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Recently, I shared a video calling out “toxic masculinity.”

And then, someone called me out. In fact, quite a few did.

It wasn’t easy to digest. I could’ve rejected their truths or become defensive. But when I sat with the words toxic masculinity, I realised:

They were right.

The phrase toxic masculinity has become such a buzzword that it rolled off my tongue easily in that moment. But when I truly sat with it, I saw how harmful and shaming it can feel—especially for men just beginning to explore their inner world.

While the impact of these conditioned behaviours are deeply harmful, calling masculinity “toxic” implies that masculinity itself isn’t divine or necessary. It suggests, to some, that there’s something fundamentally wrong with being masculine.

Masculinity is sacred. It’s needed. It’s interwoven into the fabric of life, just as feminine energy is.

The issue isn’t masculinity itself—it’s the conditioning we’ve inherited. Patterns and behaviours that have been passed down for generations.

And this language matters.

Shame does not heal. It shuts down. It divides. It deepens wounds instead of inviting connection.

So how did we get here?

I’m no historian, but it doesn’t take too much digging to understand how society has evolved to be as it currently is:

Ancient times:
Men and women lived in egalitarian tribes. Roles were based on survival, not hierarchy. Expression and emotion in men were not only accepted but honored.

Rise of empires and war:
Men became soldiers. Masculinity became tied to conquest and domination. Vulnerability was seen as weakness—dangerous, even.

Industrial era:
Men were pulled from land and lineage, forced into factories. Worth became tied to productivity, not presence.

Post-war generations:
Many fathers came home emotionally shut down. Their sons learned to “man up,” to become the rock, the provider, the winner—never to feel.

And this isn’t just about men; it’s a collective struggle.

Women, too, were conditioned.

Prehistoric cultures:
Women were revered. Cycles and intuition were sacred.

Patriarchy’s rise:
Women were reduced to property or saints. Intuition became dangerous. Thousands were murdered during the witch hunts simply for being connected to their power.

Victorian era and media boom:
Women were taught to be small, pleasing, ornamental. Expression was labeled hysteria.

Three generations ago, many of our grandmothers survived through obedience, not freedom. Two generations ago, women joined the workforce—but often had to abandon their softness to be taken seriously. One generation ago, we were told to be “independent” but rewarded for being pleasing.

When I said “toxic masculinity,” as many others do, I meant these deeply ingrained, collective patterns. But I see now that term alienates and shames.

The truth is: we were conditioned.

None of us were born this way.

We were born into it. We were trained.

Imagine driving with an oil leak. You keep moving forward, but your leak is causing crashes behind you, harming the environment, and leaving a trail of destruction.

You could deny it. Or, you could stop, look under the hood, and start to repair it.

“Toxic masculinity” doesn’t invite men to stop and look under the hood. It scares them away from even checking.

These patterns are not personal—they are generational. But if we don’t bring them to light, we keep passing them on in our parenting, our dating, our workplaces, our friendships.

Masculine energy isn’t toxic. Feminine energy isn’t weak. When either becomes disconnected from truth, they become distorted.

But here’s the miracle:

We are the first generation with the tools to heal this.

To reparent the masculine—not shame him. To reclaim the feminine—not perform her.

The conscious masculine is not afraid to feel. The liberated feminine is not afraid to take up space.

When these meet—in any body, in any relationship—that is sacred union. That is wholeness.

We first begin in the body.

With the nervous system.

With meeting our fear of intimacy, rejection, and being fully seen—with compassion. With accountability and owning our impact.

Men, I honor you. You were never taught how to feel—and yet you are trying. That is divine. Women, I see you. You were told your softness made you weak—and yet you rise with tenderness. That is power.

We are not broken. We were born into a broken system. But we hold the power to unlearn. Not by becoming someone else, but by remembering who we were before the world told us to be anything else.

This isn’t about men versus women.

It’s about integration.

It’s about balance.

It’s about healing the world through healing ourselves.

The future isn’t feminine. The future isn’t masculine.

The future is integrated. And it begins with us.

Will you be adapting your language with me?

If this resonates, share it. Start the conversation.

Let’s learn to repair, together.

~