The War That Never Came

When I saw the participant list for Underworld in Copenhagen, my stomach dropped a little. Twice as many men as women. For a weekend of somatic shadow work, with touch and desire and rage and grief in it, that's the kind of number that makes a facilitator start planning.

So that's what I did. The Thursday before, I sat down and started preparing for a war.

I know the pattern well. In spaces that are about connection, men tend to drift toward the women and away from each other. I believe there's an old fear in that, a quiet internalized homophobia most of us men carry without ever naming it. The women feel the pull, start to close, and gather with each other. And the men end up disconnected, from each other and from the whole process. I kept thinking: if the men come to take something, the women will close, and then nobody has anybody's back when we go into the shadow on Saturday.

So I planned. I would name it up front. Men would meet men and women would meet women. We would speak the mistrust out loud, use our arms to find our boundaries, and then invite the kind of touch we'd like from each other. I even had two versions, option A and option B, depending on whether the boundaries or the touch should come first. I considered a fishbowl too, men in the middle and women witnessing, then switching. Looking back, all of it was designed to fix a problem that hadn't shown up yet.

What I actually did

Then Friday came. We started in a standing circle, a hand on the heart and a hand on the belly, and I named some of the things people might be feeling as they arrived. Calm, or numb. Excited. Lonely on the outskirts, wondering if it's safe here or if they should just go home to their Netflix. And then one more: maybe you're looking around, counting how many men and how many women there are, and wondering what that means for you.

That was it. One sentence, and then I let it go.

We did dynamic meditation, and then something I call the Allies game. You step into the circle and say "if you're like me", and you lead with what you want, not with what's broken in you. If you're like me, you want to take space without being perfect. If you're like me, you want to ask for help without feeling like a burden. If you're like me, you're tired of being nice. Whoever resonates steps in toward you. Something very personal becomes very universal in that practice, and you could feel the room soften.

Then we sat down in triads. Several of them were only men. And they bonded, easily. I watched for the tension I had prepared for, and it wasn't there. No drifting. No war.

My animal was ready

What makes me smile now is that this is exactly what I teach.

The shadow, the way I work with it, is the nervous system's prediction of what might go wrong. The body prepares before anything has even happened. It's already defended, already ready to do what kept us safe the last time we got hurt. And that's what my body had been doing for three days. It predicted a room split along an old line, and got ready to defend all of us against it, with plans and options and backup plans.

The room didn't need it. Maybe I did.

On Saturday morning we worked with exactly this. One by one, people stepped into the middle of the circle and let themselves be seen from all directions, without telling a story, just naming what was happening in their body. My legs are shaking. My eyes want to look at the floor. Looking down feels more under control. And underneath it, something like: thank you, animal body, for keeping me ready to run or to strike, like you always have. And I'm here now.

I was saying it to myself too.

For you who facilitate

If you hold this kind of work and the numbers tilt, here is what I'd pass on.

Name it lightly, as something people might notice, not as a diagnosis or a problem to solve. Then lead with desire. Start with what people want, not with what's wrong between the genders. Longing crosses that line faster than any exercise about the line.

Work in threes rather than pairs. A pair easily falls into the old couple dynamic, a man and a woman, the one who reaches and the one who closes. We're blind alone, and we're blind in a pair. A third person brings consciousness to that dynamic and interrupts it. And when there are more men than women, triads let men sit with men naturally, without anyone having to make it an exercise.

Keep the same-gender work in your back pocket. I did use it in the end, but on Saturday night, as a five minute opener to the free flow, men with men and women with women. Two of the men went straight to the sexuality corner, not to get it on, but to meet the homophobia shadow face to face. By then the room could hold it.

And put consent where the charge is. The evening free flow was where the tilt could have hit the women hardest. So we used traffic lights, a booth to negotiate before anything happened, and one simple question for lust: may I lust after you? Asking makes it safe.

What are you preparing for?

My nervous system was ready for a war. It meant well. It always does.

So I'll leave you with the question I'm still sitting with myself. What is your body preparing for right now, that the room in front of you doesn't actually need?