When I first wrote about the manosphere, what stayed with me was not anger, but sadness. I wrote about boys and girls drawn into a system built on unmet need, belonging, and pain. But after finishing that piece, I found myself returning to one question. What about the women? Not in the simplified ways they are often discussed, but with genuine curiosity. Because the more I sat with it, the more it felt incomplete to view them through a single lens. What I saw was not just participation, but pattern. Not just choice, but history. And perhaps something that is harder to sit with. The possibility that what looks like choice on the surface may, at times, be shaped by something far more familiar underneath.
There was a moment in the documentary where a young woman was asked about the way these men speak about women. The contradiction was clear. They profit from women, platform them, and at the same time degrade them.
Her response was simple.
“I don’t care. I just use him back.”
On the surface, that sounds equal. Transactional. As if both parties are getting what they want.
But clinically, I have heard that kind of statement many times before.
When I hear “I don’t care,” my instinct is rarely that someone truly does not care.
More often, it means something else.
It can mean, I do care, but they are not going to listen to me anyway.
It can mean, I do care, but I do not believe I deserve to be treated any better.
It can mean, I do care, but if I say that out loud, this person might hurt me.
And the idea of “I use him back” can sometimes function as a protective narrative.
A way of restoring a sense of control.
A way of making something unequal feel equal.
A way of staying in a situation that might otherwise feel too uncomfortable to fully acknowledge.
So “I don’t care” is not indifference.
And “I use him back” is not always power.
Sometimes, both are forms of protection.
When someone believes they will not be heard, or that their needs do not matter, they begin to erase themselves.
At first, it feels like a strategy.
A way to keep the peace.
A way to avoid conflict.
But over time, that self erasure becomes a pattern.
And eventually, people lose sight of what they feel, what they need, and even who they are.
I see this often in client work. People who have spent years saying “it is fine” or “I do not care” are not indifferent. They are disconnected from themselves as a way of surviving.
Sometimes “I don’t care” also carries something deeper.
Even if I spoke up, I do not believe I deserve anything different.
This connects to what is known as conditions of worth, where a person’s sense of value becomes dependent on external approval rather than an internal sense of self (Carl Rogers, 1959).
These beliefs are often shaped through early experiences or reinforced through later relationships.
Over time, they can lead someone to tolerate situations that do not meet their needs, not because they want to, but because it aligns with what they believe they deserve.
People do not always move towards what is healthy.
They often move towards what feels familiar.
Even when that familiarity hurts them.
In psychodynamic theory, this has been described as the repetition of earlier relational patterns, even when those patterns are harmful (Sigmund Freud, 1920).
This is where the idea of “the devil you know” comes in.
Something can feel right, not because it is good, but because it is known.
Early relationships shape our expectations of safety, connection, and worth.
Attachment theory explains how early caregiving experiences form internal templates for how we relate to others (John Bowlby, 1969).
If someone has experienced inconsistency, neglect, or harm, those dynamics can become what feels normal.
That does not mean they cannot change.
But it does mean those patterns can carry forward into adult relationships.
When someone has experienced trauma, their nervous system adapts.
It prioritises survival.
This can show up as emotional numbing, people pleasing, or detachment.
These are not random behaviours. They are protective responses.
Trauma research shows how these patterns are rooted in the body’s attempt to stay safe, even when the situation itself is not (Bessel van der Kolk, 2014; Stephen Porges, 2011).
What may look like indifference is often a form of protection.
One of the things that concerns me most is how quickly women in these spaces are reduced to one thing.
They are labelled. Simplified. Categorised.
But they are not one thing.
They are many things at once.
They can be hurt and strong.
Aware and in denial.
Choosing and surviving.
They are shaped by their experiences.
And those experiences do not disappear simply because someone appears confident or detached.
What I saw was not a clear category.
I saw people trying to survive.
Not just the environment around them, but often their own internal world.
Because when the internal world feels overwhelming, people adapt.
They become what they need to become in order to cope.
Not because they are inauthentic.
But because they are trying to survive.
The need to belong is powerful.
As both Irvin Yalom (1995) and Chris Rose (2009) highlight, our sense of identity is deeply influenced by the groups we are part of.
When belonging feels conditional, people may adapt themselves to fit.
Even when that means suppressing parts of who they are.
In environments like the manosphere, belonging can come at a cost.
It is important to hold two truths at the same time.
Trauma explains behaviour.
It does not excuse harmful actions.
Understanding why someone behaves in a certain way can inform how we approach them.
But it does not make harmful behaviour acceptable.
Respect, empathy, and accountability still matter.
And part of healing, at some point, involves recognising patterns and taking responsibility for them.
Not from a place of shame.
But from a place of agency.
If any of this feels familiar, it may be worth gently asking yourself a few questions.
Do I feel safe in the environments I am in
Do I feel respected in my relationships
Do I believe I deserve to be treated with care and dignity
Am I choosing this, or does it feel familiar
If something healthier came into my life, would I be able to accept it
These are not easy questions.
But they can be a starting point.
If your situation feels unsafe, support is available.
In the United Kingdom, organisations such as Refuge and Women’s Aid offer confidential support and guidance, including ways to reach out safely.
What stayed with me, more than anything, was not anger.
It was sadness.
Because beneath the narratives, the roles, and the defences, there are people trying to survive.
People trying to find belonging.
People trying to make sense of themselves.
People navigating internal worlds that others do not see.
Sometimes what looks like choice is shaped by familiarity.
Sometimes what looks like confidence is protection.
Sometimes what feels normal is not safe.
And recognising that does not simplify the issue.
It deepens it.
It asks us to look more carefully, to stay curious, and to resist reducing people into something they are not.
Bowlby, J. 1969. Attachment and Loss Volume 1 Attachment. Basic Books
Freud, S. 1920. Beyond the Pleasure Principle. Standard Edition
Porges, S. W. 2011. The Polyvagal Theory. Norton
Rogers, C. R. 1959. A Theory of Therapy Personality and Interpersonal Relationships. McGraw Hill
Rose, C. 2009. The Personal Development Group. PCCS Books
van der Kolk, B. 2014. The Body Keeps the Score. Penguin
Yalom, I. D. 1995. The Theory and Practice of Group Psychotherapy. Basic Books
