Why Toxic Masculinity Is Killing Men—and How to Fix It

Sep 16, 2024

Here’s something you already probably know about our society: we get masculinity wrong a lot. In fact, the problem is so bad we have a term for it, “toxic masculinity,” which is so descriptive that even if you’ve never heard it before you can probably think of a few examples just based on the name alone. 

Men in the news like Elon Musk, J.D. Vance, and Harrison Butker stir controversy by making assertions about gender roles in society that rewind the clock on women’s rights: both over their own bodies and their own destinies. Members of the church cause scandal by welcoming with open arms male celebrities who have been accused of sexual assault such as Shia Lebouf and Russell Brand. Meanwhile, when Gus Walz (son of Tim Walz, democratic nominee for Vice President) cried tears of pride and shouted “that’s my dad!” at the convention, he was mocked and ridiculed by political pundits.

As a white transgender man, there have definitely been times where I have wondered if I truly even want this inheritance of manliness. If all that’s for sale is violence, dominance, aggression, mockery, and cruelty, I’m not interested. 

My doubt and self-questioning (totally normal parts of the discernment process by the way), are precisely what some people latch on to immediately when trying to tear down or deny my transgender identity. They tell me that “real” men don’t question masculinity this way. They tell me I’ll never be a man. And of course, there’s the tired idea that “real” men don’t cry. Yet it is precisely the spiritual dimension of my transgender identity that allows me to profoundly experience and understand masculinity.  

Transition is fundamentally a spiritual journey. For transgender people, questions about who we are that we contemplate in the mind actually originate in and lead us back to the body: we possess the spiritual gift of embodiment, which allows us to uniquely connect to core themes in the faith such as the incarnation and resurrection (which I have written about before in the National Catholic Reporter here). It is in and through the body that we experience our gender identity, on a level far deeper than hair length or clothing preference. 

Undergoing this journey is very demanding with support—and often extraordinarily dangerous without. Exploring the deepest mysteries of human embodiment does not lend itself to trying to live out the typical societal script; trans people have something in common with mystics, hermits, and seekers who physically traveled away from their familiar lives to new, private, holy places in search of the divine. 

When I started down the path of transition, I was desperate for a change. The social script I’d faithfully tried to follow was making me increasingly miserable the more I tried to follow it. When I brought up my concerns with friends and mentors in the conservative Catholic world I operated in, it was implied that I still wasn’t doing it right. I followed every rule and yet the promised grace and blessings were not flowing. If anything, all my striving accomplished was the creation of a perfect costume that never truly represented me. And no wonder—I wasn’t being the person God made me to be. 

So as I started down the path of transition, I also decided to wipe the masculinity slate clean. To clear away the stereotypes, the negativity, and poor role models. And I started to discover that the answer to what makes a good man is the same kind of knowing that originates deep inside, just like with transition. 

I discovered that it was when I am most in touch with my strongest convictions and values that my masculinity flows through me: when I stand up for what I believe in, when I use my voice to speak up on behalf of someone who needs help, when I notice another’s suffering and act to support them. And yes, I am deeply connected to my masculinity even when I cry. Masculinity is not confined to a simplistic fairy tale performance, complete with the white knight flourishing his blade over the dragon. No, masculinity is about the actions I take to make it a better world for all of us. It is about feeling my emotions and being able to express them, too. 

It’s easy to see that the world needs more men like this. We can’t solve the problems we’re facing as a community if we’re only acting in our own best interest. Our Catholic faith contains the fundamental story of a man who cared deeply about others. This is a powerful example we can all follow, no matter our gender identity. 

If we truly want to model divine love, we must not cling to visions of dominance and violence. Instead of seeking to coerce and control others, we must respect their autonomy the way God does. We must denounce hatred and war in every form they take. And we must make sure that men know that their tears can be a form of strength. For it is in allowing the full expression of masculine joy, sorrow, and every other emotion that’s been forbidden that we achieve the true and beautiful freedom of living out our deepest vocation to love.