I work in a Division I athletics program, and let me tell you, it’s a whole lot of machismo. Everyone’s tough, and the mantra is all about pushing through problems—be stronger, dig deeper, and just get it done. The student-athletes I work with are between 18 and 22, and while they might be big, strong, or fast, one of the toughest challenges we face with these young men is getting them to acknowledge their feelings. They often struggle with depression, homesickness, and the pressure that comes with balancing college and sports.
In my time in athletics, I’ve heard of a couple of suicide attempts among students, and when I realize my son is just a decade away from being in their shoes, it terrifies me. I want him to understand that it’s perfectly acceptable for a man to show his emotions. It’s okay to cry. It’s alright to feel overwhelmed and seek help rather than trying to muscle through it all.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not the crying type. There have been times when I felt heartbroken and should have shed a tear, but I just couldn’t summon the courage to let it out. It’s as if a heavy wall has been built around my emotions from years of societal expectations. I’m not sure what all this means, but I know it’s not healthy, and I definitely don’t want that for my son.
Of course, I want him to be resilient, and I want my daughters to be strong as well. I want all my kids to be able to assert themselves and ask for what they need. But I also want them to be compassionate and capable of navigating the emotional ups and downs that come with family life.
This is where things get tricky, especially concerning my son. I want him to feel free to express his emotions and not shy away from tears. Yet, as a parent, I know I must lead by example, and honestly, I don’t feel like I’m setting a great one. When my father passed away, I didn’t cry. I didn’t shed a tear during my wedding or when my kids were born. In fact, the only time I’ve cried in the last nine years was when my youngest had a nasty burn and needed to go to the emergency room.
I’m not sure if I can even cry anymore, but that’s something I need to confront. Meanwhile, I’m trying to show my son that crying is okay. He doesn’t cry much these days, and I worry he might start to build those emotional walls like I did.
A few months ago, though, something shifted. After a soccer game—a sport he loves—he came off the field visibly upset. His team had lost, and despite his best efforts as a goalie, he felt like he had let everyone down. His frustration was palpable, and I recognized that internal struggle he was facing—the urge to hold back tears because “boys don’t cry.”
Instead of toughening up like my dad might have advised, I knelt down, wrapped him in a hug, and whispered, “It’s okay to let it out. Don’t fight it. Just let it go.” He nodded, and before I knew it, he buried his face in my shoulder and cried.
I want to help my son navigate his feelings, and I hope he grows up knowing that vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness. For more insights on parenting and emotional wellbeing, you might want to check out this piece on Home Insemination Kit. And if you’re interested in understanding more about fertility and emotional health, this resource is a great place to start. Lastly, if you’re looking for information on pregnancy and home insemination, Women’s Health is an excellent resource.
In summary, as a father, I strive to create an environment where my son and daughters can express their feelings without fear, breaking the cycle of emotional suppression that many men face. I want them to understand that it’s not just okay to feel—it’s essential.