Raising Boys Who Can Be Human

A Father’s Day reflection on men’s mental health, healing, and breaking patterns

Gentle Note: This reflection speaks about Father’s Day, men’s mental health, healing, and the impact of abuse. Please read with care and honor what you need emotionally.

Father’s Day can be beautiful for many people.

For others, it can be complicated.

It can bring up love, gratitude, grief, absence, disappointment, and pain. For me, speaking about fatherhood is not always easy. I did not grow up with the safest examples of fatherhood or male protection. I experienced abuse from some of the men who were supposed to protect and care for me.

So when I write about fathers, men, and emotional healing, I do not write from a place of pretending that fatherhood has always felt safe to me.

It has not.

But this reflection is not about romanticizing fatherhood, ignoring abuse, or asking survivors to forget what happened to them. It is about telling the truth while still making room for healing.

Part of my healing has been learning that the harm I experienced from some men does not have to define how I see all men. Along the way, I have met good male figures — men who have shown kindness, patience, accountability, wisdom, protection, humility, and emotional presence.

They reminded me that healthy masculinity does exist.

They helped me understand that strength does not have to be harsh. Love does not have to be controlling. Protection does not have to feel like fear. Leadership does not have to come through intimidation.

That is why this conversation matters to me.

Because when we talk about men’s mental health, we are not only talking about men as adults. We are also talking about the boys they once were. We are talking about what they were taught, what they were not allowed to feel, what they were expected to carry, and what they learned to hide.

June is Men’s Health Month, and as we reflect during this Father’s Day season, I believe it is important to acknowledge that men also go through silent challenges.

Society has often placed expectations on men to be the providers, the protectors, the strong ones, the ones who hold everything together. There is honor in responsibility, but there is also a cost when someone believes they are never allowed to rest, cry, ask for help, admit fear, or say, “I am not okay.”

That kind of pressure can become lonely.

Many men struggle to express their feelings and emotions. Not because they do not feel deeply, but because somewhere along the way, vulnerability was mistaken for weakness.

But emotions are not weakness.

They are human.

A man expressing pain does not make him less strong. A father admitting he is tired does not make him less of a father. A son saying he is struggling does not make him less capable. A man needing support does not make him broken.

It makes him honest.

And honesty is often where healing begins.

At the same time, this must be said clearly: pain does not excuse harm.

A difficult childhood does not excuse abuse. Stress does not excuse control. Unhealed trauma does not excuse intimidation, manipulation, or violence.

We can care about men’s mental health while still standing firmly with survivors. Compassion and accountability must exist together.

That is where breaking patterns becomes so important.

Many boys grow up hearing, directly or indirectly, that they need to be tough. That crying is embarrassing. That emotions should be swallowed. That asking for help makes them weak. That anger is acceptable, but sadness is not. That being a man means carrying pain in silence.

Then those boys become men.

Some men may not know how to name what they feel. Some may love deeply but struggle to express it. Some may want connection but not know how to ask for it. Some may be hurting but have spent years believing they have to hide it.

And some, if they do not heal, may repeat harm.

That is why I believe mothers of boys, fathers, families, mentors, teachers, coaches, and communities all have an opportunity to help break these patterns.

We can teach our boys that feelings are not weakness.

We can teach them that crying does not make them less strong.

We can teach them that love is not control, protection is not domination, and leadership is not intimidation.

We can teach them that apologizing is not defeat and asking for help is not failure.

We can teach them to speak, to listen, to respect boundaries, to honor the emotions of others, and to make room for their own.

We can raise boys who understand that strength and tenderness can exist in the same heart.

We can raise boys who do not have to become emotionally silent men.

This responsibility does not belong only to mothers. Men have a responsibility to heal, grow, and model healthier ways of being. Fathers, grandfathers, uncles, brothers, mentors, and male leaders have an important role in showing boys what safe strength looks like.

But as mothers, women, caregivers, and nurturers, we also have influence.

We can create spaces where boys feel safe enough to be honest. We can correct them without shaming their emotions. We can hold them accountable without teaching them that love is conditional. We can remind them that their worth is not measured only by what they provide, what they fix, or how much they can carry.

And for the men already in our lives, support can begin with something simple but powerful.

Listening.

Not listening to fix.

Not listening to correct.

Not listening to compare pain.

Not listening to prove a point.

But listening to understand.

As women, many of us know what it feels like to fight to be heard. We know what it feels like to want our voices, our stories, our emotions, and our experiences to matter. So it is only fair that we also practice making room to listen.

Listening does not mean ignoring our own wounds. It does not mean excusing what hurt us. It does not mean silencing ourselves so someone else can speak.

It means creating space for truth, compassion, and humanity.

Sometimes support sounds like:

“I hear you.”

“That sounds heavy.”

“You do not have to carry this alone.”

“You are allowed to feel that.”

“You are still enough, even when you are tired.”

Those words may seem simple, but for someone who has spent years believing they must always be strong, they can feel like permission to breathe.

Father’s Day may not be easy for everyone. For some, it is a celebration. For others, it is a reminder of what was missing, what was painful, or what still needs healing.

Maybe this day can also become an opportunity to reflect on the kind of men we want to honor, the kind of boys we want to raise, and the kind of patterns we want to stop passing down.

For me, this reflection is not about pretending fatherhood was always safe.

It is about healing without denial.

It is about recognizing that good men do exist.

It is about honoring the men who lead with kindness, accountability, patience, and love.

It is about supporting the men who are learning how to express what they were once taught to hide.

And it is about raising boys who know they do not have to bury their emotions to become strong.

Maybe one way healing continues is not only through what we survive, but through what we choose to teach differently.

So this Father’s Day, I hold space for the complicated emotions.

I honor those who had loving fathers.

I hold compassion for those who did not.

I stand with survivors who are still healing.

I give thanks for the good male figures who show up with care.

And I believe in the possibility of raising a generation of boys who can grow into men who know how to feel, listen, love, apologize, heal, and be fully human.

Because being human is not weakness.

It is where healing begins.

Rise. Rebuild. Become.

Zully Gisella Goya Paz

Founder & CEO | GiMeZu

Support Note: If this reflection feels personal or painful, please know that support is available. In the U.S., the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline offers 24/7 support by call, text, or chat for mental health, emotional distress, substance use, or suicide-related crises. If you are experiencing domestic violence or feel unsafe, the National Domestic Violence Hotline offers confidential support by calling 1-800-799-7233, chatting online, or texting START to 88788. If you are in immediate danger, call 911.