The Feminine Urge to Accept

Okay, but are you really aligned?

Acceptance is a word I associate with death. At times I have felt it to be a rather elusive harbour into which one is meant to sail as the final stage of any loss. One can pass through the waves of denial, anger, and bargaining to reach this haven.

Be it bereavement, the end of a relationship, a sudden diagnosis, or the onset of an unknown chapter, I believed acceptance marked the conclusion: the point where grief, upheaval, and consequence finally loosened their grip.

I see it differently now. Acceptance is a practice. It is taking what is given to you, without branding it as fortune or adversity. Acceptance is unperturbed by our human beliefs about what is painful and what is not. It exists for letting the last moment end so the present one can exist with nothing more and nothing less.

I have found that my own resistance to acceptance – of myself, of others – was sharpest in moments when I was most inauthentic: when I told small lies, overcommitted my time or energy, or played a version of myself that wasn’t mine to play. Each time we perform a character other than our own, we forfeit the life that could be ours. Even in silence or withdrawal a choice is made, and it falls to us to accept it.

Take something as trivial as stealing a beautiful glass from a restaurant. If guilt gnaws at you, it signals a misalignment with your values. From there, two paths unfold: you can return it and learn, or you can keep it and accept a diminished standard for yourself. For some, the moral dissonance might strike hard; for others, it may barely register, and they may be able to ignore it. But whether we act or refuse to act, a choice has been made.

Every day presents us with these quiet dilemmas, small judgements and choices shaped by the echoes of past ones. But when life presents you with real turbulence – the moments that shake us to our foundations and leave us examining our trust in ourselves – even the smallest decisions can feel unbearable. It is in how we respond that shapes the way we move through life.

Why we shouldn’t just let it be

Just because something exists does not make it right. The status quo is not inherently kind, strong, or ethical. Yet, when we examine the systems humans have built, there are those who argue that what we see is simply ‘natural’. Yet, much of the world today involves greed, exploitation, and dishonesty. Yes, humans possess the capacity for both compassion and cruelty, but that does not mean we must normalise far more cruelty than should be tolerated. When we tolerate standards and expectations that constrain ourselves and others, we accept a version of the world, and ourselves, that we might not wish to pass on to future generations.

An illustrative example lies in how we respond to boys’ and men’s emotions. Women’s cries for help are often received – though reception often hinges on socio-economic status, race, or perceived attractiveness (this is a whole different article).

For men, the expectation is different from the outset: they are to be self-sufficient, maintain a stiff upper lip, and ‘take a joke’. Vulnerability, when expressed, must be rationed carefully.

For much of my life, I believed that strength meant concealing emotion. Over time, I discovered that sensitivity can be powerful and even endearing, they are not mutually exclusive. Yet I recognise my luck: my circumstances allow me to live fully in strength, emotion, and sensitivity, and still be taken seriously. For many men in particular, this freedom is different. Strength in hardship is meant to be expressed through anger, not tears. Entire regions of the emotional spectrum remain closed off, policed both publicly and privately.

The emotional limitations imposed on boys and men do not exist in isolation—they ripple outward, influencing how they see themselves, others, and the society they inhabit. When vulnerability is policed and when sensitivity is discouraged, men are left with fewer tools to navigate frustration, inequality, and uncertainty.

These unprocessed emotions often seek expression elsewhere. The Economist highlights a striking example from Poland: among 18–29-year-olds, 26% of men supported the far-right Confederation party, a slogan of theirs includes ‘Against feminists. In defence of real women’. Further research shows that across Europe young men are particularly likely to resent women – and view feminism as excessive – if unemployment rises in their area.  

These reactions are not merely political. They reflect what happens when we are not given the toolkit to feel, process, or express emotions freely.

Richard Reeves, author of ‘Of Boys and Men’, notes that while the political left has made strides in addressing women’s issues, it has often failed to engage young men. This failure often fuels the perception that support for women has come at the expense of men. Some young men have been pushed towards defensive online spaces where they are reassured that they have done nothing wrong and that “liberals are out to get them.”

Figures on the extreme right, like Donald Trump, have effectively tapped into this sense of alienation. In 2018, he declared: “It’s a very scary time for young men in America when you can be guilty of something you may not be guilty of…That’s one of the very, very bad things that’s taking place right now.” This rhetoric amplifies fear and resentment, presenting gender justice as a zero-sum game. As a result, rather than fostering dialogue or understanding, it deepens divides between men and women.

When both sides of the political spectrum fail to engage fully with the other gender, society becomes polarised not only politically, but also emotionally and culturally.

If we accept this reality without change, we reinforce patterns that constrict human growth; practising acceptance intentionally can break the cycle.

Acceptance, then, is not merely an individual practice – it is a societal one. By creating spaces for acceptance in our relationships and communities, we can invite men and women into a dialogue that dismantles restrictive norms and encourages emotional freedom. When we fail to nurture emotional leadership in boys, we should not be surprised when they grow into men who cannot express grief or seek help beyond the most trivial matters.

The tummy ache cure

This is where the line between wallowing and feeling becomes vital.

Wallowing is indulging the story that life has conspired against you, using pain to excuse harm or to linger in the safety of victimhood.

Feeling, on the other hand, is allowing discomfort, anger, and grief to move through you – watching and turning them over without trying to suppress or overanalyse them, to let them have their say, and then to decide.

Feelings, like food, have to be digested. If you suffer food poisoning, you cannot just ‘decide’ not to be sick. You must endure the discomfort, nourish yourself, and let the body recover. Emotional processing is no different – you can’t skip the stomach ache and expect to heal. To do so is to trap yourself in the endless digestion of something long past.

I believe you cannot reach acceptance without feeling all of the past. To be haunted by the past is a choice; to move through it is a responsibility. And so, you choose: to feel your feelings honestly, to let them guide you. They are not enemies but instruments – moral arbiters and safety features of the human body.

The patterns we accept today become the boundaries and limits of tomorrow. If we want a different future acceptance must be practised deliberately, as both an act of empathy and an act of creation.