I have not always cared about men’s mental health. I grew up and live in a world shaped by patriarchy. A world where power, violence, entitlement and history tilt overwhelmingly toward men.

As a gay woman and feminist, I’ve often seen masculinity as something to resist, critique, or dismantle, not something to nurture.

But life has a way of complicating our most confident theories. I am raising a son.

Suddenly, “men” are not an abstract system or a cultural force. Men include my tender, curious, soft-hearted boy who cries easily, who likes being held, who has not yet learned the performance of being “a man”.

So I’m faced with a difficult question. How do I cultivate a healthy masculinity in him, while refusing to uphold the harmful forms of masculinity?

This is where the conversation about men’s mental health becomes personal. Not because men deserve more space than women, but because the next generation deserves better than the models they inherited.

The hand that rocks the cradle doesn’t rule the world

The old saying tells us that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. It’s poetic, but misleading.

Most women raising children, whether domestic workers, stay-at-home mothers, or corporate executives, operate in a world that is still structured by inequality.

We raise sons and daughters within systems that value men and masculinity differently, and often unfairly.

We are shaping boys, but we are doing it inside patriarchal architecture.

We cannot simply raise “better men” by preaching kindness or telling boys to share their feelings.

We have to examine the world they are entering, the expectations they will be pressured to comply with, and the costs of resisting those expectations.

What science tells us about emotional suppression

The traditional masculine script – “don’t cry”, “be tough”, “man up” – isn’t just culturally limiting. It’s physiologically harmful.

Emotional suppression in men leads to elevated cortisol levels, the hormone associated with chronic stress.

When boys learn to bury feelings rather than process them, their bodies stay in a state of heightened alert.

This contributes to higher rates of cardiovascular disease, substance abuse and suicide among men.

What we call “strength” is often just unprocessed fear wearing a mask.

Studies on emotional granularity, the ability to identify and articulate specific emotions, reveal something counterintuitive.

Men who can distinguish between feeling “frustrated”, “disappointed”, or “overwhelmed”, rather than just “fine” or “angry”, show lower rates of depression and better relationship outcomes.

The vocabulary of gentleness builds resilience.

This isn’t about making boys weak. It’s about giving them the tools to be strong.

Masculinity isn’t the problem, the performance of it is

There is nothing inherently wrong with masculinity. Strength and leadership are not toxic. Ambition, assertiveness, protectiveness are human qualities.

What becomes toxic is power without empathy, confidence without vulnerability, desire without accountability, and self-worth tied to dominance.

Boys learn these lessons early. “Don’t cry.” “Be a man.” “Don’t be weak.” “Control things.”

This is where men’s mental health fractures, and where women often suffer the consequences.

Neuroscience offers a window into why this matters. The brain systems that govern emotional regulation, empathy, and social bonding don’t develop differently in boys and girls.

But cultural conditioning diverges sharply around age five or six. Boys receive fewer words about emotions from caregivers, less physical affection as they age, and more messages linking their worth to performance and dominance.

By adolescence, many boys have learned to interpret vulnerability as weakness and gentleness as femininity, something to avoid at all costs.

Raising healthier sons is not about softening boys into compliance. It’s about teaching them that strength and gentleness are not opposites. They can coexist.

Asking for help is an act of courage

Men’s brains are wired for connection just as much as women’s are. Research on oxytocin, often called the “bonding hormone”, shows that acts of caregiving, emotional intimacy and mutual support trigger the same neurochemical responses in men as in women.

When men engage in gentle, nurturing behaviours, their bodies reward them for it. The problem isn’t biology. It’s permission.

Studies on male friendship reveal that emotional intimacy between men predicts longevity, life satisfaction, and mental health outcomes. Yet many men report having no close friends they can confide in.

The cultural script of stoic independence has left many men isolated. And that isolation is deadly.

What if, instead, we raised boys who understood that asking for help is an act of courage?

That tending to others is a form of strength? That tears are not a failure of masculinity, but proof of being human?

How to raise a gentle, grounded boy

Model emotional language: instead of “Don’t cry,” try, “I can see you’re feeling sad. I’m here. Let’s talk about it.”

If boys do not learn to name feelings, they will later express them as anger or withdrawal. Emotional literacy is protective.

Explain power and responsibility: Teach boys that strength is not about control, it’s about how we use our influence on others. This reframes masculinity from dominance to stewardship.

Show examples of varied masculinity: Gentle men, gay men, stay-at-home dads, men who cook, men who cry, men who nurture. Representation rewires what’s possible. It expands the definition of “man” beyond the narrow, exhausting performance.

Teach that caregiving is human work, not women’s work: Let him participate in cooking, tidying, comforting others, and helping care for family members.

These are skills of humanity, not gender. Practising care builds the neural pathways for empathy and connection.

Playing the long game

I cannot control the world my son will inherit. I cannot dismantle patriarchy by bedtime.

But I can refuse to hand him a script that will harm him and others. Raising a gentle man in a harsh world is not naive. It’s necessary.

Because the alternative – raising another generation of boys who confuse silence with strength and isolation with independence – perpetuates a cycle that hurts everyone.

Mothers have long known that connection is survival, and vulnerability is courage.

And gentleness, far from being weakness, may be the most radical form of strength we can teach.