The fatal shooting by an ICE agent of a woman in Minneapolis sparked many conversations over the weekend. One of them at my kitchen table with my son.
He was incensed. Not just by the violence itself, but by how easily one man appeared to appoint himself judge, jury, and executioner. No visible pause. No visible remorse. Just a life taken, and three children left behind, one of them a six-year-old, now an orphan.
For my son, this wasn’t abstract. Having lost his own father at the age of twelve, he knows first-hand the quiet, lifelong impact of a child losing a parent. The absence doesn’t shout for all to hear and be aware of, it lingers in those quiet moments, in the milestones missed, he conversations not held and the questions unanswered. The emotional weight that doesn’t disappear just because time passes.
That conversation inevitably led us to the wider topic of masculinity, and I was intrigued to hear his take on it as something learned, absorbed, and expressed.
When Masculinity Becomes a Battleground
Shortly afterwards, I saw an Instagram reel circulating widely about the responsibility of mothers in shaping how boys grow up viewing men and masculinity. The message, distilled into two minutes, was essentially this: when mothers consistently speak about men as a problem, boys internalise that masculinity itself is flawed, rather than learning how to become good men.
I’ll be honest. My first reaction was defensive.
Here we go again: another way to make it the mother’s fault.
And that reaction matters.
Because many women don’t respond defensively to these conversations, they internalise it: with self-questioning and self-doubt.
With a familiar sense of “Why is it my fault? Am I failing again?”
To be fair, the creator’s wider body of work includes broader, more balanced perspectives. But this is the reel that went viral. One slice of a much bigger conversation stripped of nuance, consumed quickly, and emotionally charged.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: what he said isn’t wrong, it’s just not complete.
How boys learn about masculinity is influenced by mothers, but also by fathers, teachers, peers, media, workplaces, politics, trauma and culture such as gaming and dating apps. It’s learnt by what is rewarded or punished emotionally.
It’s shaped by what men are allowed to feel.
By whether vulnerability is met with safety or ridicule.
By whether strength is defined as self-control or dominance.
Reducing masculinity to a single influence, positive or negative, doesn’t just oversimplify the issue. It prevents us from doing the real work or being open minded, taking responsibility within our place in society and not creating a blame and shame environment.
Masculinity at work
These beliefs don’t stay at home. They walk straight into the workplace.
In male-dominated industries especially, unexamined norms can intensify. When men operate in a majority, behaviours aren’t always questioned; they’re normalised. Dominance can masquerade as confidence. Silence can be mistaken for disengagement. Leadership can become something to prove rather than something to practice. Insidious bias becomes exaggerated when men operate in a pack. Not always through aggression, but through subtle dominance: who speaks first, who interrupts, whose confidence is mistaken for competence, and whose leadership is unconsciously questioned.
These beliefs appear in men who feel silenced, defensive, or unsure how to engage without being misunderstood. And in women who feel dismissed, over-explaining, or emotionally exhausted from navigating unspoken power dynamics.
Many men have never been supported to feel safe in their masculinity when they are not the most powerful voice in the room, particularly when the leader is a woman. Without that safety, masculinity can tip into two extremes: domination or withdrawal and neither drives performance.
Teams don’t perform well when men feel they must assert control. Nor when they disengage to protect their identity. Decision making suffers, innovation drops, trust erodes and talent leaves.
Most workplaces aren’t struggling because people are malicious.
They’re struggling because people are unpractised in honest, human dialogue or time for conversations isn’t prioritised.
Companies measure performance.
They measure productivity.
But they rarely have introduced emotional health.
In an organisation I worked with, performance pressure was building. Targets were slipping, tension was rising, and attention had quietly settled on one individual, referred to, almost casually, as “the sloth”.
He wasn’t disengaged or disruptive. He simply wasn’t keeping pace, and everyone knew it.
The added complexity was that the team leader was a woman. She was balancing both nurturing instincts and performance pressures and found herself in a tough spot. She would work supporting the slowest hiker, to encourage him, but every time she turned her back, he’d slip back to square one. Meanwhile, her higher-ups, with their more traditionally masculine expectations, were judging her ability to ‘fix’ the issue.
When masculinity feels under threat, pressure rarely improves performance, but safety often does.
What might change if coaching wasn’t seen as a corrective tool, but as a performance strategy for mature, modern leadership?
Introducing coaching into the workplace isn’t about correcting behaviour; it’s about creating space: space to pause, reflect, and grow before fear turns into reaction. Because meaningful change doesn’t happen in headlines or debates. It happens when ordinary people choose to show up differently, in the roles they already hold.
If this article has stirred something don’t ignore it. Reflection is often the first signal that something is ready to shift. If you’re curious about how these dynamics show up in your workplace, your leadership, or the culture you’re part of, I’d love to explore that with you. Coaching creates space for these conversations to happen safely, honestly, and productively. You’re welcome to get in touch, not because anything is “wrong,” but to create an environment where people feel heard and valued.