The Catch-22 of Being a Decent Man

The Catch-22 of Being a Decent Man

Sometimes I wonder if there’s any “right way” to show up as a man anymore — especially as a single dad trying to create a community for my son.

If I’m warm, curious, open — I risk being misread.
If I’m guarded, polite, distant — I risk being misunderstood.

And what makes this so difficult is that I’m not trying to be anything other than present. I’m not performing. I’m not flirting. I’m not seeking anything other than mutual respect and the hope that my son can build friendships with the children of people I meet.

But often, that presence seems to land wrong.

If I make a few jokes, if I’m genuinely curious about someone, if I speak with honesty instead of small talk — there’s a chance that someone, somewhere in the dynamic, will assign intention I never held. Maybe their partner gets uncomfortable. Maybe they themselves interpret it as something deeper. And suddenly I’m navigating not just my intentions, but everyone else’s stories.

That’s the Catch-22.

If I lean in, I’m too much.
If I pull back, I’m cold.
If I say too much, I’m inappropriate.
If I say too little, I’m weird.
And if I stay neutral, they’ll project whatever narrative they’re carrying anyway.

And all I want to do is build a life where my son has options. Where he sees people gathering. Where he’s invited to birthdays and playdates and grows up with the sense that we’re not alone.

But sometimes it feels like the safest move is just to close off — to be stoic, minimal, emotionless.
And I know that’s not the answer. That’s not who I want to be. That’s not what I want to model for my son.

But being emotionally available in a mistrustful world often feels more dangerous than silent withdrawal.

So I find myself walking this line. Trying to be honest — but not too honest.
Trying to be present — but not too visible.
Trying to be decent — and somehow still misunderstood.

There’s no guidebook for this version of masculinity — the one that doesn’t perform dominance, doesn’t chase, doesn’t hide, and doesn’t play dead. Just… shows up.

And right now, it feels like that’s not enough for trust — but too much for comfort.

So I’ll keep walking the line. Not because it’s easy, but because I believe it matters.
For my son.
For myself.
And for whatever new way of being might one day emerge from this strange, quiet in-between.

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