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When we talk about teen boys, we often focus on their behavior. How they act out, how they go quiet, how they bottle things up or explode with little to no warning. But what we don’t always ask is why they’re acting that way … or what they’re trying to say when they do.
If you haven’t seen Netflix’s Adolescence yet, you should clear out a few hours for a binge-watch, especially if you’re the parent of a teen boy (but be warned: it’ll hit a nerve). The miniseries centers around a 13-year-old boy named Jamie, whose digital life takes a dark and dangerous turn. But while the story is framed around online radicalization, it also forces us to confront below-the-surface things we overlook: what happens when boys are taught to hide what they feel, to bury their hurt, and to mistake detachment for strength.
From the earliest moments of the show, it’s clear that Jamie isn’t being deliberately ignored; he’s just flying under the radar. He’s surrounded by classmates, teachers, and a seemingly supportive family. To everyone around him, he appears fine. But no one really thinks to ask how he’s really doing. No one offers him space to be vulnerable. He’s functioning — and because of that, he’s left alone with thoughts and feelings no one ever digs into. Boys, especially ones who seem functional, are expected to be strong, steady, and self-contained, to keep it together. And when they do, no one thinks to look closer. As a mom of four teen boys, I’m often guilty of this myself: not providing the emotional check-ins everybody deserves regardless of gender. As long as they’re acting fine, they are fine … right?
The emotional unraveling that plays out onscreen in Adolescence isn’t just about the dark corners of the internet — it’s about masculinity. It’s about the roles we assign to boys, and how dangerous it can become when those roles don’t allow room for softness, sadness, or uncertainty. It isn’t because we don’t love them or don’t care about their emotional well-being; it’s just that these norms are so deeply ingrained in so many of us. And frankly, it’s easier to pretend everything is OK than to do a painful dive into why it isn’t. Boys’ stoicism about emotion makes it easier to do this.
At SheKnows, our Teen Council — a group of teenagers we regularly consult for real-time insights — reminds us the same thing again and again: Boys have feelings. Deep ones. But most of them don’t feel safe expressing those feelings, especially in spaces where masculinity is tied to toughness, stoicism, or detachment.
“There’s a negative stigma around crying, or being seen as weak,” 17-year-old Ajani told us during an interview for SheKnows’ Be a Man project — a deep dive into what masculinity means to Gen Z boys. When we played a “feminine or masculine” word association game with our panelists, they voted the words “violent,” “strong,” and “toxic” as masculine, while “emotional,” “caring,” and “logical” all rated as feminine. It’s a telling look at how society continues to tell boys that emotions are for girls; even though it’s come a long way, it’s clear that we still have far to go.
This emotional shutoff isn’t just anecdotal — data support it. A study published in BMC Public Health found that conformity to traditional masculine norms like emotional stoicism and self-reliance significantly hinders adolescent boys and young men from seeking help. Self-stigma and a lack of emotionally safe, male-friendly support spaces contribute to a mental health crisis that’s often invisible until it’s too late.
Emotional Isolation Isn’t a Coincidence — It’s a Pattern
What Adolescence captures so hauntingly is the erosion of connection that happens when boys aren’t invited to express themselves. Unfortunately, the belief that boys are just naturally less emotional continues to persist, even though it’s more cultural than biological. A study in the American Journal of Men’s Health found that adherence to traditional masculine norms is correlated with reduced social connectedness and an increased risk of mental health issues in both men and adolescent boys. When boys are taught that needing support is weak or feminine, many of them stop seeking it at all.
Ruth Whippman, author of BoyMom: Reimagining Boyhood in the Age of Impossible Masculinity, spoke to SheKnows about how the patriarchy may appear to benefit boys on the surface, but it ultimately fails them. “We haven’t done a good job of holding boys accountable and expecting the same things that we expect from girls. … So in that way, we indulge boys, but in another way, we’ve neglected them emotionally,” she said. “We don’t tend to their emotional needs in the same way that we tend to girls. There’s all this research that shows that we don’t listen to boys’ feelings in the same way that we listen to girls’ feelings. We don’t engage them in emotional conversations in the same way that we do with girls. Even from earliest babyhood, we handle them in a different way. We jiggle them and wrestle with them and handle them really physically, but we don’t give them the same level of caretaking — that more nurturing touch. So in some ways boys benefit from this system, and we don’t hold them accountable in the same way, but in other ways, they’re really losing out.”
Masculinity Isn’t the Problem — But the Way We Define It Might Be
Scott Galloway, NYU professor, author, and host of the “Prof G” and “Pivot” podcasts, hit the nail on the head during his “Media and ‘Masculine Energy’” discussion with SHE Media CEO Samantha Skey at this year’s SHE Media Co-Lab at SXSW. True masculinity, he said, is the polar opposite of toxic — involving self-sufficiency, a sense of responsibility towards others, and being able to take care of oneself, then extending that care to loved ones. “Think about the most masculine jobs in the world, someone in the military, a cop, or a fire person,” he pointed out. “What are they doing? Their default system is, ‘If there’s a fire on the 17th floor, my job is protection through risking my own life in the service of protecting others.’”
So if masculinity is still being defined by outdated, limiting standards, how do we as parents help our sons build something better?
The answer starts with creating space. That might look like validating feelings when they do come up — without rushing to fix or reframe them. It might mean modeling emotional honesty ourselves and showing our kids that being upset or overwhelmed doesn’t make anyone weak. It’s in how we talk about other men and boys, too — praising emotional intelligence, empathy, and communication just as much as we praise grit and resilience.
These shifts might seem small, but they can make all the difference. Because, despite what we’ve been conditioned to believe, boys are not less emotional — they’re just less allowed to be emotional.
Masculinity doesn’t have to be the problem. In fact, if we redefine it, it can be part of the solution. As Galloway says, strength can include self-awareness. Courage can mean asking for help. Leadership can look like compassion, not control.
That’s why it’s so important that as parents, we stay engaged in these conversations, especially as online influences like the ones alluded to in Adolescence try to fill in the gaps. “If you want your teen boy to have a good conversation about masculinity and what it means to be a man, have it with him yourself rather than allowing somebody else to have it with him online,” Richard Reeves, author of Of Boys and Men: Why the Modern Male Is Struggling, Why It Matters, and What to Do About It, told SheKnows. “And don’t blame him if he’s looking for an answer to the question, ‘How should I be a young man today?’ You want to be in that conversation. You do not want to be subcontracted in that conversation to somebody online.”
Adolescence isn’t just a story about a boy who gets lost online. If there’s one thing the show makes heartbreakingly clear, it’s this: No boy is immune from the weight of invisible expectations — not even the ones from “normal” families who love them deeply. Like yours. Like mine.
If we want to raise boys who are emotionally healthy, we have to let go of the myth that emotions make them weak. And we have to start now — not when something goes wrong, but every single day in the way we listen, speak, and respond.
Not “man up” and not “be a man” — but just … be.