Does he understand what it means to live in a body that is, on average, physically weaker and more vulnerable to threats?

Apart from physical vulnerability, does he know the psychological exhaustion of constantly assessing risk— is this a good place to park? Should I wear this? How should I react to this stranger? Has he felt the constant vigilance many women carry, simply walking alone at night?

Does he grasp the unique healthcare burdens women face, fertility, hormonal health and fluctuations, the lifelong complexities of gynecological care?

Can he truly comprehend the sexual pressures and risks women navigate, from objectification to assault, and the psychological toll that follows?

Has he lived under the weight of gender-based prejudices that women sometimes suffer?

Does a man appreciate the profound, often indescribable experience of being able to carry life within—of pregnancy, childbirth, and the emotional aftermath?

Does he know what it’s like to carry a child for nine months, to feel kicks from within, to wake with cravings that won’t let sleep return?

Has he faced the emotional storm of postpartum depression, the identity shift of motherhood, or the moral weight of choosing whether to carry a pregnancy to term?

Do people look to him with the expectation that he be the emotional caretaker, the one to soothe, comfort, nurture?

Does he know the pressure to have, the turmoil of deciding to have, and the aftermath of having an abortion?

Has he endured the physical pain and emotional turbulence of a menstrual cycle?

Who is the man that has experienced the hormonal upheaval, physical discomfort of menopause, not to mention the social invisibility that often accompanies it?

Does a man know what it feels like to have a miscarriage, or the pressure of a ticking biological clock?

For any man who says he feels like a woman, what exactly does that mean?