Breaking the Cycle: Raising Emotionally Mature Children in a World That Fears Softness
There's a truth that's as raw as it is undeniable: men struggling to connect with women isn't surprising when society spends a lifetime teaching them to reject anything that smacks of the feminine. It's a message that echoes through playgrounds, school hallways, locker rooms, and boardrooms; shaping how men express, or rather, withhold, their emotions. I've wrestled with this reality not just as a writer and millennial woman navigating my growth, but as a mother determined to raise my Black daughter and two Black boys with a different blueprint. One that values softness, emotional maturity, and genuine connection.
Society's Lessons on Rejecting the Feminine
From our earliest days, gendered expectations have been drilled into us. For boys, it often starts with simple but potent phrases: "Big boys don't cry," "Man up," or the good ole' fave, "Don't act like a girl." These aren't just harmless idioms. They're blueprints for survival in a society that prizes toughness over tenderness. For a boy, learning that vulnerability is a weakness can mean the difference between expressing his feelings and bottling them up until he becomes emotionally stunted.
It's not that men aren't capable of deep connection. Many of them crave it. But the cultural narrative teaches them that the qualities needed to nurture that connection: empathy, introspection, and emotional openness, are inherently feminine and therefore, somehow, inferior. This teaches them to see softness as a liability rather than a strength, an attribute to be hidden instead of celebrated. And when men grow up shielded in this imposed armor, they often find themselves ill-equipped for the kind of vulnerability that deep relationships require.
This cultural conditioning doesn't just affect individual men; it ripples out into every relationship they form. In romantic partnerships, it manifests as a subtle but persistent emotional distance. Women often find themselves playing the role of the emotional caregiver, the one who must coax feelings out of someone raised to stifle them. In friendships, too, the pressure is there. There are countless times when I've seen men only reveal their deeper feelings after a night of drinks or in moments of crisis when their carefully built walls have momentarily crumbled.
It's a scenario that leaves everyone feeling a little empty. An emotional starvation that deprives both partners of the connection they so desperately need. The irony is undeniable: while society teaches men to suppress the very qualities that could lead to richer, more fulfilling relationships, many of these same men have an innate desire to be understood and loved deeply.
My Journey Through Writing and Self-Care
For me, writing has always been a refuge. A space where I can peel back the layers of my experiences and share them with honesty. It's a form of self-care that allows me to explore both the complexities of love and the nuances of pain, joy, and growth. Over time, I've learned that our vulnerabilities are not our weaknesses but our strengths. They allow us to see the world with clarity and to connect with others on a level that exceeds superficial interactions.
Some mornings, after a late-night writing session fueled by strong coffee and even stronger emotions, I treat myself to a stack of pancakes, heavy syrup, and extra butter. There's something so wonderfully comforting about those pancakes. The first one might come out a little misshapen, but every bite is a reminder that perfection isn't necessary to bring joy. Like our lives, those pancakes are messy and imperfect, yet they are delicious and fulfilling in their unique way. Especially the ones with the crispy edges, my fave.
It's in these small moments between writing and savoring a warm breakfast, that I find a balance. They remind me that self-care isn't just about bubble baths or quiet moments of reflection; it's about embracing every facet of life, the light and the dark, the smooth and the lumpy. And that, in turn, fuels my determination to raise my children in a way that honors both their strength and their softness.
As an Afro-Latina mother, the stakes of this emotional education are even higher. I am determined to raise my two Black boys to be men who understand that true strength lies in vulnerability and emotional honesty. In many communities, Black boys are often cast in a narrow script. One that emphasizes resilience and toughness at the expense of nurturing their inner worlds. This isn't just a societal oversight; it's a systemic issue that can have long-lasting effects on how they relate to themselves, their families, and their communities.
I want my boys to know that their feelings are valid, that it's okay to express them, and that true masculinity includes the courage to be soft. I want them to grow up seeing that emotional maturity isn't something to be hidden or suppressed but a vital part of being human. I will share stories with them about the times I've struggled, the moments I've felt vulnerable, and the beauty that comes from letting down my guard. I tell them that being a man doesn't mean you have to be unyielding; it means you have the strength to honor your emotions and the compassion to connect deeply with others.
And then there's my daughter. Watching her grow up in a world where the narrative around femininity is constantly under attack, I'm acutely aware of the pressures she'll face. I want her to know that she is powerful, that her sensitivity is her strength, and that her emotions are an integral part of her brilliance. I'm raising her to be a woman who understands the dance of power and vulnerability, and who can navigate the complexities of relationships without sacrificing her true self.
What's heartbreaking is that the patterns we see in adult relationships are often the echoes of what was taught to us as children. Men, in particular, inherit an emotional blueprint that was designed to keep them from ever fully experiencing intimacy. It's a cycle that has been passed down through generations. A cycle that we can, and must, break.
Unlearning isn't easy. It means challenging decades of ingrained beliefs and stepping into territories that feel uncomfortable at first. But it's necessary. For too long, we've accepted that emotional labor is a woman's burden. We've allowed ourselves to be the ones who mend, nurture, and pick up the pieces when a man can't navigate his feelings. This isn't just unfair—it's unsustainable.
It's time for a major shift. Men deserve to unlearn the toxic lessons that have stunted their emotional growth. They deserve to rediscover the parts of themselves that society deemed "feminine" and to understand that those parts are not weaknesses but profound sources of strength. And as much as I wish I could do it all for them, I know that the journey has to be their own.
I often reflect on how my journey in writing has mirrored my journey in self-discovery. There have been moments when the words flowed effortlessly, and other times when every sentence felt like a struggle. But, in every word I write, I reclaim a piece of my truth. I write not for perfection but for expression, for connection, and for healing. For me. Every draft is a step towards a deeper understanding of who I am and who I want to be.
In those moments of quiet reflection, sometimes over a plate of imperfectly shaped pancakes, I remind myself that growth isn't linear. It's messy and unpredictable. Just like a good conversation with a trusted friend or sister, it meanders through unexpected territories, revisiting old wounds and celebrating new insights. And that's okay.
There's something wonderfully human about finding beauty in imperfection. Whether it's the lumpy texture of a pancake or the rough edges of an emotion that refuses to be neatly categorized, these imperfections are what make us real. They are the proof that we're living, growing, and learning—one imperfect moment at a time.
Embracing the Soft and the Strong
One of the most revolutionary acts I can commit is to embrace both the soft and the strong within myself and encourage my children to do the same. In a culture that prizes aggression over empathy and stoicism over sensitivity, choosing to honor the full spectrum of human emotion is a radical, even rebellious, act.
For my boys, learning to balance strength with sensitivity is not just a personal victory; it's a cultural statement. It's a declaration that the kind of man who can be tender is just as valuable as the kind who can be unyielding. It's a message that challenges outdated stereotypes and redefines what it means to be masculine. And for my daughter, it's a lesson in resilience and self-worth. I want her to know that her strength is not diminished by her emotions; in fact, it is enriched by them.
I talk to my kids about the power of storytelling; how our narratives shape us, inform us, and have the power to transform the world. I encourage them to write, to journal, to capture their thoughts and feelings in words. In doing so, they learn that their voices matter, that their stories are worth telling, and that vulnerability can be a source of immense power.
The Ripple Effects of Change
When I look around at the relationships in my life, I see the ripple effects of these deep-seated societal messages. There are moments when I catch a glimpse of a different possibility—a man who isn't afraid to be honest about his feelings, who listens without judgment, who opens up about his struggles. These moments are small victories, signs that change is possible. They remind me that despite the heavy conditioning, there is hope for a world where emotional maturity is the norm rather than the exception.
Change begins with a conversation. It starts with us: women, mothers, friends, and partners, speaking our truth, sharing our vulnerabilities, and challenging the status quo. It means reimagining what relationships can be when both partners are allowed to be fully themselves. And while it's a long road, every honest conversation, every shared moment of vulnerability, is a step toward breaking the cycle.
This isn't a manifesto against men. It's a call for compassion. A plea to dismantle the harmful narratives that have long dictated how we should behave. Men deserve the freedom to embrace their full humanity without the burden of outdated expectations. And we, too, deserve the chance to form relationships that honor every facet of our beings.
To my fellow women: Let's continue to uplift each other and create spaces where vulnerability is celebrated, not ashamed. Let's remind the men in our lives that strength and softness are not mutually exclusive, and that emotional connection is a gift rather than a burden. And let's be relentless in our pursuit of a culture where every person, regardless of gender, can feel seen, heard, and valued.
To the men reading this: Know that it's okay to break the mold. It's okay to let your guard down, to express your true self, and to seek out connections that nourish your soul. You can heal, to change, and to love in ways that transcend the limitations imposed on you. Embrace it all—the pain, the joy, the moments of raw vulnerability—and know that you are more than enough.
Sometimes, in the quiet moments of a Saturday morning—when the world is still, and the aroma of pancakes and coffee fills the air—I find myself reflecting on the beauty of imperfection. There's a certain magic in knowing that every messy, lumpy pancake is a reminder that life isn't about flawless presentations; it's about nourishment, comfort, and the love that goes into every bite. In those moments, I see a parallel to our lives. We are all, in our ways, a bit messy, a bit imperfect—but that very imperfection is what makes us real, relatable, and ultimately, beautiful.
Writing has always been my way of capturing these fleeting moments of clarity. It's where I process the chaos and celebrate the wins, however small they might seem. And as I pour my heart out onto the page, I do so not just for myself but for every soul that feels the weight of a world that often values strength over sensitivity. In our shared vulnerabilities, there is a strength that is unbreakable. A strength that comes from knowing that we are not alone in our struggles or our triumphs.
Looking Forward: The Future We Can Build
As I envision a future where my children grow into adults who are unafraid to love, to be vulnerable, and to embrace their full selves, I am filled with hope. It's a future where the harmful lessons of the past no longer dictate how we relate to one another—a future where emotional intelligence is celebrated, and genuine connection is the norm.
I dream of a world where my Black boys can walk into any room with confidence, knowing that their emotions are a strength, not a liability. I dream of a world where my daughter can stand tall and unapologetic in her femininity, armed with the knowledge that her sensitivity is her superpower. And I dream of relationships that aren't burdened by the ghosts of outdated expectations but are alive with the vibrancy of mutual respect, empathy, and love.
This is the work we must all commit to; breaking the cycle, challenging the narrative, and rewriting the stories that have held us back for far too long. It starts with the quiet moments of introspection, the honest conversations over coffee or pancakes, and the courage to be unapologetically ourselves.
In a world that often teaches us to hide our soft sides, choosing to live authentically is nothing short of revolutionary. I believe in the power of vulnerability, in the strength of empathy, and the beauty of a life lived with intention and love. As a millennial woman, a writer, and a mother, I am committed to passing these values on to the next generation—one word, one moment, one imperfect pancake at a time.
This journey is not without its challenges, but it fills me with hope and determination. I know that by speaking my truth, by embracing both the hard and the tender parts of life, I can help pave the way for a future where emotional maturity isn't a rarity but a common language—a language spoken fluently by those who dare to feel deeply and love unconditionally.
So here's to breaking the cycle. Here's to challenging the notion that softness is weakness. Here's to nurturing our inner lives, fostering genuine connections, and building a world where every person is free to express their true self.
And here's to a future where my children, and all of us, can thrive in a space that honors both our strength and our vulnerability.
In the end, we are all beautifully complex, wonderfully flawed, and infinitely capable of love. Let's continue this journey together, with open hearts, open minds, and a shared commitment to creating a more compassionate, emotionally mature world. One conversation, one written word, and one imperfect, delicious pancake at a time.
Bio
Angel Jae’ is a lifestyle + wellness writer, mama of three, and founder of Nurtured Notes, a soft life space for women rewriting what strength looks like. She believes in slow mornings, deep healing, and being radically well. You can find her journaling with incense, fighting the urge to overthink, and learning to choose herself daily.
Words bloom best with coffee (or tea!). Help me water the garden. [Buy me a cup here.]