’t until I fostered an accepting circle that I felt confident enough to even attempt “man activities” again. 

The continuous public bragging from my brother made me realize that the “cultural emasculation of men” that he would like to stop is kids like who I was. If I popped a quarter in a Zoltar Speaks machine and wished myself back to the age of eight, my brother would call me a little girl just for not being like him.

If I had grown up in this era, I would have seen my family sharing those messages and believed they wanted me to be different or not exist at all. And if confronted, of course, they would say, 'It wasn’t meant like that.' But even if you’re trying to speak against a very specific type of emasculated boy (not saying any of that is right), you don’t get to choose how the children in your life hear it. And you don’t get to choose which part of that speech people see you supporting when you wear his jersey (and don’t tell me you already had it, because he’s a kicker).

I wonder how much less of a late bloomer I would have been had I perceived myself as “normal." I remember times in high school when I would get a girlfriend, and I would be teased because it seemed silly that Trevin liked girls. Even my little brother joined in the teasing. I looked at him, six years younger than me, and always wondered, 'How did you get past the point where you can openly like girls, but it’s weird for me?'"

It took a long time for me to be where I am today, and it took a lot of work. Being an overachiever, I am a bit salty about where I could have been without that obstacle. But, I’m just happy to be living with some peace now. 

I am a straight white male and I had to fight back tears while talking about the speech made by an NFL kicker. It wasn’t the specific words made by that specific person, but the fact that those words were just an echo of the ones I heard as a child; the same words that caused me to tell myself again and again that certain experiences weren’t meant for “someone like me.” 

My story is nothing compared to the experiences of the LGBTQIA+ kids or all the women in the world. After all, I was being called a girl the whole time. How do you think all the girls in the world feel when boys are striving their hardest not to be called girls, as a punishment? I was pretty shocked when most of the kindest and safest people in my life ended up being women. They also have every right to be pissed at this speech. Even if you do think your most important role is a homemaker, don’t you think you’d like to celebrate the accomplishment at hand before being reminded that you haven’t reached your goal yet? 

I wrote this post because I feel like people are quick to explain away the damage they cause when it’s against those whom they can’t relate to. My story is nowhere near the amount of adversity that others have, but if my experience can help just one kid feel more worthy of this world, it will have been worth the awkward conversations this is going to cause me. 

Sincerely,

A Former Little Girl