A few years ago, I gave what I thought was the perfect commencement speech at a women’s college. It was my feminist manifesto. The ultimate mic drop after years of fighting for gender equality as founder and CEO of Girls Who Code. I walked off the stage feeling electric.
My two little boys ran up to me, gave me a hug, and then, my oldest son Shaan pulled me aside.
He asked, “Mommy, why do you always talk about girls? How come you never talk about boys?”
At the time, I totally dismissed him. I thought, He’s little. He doesn’t get it.
But now, as diversity pipeline programs like the one I’ve spent my career building are systematically dismantled and women’s fundamental rights are rolled back to chants of “your body, my choice,” all by and in the name of men, I see that I was the one who didn’t get it.
I spent years teaching girls to be brave, not perfect. But I barely considered how we need to teach boys to be soft, not just stoic. To connect, not control. To imagine a version of manhood where strength requires empathy, vulnerability, and care.
While we were pushing our girls forward, we were leaving our boys behind. And now, they’re struggling.
Boys and men are less likely to turn to their communities for social connection and support. Less likely to go to college. More likely to die by suicide or overdose. Too often, instead of being met with care, they’ve been manipulated and handed division. Not just by podcast bros, but by a government that’s actively stoking the divide for their own political gain.
The biggest problem we face right now isn’t just climate, healthcare, or AI ethics—it’s disconnection. Disconnection across gender, race, class, even reality itself. And that disconnection is blocking progress on every issue we care about.
We’ve all been sold a con: that progress is a zero-sum game. That when women rise, men must fall. That when someone new gets a seat at the table, yours disappears. And we’re so intentionally divided we can’t see we’re all losing in this game.
Disconnection isn’t just a consequence, it may also be the goal. Because powerful men from Silicon Valley to Pennsylvania Avenue know that if we don’t see each other, we won’t stand up for each other. If we’re too busy blaming each other, we’ll never imagine what we could build together.
And while we’ve been distracted, our boys have been searching for connection and finding it in the worst places. Small men with loud voices who hold court over internet echo chambers, like Andrew Tate, offer them simplistic answers for all of their complicated fears and insecurities. Man up. Toughen up. Win at all costs. And those answers are harming boys and men. We failed to offer them belonging, so they’re grappling for control.
The question we’ve avoided for too long is: What conversations should we be having with our boys?
The issue at hand won’t be solved with better messaging, another podcast, or a new influencer to follow. We are not going to out-algorithm the “manosphere.” We need a deeper response. A braver one.
Yes, we need structural change. We need schools that teach emotional literacy alongside academics. We need public investment in youth mental health. We need a “Men Who Nurse” and a “Guys Who Teach,” pipeline programs that can offer boys real pathways forward in fields that desperately need them. And we need to build social media platforms and governmental policies that aren’t driven by isolation and outrage.
But most of all, we need connection. Especially at home. Because no policy can replace what happens across a dinner table or on the walk home from school. We need to start asking our boys better questions. How are you feeling? What’s been hard for you? Who do you trust? What scares you?
And when they struggle to answer, we can’t shut down. We need to help boys and men build the language necessary for them to live full, happy lives. We need to show them that we, too, can change and grow. That means moms showing that care and empathy are signs of courage. And it means dads, especially, stepping in with presence and vulnerability to say, “I love you. I’m proud of you. I cry too.”
And we need to tell our boys that the loudest voices with the simplest answers are often the most dangerous. Instead, real power listens, real might is judicious, and real leadership invites doubt. Often, real bravery sounds like, “I don’t know, but let’s figure it out together.”
The story we’ve told our boys—that power is a pie, and we have to fight for slices—is a lie that has broken their ability to connect with others and with themselves.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t about ignoring girls, or pretending their fight is finished. It’s about building a future big enough for both to thrive because opportunity is not zero-sum, progress is not zero-sum, and empathy is not zero-sum.
Boys today don’t need perfect parents, perfect systems, or perfect answers. They just need people willing to listen to them and who choose to care about them, even when it’s complicated.
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