If You Think I Hate Men, You’re Not Listening.

By Trinity Barnette

I don’t hate men.

I hate being followed.

I hate being interrupted.

I hate that “being nice” has become a safety tactic.

I hate that mistrust is read as attitude and distance is seen as a challenge.

But hate men? No. That would require a level of emotional energy I’m not willing to give anymore.

What I do feel is a deep, persistent distrust—and that’s not the same thing.

Too many people—especially men—confuse boundaries with bitterness. They hear a woman speak honestly about her fear, her discomfort, her exhaustion, and all they register is defensiveness. The assumption becomes, “She hates men.” But if you really listened, you’d realize I’m not angry at all. I’m aware. And I’m protective of myself in a world that has taught me to be.

I shouldn’t have to explain that self-preservation isn’t misandry. But here we are.

Hate vs. Distrust: Let’s Get This Straight

Hate is personal. Distrust is protective.

Hate says, “I want you to suffer.”

Distrust says, “I want to avoid being hurt again.”

There’s a big difference between rage and realism—and most women I know aren’t walking around with hatred in their hearts. We’re walking around with caution in our bones.

Because we’ve seen too much. We’ve experienced too much. We’ve been let down, harmed, manipulated, ignored, disrespected, dismissed, fetishized, and silenced so many times that we’ve simply stopped assuming men are safe by default. And the moment we say that out loud? People hear hatred where there’s actually just truth.

I don’t hate you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t trust you—not automatically. Not without reason. Not just because you smiled, said the right things, or claim to be “one of the good ones.”

And here’s the thing: if you truly are one of the good ones, you won’t need me to trust you instantly. You’ll understand that trust takes time. That caution is earned, not given out like candy to any man who treats us like bare-minimum humans.

If that makes you uncomfortable?

You’re not listening.

You’re reacting.

Stop Asking Me to Soften the Edges You Helped Create

Every time I express caution, someone says, “But not all men…”

Every time I speak my truth, someone says, “You can’t paint everyone with the same brush.”

Every time I talk about fear, someone says, “Give us a chance.”

But let me ask this:

When was the last time someone told men to give us a chance?

To listen without getting defensive?

To take accountability without needing to be handheld through it?

This demand that women remain soft, open, forgiving—even after being disrespected, violated, or abandoned—is just another form of control. It’s not compassion they want from us. It’s compliance. It’s silence dressed up as “kindness.”

And honestly? I’m tired of holding back just to make men comfortable.

Tired of being asked to lower my guard instead of being encouraged to trust my gut.

Tired of people treating my protective instincts like a flaw to fix instead of a pattern to understand.

The truth is, my boundaries exist for a reason. My mistrust isn’t random—it’s rooted. It didn’t come out of nowhere. It came from years of being on high alert. Years of smiling when I didn’t feel safe. Years of being told that my discomfort was impolite and his behavior was just “a little much.”

So no—I won’t be soft just because you’re uncomfortable with the fact that I’ve learned to protect myself.

I won’t perform gentleness for the sake of your ego.

And I won’t apologize for the ways I’ve sharpened myself in response to this world.

Because if you really understood where my mistrust comes from?

You’d be asking how to help me feel safe.

Not how to prove that you’re not like the others.

So What Do I Want From Men?

It’s not a performance.

It’s not pity.

It’s not a “not all men” parade.

I want safety.

I want consistency.

I want men to hold each other accountable without needing a woman in the room to moderate it.

I want to be able to say “I don’t trust men” without being talked down to, laughed at, or asked to “heal faster.”

I want space to be cautious without being called bitter.

I want to know that if I say no, I’ll be respected. That if I say I’m scared, I’ll be believed. That if I name what I’ve been through, I won’t be met with defensiveness—but with understanding.

I don’t want to be someone’s “exception” or “one good girl.”

I want to be human.

Respected. Heard. Safe. Period.

So again, if you think I hate men… you’re not listening.

If you think I’m cold, closed off, or carrying baggage… you’re not paying attention.

I’m just protecting myself in a world that has never made protection easy for women.

And frankly? If you’re more offended by my boundaries than by the reasons I had to build them…

You were never safe to begin with.