Towards Truth and Health: Rebuilding Gendered Conversations with Care

The word feminism can stir discomfort—and that’s understandable. For many, it challenges ideas they've been taught: that gender equality threatens their identity or privileges. Feeling unsettled by these concepts is okay. But discomfort isn’t an attack—it’s an invitation to reflect. Feminism encourages us to consider how everyone benefits when women are treated equally.

One of the most persistent misconceptions is that feminism hates men or sees them as the enemy. This misunderstanding often stems from a lens where any critique of the status quo feels like a personal attack. Let’s be clear: feminism is about gender equality, not male-bashing. It seeks to dismantle systems that harm all of us—including men—by challenging rigid gender roles, unrealistic expectations, and cycles of violence. From this perspective, feminism offers freedom, not threat.

Being a feminist doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being open—willing to listen, learn, and stand up for justice, even when it forces us to re-examine long-held beliefs about gender.

Embracing feminist ideals can lead to more harmonious relationships. It helps dismantle harmful power dynamics, fostering partnerships rooted in respect and equality. It also benefits men’s mental health by encouraging emotional expression and vulnerability—traits often suppressed under traditional masculinity. This creates space for men to be more authentic, whole, and free.

Many men find themselves more at peace when embracing a feminist or egalitarian life. Think of figures like Ryan Gosling, Harry Styles, or Justin Trudeau. To those clinging to chest-beating "Me Tarzan" masculinity, these men may not fit the mold. But being real isn’t about fitting into outdated roles—it's about being true to yourself.

I understand that some men feel attacked when feminism is mentioned. But feminism isn’t about tearing men down; it’s about lifting everyone up. So, let’s ask: How can we work together for equality?

Consider these questions: What does masculinity look like in a feminist world? What does real equality mean—for you, and for others? Feminism challenges all of us. It doesn’t blame individuals—it critiques systems that stifle growth, progress, and connection. Acknowledging our biases is the first step toward being part of the solution.

Much of the hesitation from men toward feminism comes from fear—fear of losing privileges or status. But these fears can be transformed into opportunities for reflection, growth, and empowerment. Feminism offers men the chance to live more freely, without the burden of outdated gender expectations.

If the word feminism feels too loaded, consider egalitarianism. It might offer a broader lens—one that seeks a more inclusive and harmonious future.

Feminism has paved the way for vital conversations about gender equality. But egalitarianism extends these values to everyone—recognizing that women, men, and non-binary people deserve equal treatment, free from social constraints.

Feminism focuses on addressing gender-based oppression, while egalitarianism widens the frame—incorporating issues like race, class, and sexuality. It doesn’t compete with feminism; it complements and expands it. It acknowledges that patriarchy and toxic masculinity harm all genders and advocates for fairness and equity for all.

Egalitarianism challenges harmful societal norms. Men shouldn't be emotionless. Women shouldn't be submissive. Everyone deserves the right to be authentic, free from outdated stereotypes. It’s about freedom, choice, and respecting everyone’s autonomy—regardless of gender.

It also means equal access to opportunity—in the workplace, education, and leadership. No one should be held back because of gender.

Egalitarianism can also embrace intersectionality—a core principle of feminism—by recognizing how overlapping identities (like race or class) impact someone’s experience of gender inequality. Without this lens, we risk overlooking those facing multiple forms of discrimination. Equality means addressing all forms of oppression—together.

I support the strides feminism has made, but I believe we must go further. We need a world where everyone—regardless of gender—can thrive.

My personal journey shaped this belief. I’ve worked alongside men’s rights advocates and “red pill” communities, especially as someone who has seen male victims of domestic violence silenced or dismissed. I once sought understanding in those spaces, especially after surviving domestic violence myself. But over time, I saw something disturbing.

In some of those communities, there was a gleeful reaction to stories of women being arrested or children harmed by their mothers. Instead of empathy, there was vindication—proof, they claimed, that women were the real threat. Feminism was labeled a hate group. The goal wasn’t justice or healing—it was revenge.

That realization was painful. I still care deeply about supporting male victims. But I couldn’t ignore how these spaces twisted pain into hate. In some cases, perpetrators were hiding among survivors—weaponizing trauma to attack women and marginalized communities. As a survivor, I now approach these spaces with caution. I can’t always tell who’s sharing a real story, and who’s using false narratives as fuel for misogyny.

Domestic violence isn’t just a men vs. women issue. Same-sex relationships are often excluded from the conversation, especially in lesbian relationships where violence is heavily stigmatized and invisible. When we reduce DV to a one-way narrative, we fail everyone—including LGBTQIA+ survivors.

That’s why I choose human rights advocacy. Because once we decide one group’s pain matters more—or is more believable—than another’s, we are no longer doing justice. We’re playing politics with people’s trauma.

In Australia, an estimated 3.8 million adults—around 20% of the population—have experienced physical or sexual domestic violence since the age of 15. In 2024 alone, 78 women were killed by gender-based violence—an average of one woman every four days.

Breaking this down:

• 1 in 6 women and 1 in 18 men have experienced physical or sexual violence by a current or former partner.

• 1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have experienced emotional abuse by a partner.

• 1 in 6 women and 1 in 13 men have experienced economic abuse.

• 1 in 5 women and 1 in 16 men have experienced sexual violence.

Bisexual women and transgender individuals face even higher rates. Around 61% of bisexual women have experienced rape, physical violence, or stalking by an intimate partner. It's important to clarify: this violence is often committed by male partners, not necessarily within same-gender relationships.

As a bisexual woman, I know how our experiences can be erased or misunderstood. Fetishization, dismissal, and isolation create unique risks in heterosexual relationships. These nuances matter.

Data on same-sex DV is limited, but existing studies show that 41% of lesbian women and 28% of gay men have experienced abuse in same-sex relationships. While not representative of all queer relationships, these figures underscore the need for inclusive support services—not to fuel fear or division, but to ensure everyone gets the help they need.

First Nations women face even greater risks, often being murdered at disproportionately high rates in the context of domestic violence. This is made worse by systemic racism, institutional neglect, and a lack of culturally appropriate responses. Dr. Tracy Westerman has written powerfully about these realities.

A critical issue in advocacy spaces is the misuse of data—particularly by reactionary or anti-feminist groups. Statistics, especially those related to domestic violence, are often stripped of context and weaponised to support narratives rooted in misogyny, denial, or division. For instance, citing high rates of abuse in lesbian relationships without acknowledging key factors—such as underreporting, minority stress, or the lack of inclusive support services—can lead to harmful generalisations. Responsible advocacy demands transparency about what the data does and does not reveal. It should aim to uplift all survivors, not advance agendas that scapegoat or stigmatise specific groups.

When discussing domestic and family violence, it's essential to understand the complex realities behind tragic cases such as filicide—the killing of one’s own child. While public narratives often portray mothers who commit these acts as monstrous or inherently evil, research reveals that maternal filicide is frequently rooted in severe, untreated mental illness, postnatal psychosis, histories of trauma, and profound desperation. In contrast, paternal filicide is more commonly driven by motives of control, punishment of a partner, or possessiveness—often linked to intimate partner violence. Neither form is excusable, but understanding the psychological, situational, and gendered differences is critical for prevention, appropriate intervention, and resisting simplistic or hate-fueled interpretations that obscure the need for nuanced, trauma-informed responses.

One recurring claim in Red Pill and men's rights spaces is that children are inherently safer with fathers, often citing data on maternal filicide. However, this assertion grossly oversimplifies a deeply complex issue. Research does not support the idea that one gender is universally a safer caregiver. Rather, child safety is best predicted by the presence of protective factors: access to mental health support, stable and nurturing environments, non-violent parenting, and the absence of coercive control—regardless of a parent's gender. While maternal filicide often results from untreated mental illness or extreme psychosocial stress, paternal filicide is more frequently linked to domestic abuse and attempts to punish or control a partner. The focus must remain on creating caregiving environments that are safe, loving, and abuse-free—not on promoting a gendered competition that distracts from child protection.

Ultimately, ensuring that children grow up in safe, supportive environments isn’t about choosing between mothers or fathers. It’s about building communities that provide robust mental health resources, safe and inclusive parenting programs, and well-funded child protection systems. When we address the underlying causes of harm—rather than casting blame based on gender—we move closer to a society where every child can thrive. The focus must stay on supporting all caregivers and confronting abuse in all its forms with nuance and integrity.

Another common argument raised in these spaces relates to step-parents—particularly stepfathers—and the assumption that they pose a greater risk to children than stepmothers. Some in the Red Pill community use this to argue in favour of paternal over maternal custody. However, the reality is far more complex. While children in blended families may experience higher rates of abuse, research shows that the risk is influenced by multiple factors: the quality of the parental relationship, whether violence is present in the home, and the dynamics between the biological parent and the step-parent. The key issue is not the gender of the step-parent, but rather the overall family environment. Children are most at risk in households marked by instability, unresolved trauma, or a history of violence—not based on whether the parent is a stepmother or stepfather.

In these situations, it’s crucial to centre child safety around the quality of care, not gendered assumptions. Stable, loving, and healthy relationships—regardless of biological ties—are what keep children safe. Instead of fuelling divisive narratives, we must invest in supports that ensure all parents, including step-parents, are equipped with the tools and resources to nurture, protect, and positively bond with the children in their care.

At first glance, the Red Pill movement appeared to offer clarity—an empowering space for men who felt alienated in a changing world. It promised truth, a return to control, and a rejection of political correctness. But over time, it became clear that the movement wasn't built on healing—it was fuelled by division. It portrayed women, especially feminists, as manipulative or dangerous, and promoted rigid, outdated ideas of masculinity based on dominance and submission. Instead of fostering growth or understanding, the space festered with resentment. Vulnerability was mocked. Compassion was seen as betrayal. And connection was replaced with distrust. What began as a search for truth became a feedback loop of bitterness and emotional isolation.

Tragically, the very toxicity the Red Pill movement cultivates ends up hurting the men within it. By equating vulnerability with weakness and discouraging emotional expression, it cuts off the very tools needed for healing and genuine connection—not only with women but with each other. The constant focus on control, suspicion, and superiority makes meaningful relationships nearly impossible. In trying to empower men, it often isolates them further. The result is a cage—dressed up as a cause—that traps men in cycles of resentment rather than offering real tools for personal growth or social change.

It’s important to be clear: this isn’t an attack on men, nor a condemnation of those who have found themselves drawn to these spaces. Rather, it’s an urgent call for reflection and understanding. Real progress cannot be made by any one group alone. Men and women need each other—not as adversaries, but as partners. Reducing complex societal issues to a gender war obscures our shared goals. The future we must build—one that is fair, compassionate, and safe for all—demands empathy, collaboration, and mutual respect. Men have a vital role to play in dismantling harmful ideologies and in creating the kind of communities where everyone can thrive. Real change doesn’t come from blame or competition—it comes from solidarity, courage, and care.

We are at a crossroads. The choice is not between men or women, mothers or fathers, but between division and healing. Between clinging to narratives that pit us against each other, or choosing a path grounded in mutual care, accountability, and understanding. We must resist the urge to flatten complex realities into battles of gender and blame. Instead, let’s build spaces where truth is not used as a weapon, but as a bridge—where data informs, not inflames; where healing is accessible to all, and where our shared commitment to ending violence transcends ideology.

This is why feminism—at its heart a movement for equity, safety, and dignity for all—is not the enemy of men, but a potential ally in the healing of all genders. True egalitarianism doesn’t erase our differences or deny lived experiences; it creates space for them. It challenges systems that dehumanize and divide, and replaces them with communities built on care, respect, and justice.

The future we need isn’t one where one group wins while another loses. It’s one where we all rise together—where boys grow into men who are free to feel, connect, and be safe, and where girls grow into women without fear of violence or control. This is the promise of feminism and egalitarianism—not dominance, but partnership. Not blame, but shared responsibility. And not division, but the radical possibility of healing—together.