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Raising Better Men (By Being One)

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Silhouette of a man looking out towards the sunset

Raising Better Men (By Being One)

There is a particular kind of quiet pressure that follows many men through their days. It is not loud or obvious. It does not shout. It sits beneath the surface, steady and persistent, a low hum that says you should be doing more, earning more, achieving more, proving more. Even when life is good and the people around you are thriving, that hum can keep you wondering whether you are actually living up to the version of manhood you were taught to respect.

It took me a long time to recognise that I had spent much of my adult life measuring myself against a script I never actually agreed to. The traditional masculine blueprint, the one a lot of us absorbed growing up, is simple on the surface. Be strong. Be tough. Be the provider. Do not show weakness. Do not falter. Do not ask for help. Handle your business and take the hits without complaint. If life throws you a punch, smile and throw one back.

I do not fit that template. Not neatly, not cleanly, not at all.

And yet, for most of my life, I tried. I tried to be the kind of man TV shows and movies celebrated, the kind of man who never seems shaken, never feels insecure, never loses a step. The problem was that I am not that man. I never have been.

What I am, though, is someone who cares deeply about doing right by the people I love. Someone who wants to contribute, even if my contributions do not look the way traditional masculinity tells us they should. Someone who wants to leave a legacy of kindness, steadiness, and presence. Someone who wants to raise a generation of better men by becoming a better one myself.

That is where this story begins.

When the Script Stops Fitting

In 2018, I walked away from my full-time IT job to take my training and coaching business full-time instead. On paper, the timing made sense. Our kids were still young enough to want us around, and the entire point of building the business on the side for several years was to eventually step into something more meaningful and self-directed.

But I also made that change with a quiet hope. I wanted to be more present. I wanted to be the dad who walked the kids to school every morning, who picked them up in the afternoons, who showed up for events and projects and homework sessions. After nearly seven years of working full time during the day and building my business in the evenings, I wanted to shift the balance back toward family.

And for several years, that decision felt right.

I loved being the parent who was physically there. I loved being deeply involved in the daily rhythms of their lives. I loved cooking meals, helping with schoolwork, hearing the stories of their day, and simply being present in a way I had not been able to before.

But while my presence at home grew, my income did not. In fact, it contracted significantly.

Meanwhile, my wife, Raina, was building an extraordinary career. She worked relentlessly, earned a Master’s degree in leadership and management, navigated a difficult transition into management in a traditionally male-dominated profession, and became an internationally recognised speaker and instructor. She is brilliant, dedicated, and deeply committed to excellence. I am immensely proud of her.

For a long time, that imbalance did not trouble me as much as you might expect. I felt secure in what I was bringing to the table. I felt like the time I spent with our kids was a meaningful and necessary contribution, one that balanced the financial gap.

But as they grew older and more independent, especially once our youngest got her licence and no longer needed the dad taxi, that balance shifted. Suddenly, they did not need me for the same things, at least not in the daily, tangible way they once had.

At the same time, the business struggles mounted. COVID hit us hard. Uncertainty, closures, and debt piled up. The distance between the income I used to make and the income I make now widened. Before I left my day job, between my salary and the revenue from my part-time business, I was roughly a 50% contributor to our household income.

Today, my wife contributes more than eighty five percent of our household income.

And I contribute less than fifteen.

It calls to mind a line from the most recent season of the Netflix show, “The Diplomat”, in which the husband of the US president describes himself as an “increasingly insignificant househusband married to a supernova.” That line really encapsulates how it feels to be me sometimes, and I am only saying that half jokingly.

I cannot count the number of times I have felt like an anchor tied to the ship rather than one of the sails pushing us forward. That thought alone can mess with your head in ways that are difficult to articulate. You find yourself wrestling with questions you never imagined you would ask. Am I doing enough? Am I contributing enough? Am I holding my family back? Am I the weak link in the chain?

It is not a comfortable place to be. It is not a narrative that looks flattering from the outside. But it is real, and it is one that more men feel than most will ever admit out loud.

The truth is that I do not fit the traditional masculine provider role. I never really have. And for the longest time, I saw that as a flaw. What I have learned over the years, slowly and often painfully, is that it is not a flaw at all. It is simply one piece of a much more complex picture.

The Kind of Man I Actually Am

If you were to judge me by the traditional criteria of masculinity, I would probably rank somewhere in the middle of the draft round. I am not tall. I am not chisel jawed. My physique is more meatball than marble statue. I do not drink beer or scotch. I am not into hockey or football. I do not hunt or fish. If you sat me in a group of men talking about the latest sports stats, I would be lost within thirty seconds.

On the other hand, I am a bookworm. I am a sci-fi geek. I am a writer. I enjoy good wine and even better port. I love cooking, not just grilling. I am happiest in the kitchen or out on a trail. I have chronic gout, inherited cholesterol issues, year round allergies, and arthritic hands that make opening jars feel like a boss fight some days.

I am not the masculine ideal by any conventional measure.

But I am capable. I am hands on. I am a “car guy” who has done a massive amount of work on our vehicles over the years. I have renovated our kitchen from the studs out, and have put my touch on every single room of our home over the twenty one plus years we have lived here. I built our backyard project with my own hands. I fix appliances, patch walls, and know my way around a tool chest.

I am physically strong and broadly able, even if I will never be mistaken for the kind of guy who could land a protein powder sponsorship.

More importantly, I care deeply. I care about my family, my clients, my friends, and my community. I care about doing the right thing even when it is hard. I care about being respected for who I am rather than who I was told I should be.

And that, I think, is a more honest reflection of the kind of man I want to be.

Me and my kids on our Ice Cream Sandwich day in Vancouver :)

Me and my kids on our Ice Cream Sandwich day in Vancouver this past summer

Learning How to Be a Dad When You Never Had That Model

My relationship with my dad was rough growing up. There were good moments, but overall it was difficult and strained. Because of that experience, I never pictured myself as a father. I could not imagine being what I thought a dad was supposed to be. I did not want to repeat what I lived through.

Raina and I were aligned on this early on. Neither of us felt called to parenthood. But life has a way of softening your edges when you least expect it. We spent a lot of time with my nieces and nephew, and gradually, something shifted. We saw that parenting was not some impossible mountain. It was messy, imperfect, and full of joy.

Even so, when we decided to try for kids, I quietly hoped for daughters. I was terrified of raising a son and recreating the same dynamic I had grown up in. I was afraid I would be too hard, too distant, too reactive. I did not trust myself with that kind of responsibility.

And so, for seventeen years, I was a girl dad of two daughters.

Those years shaped me deeply. They made me intentional. They made me aware of how I modelled partnership, respect, boundaries, and emotional availability. I wanted my girls to grow up with a clear example of what a healthy man looks like so they would never settle for someone who treated them poorly.

And then, in their late teens, our eldest told us they identify as masculine.

I suddenly found myself with a son.

Not a young boy I had raised from infancy as a son, but a young adult navigating a path that does not match the stereotypical male experience. With them, I now have the opportunity to have the experience of having a son, but with some unique differences. They are, like me, definitely not the “typical dude.”

While they will not necessarily face some of the internal challenges or societal expectations I have of trying to live up to traditionally male roles, they will face the no less daunting challenge of being accepted for the person they are inside and finding their place in the world where they feel safe and whole. Though I know that it is difficult for them at times, the courage and strength they show every day in being proudly “THEM” is so awesome to me, and I am inspired by their example.

With our youngest, I hope I have shown her what a good partner looks like. She has joked often about the state of certain types of young men today, and she is sharp enough to see the red flags long before they become problems. She will not tolerate disrespect. She will not accept a small life or a small partner. And she has had strong female models in her life, not least of which being her mum.

I am super proud of both of our kids and the people they have become. They are both very independent and capable, fiercely intelligent, and dedicated to the paths they have chosen in life. Between the two of them, I feel hopeful for the future.

A Tale of Two Steves

There is a saying that you become like the people you spend the most time with. If that is true, then I am fortunate, because two of the men I know best are examples of strong, healthy masculinity that rarely gets celebrated enough.

The first Steve is my most frequent running partner, an occasional teammate for Spartan races, and one of the people I talk to most about the real stuff. Outwardly, he looks like a bit of a tough guy. If you passed him on a trail, you might assume he was the kind of man who grew up punching holes in drywall on the weekends. But the truth is the exact opposite. He is one of the kindest people I know. Thoughtful. Patient. Considerate. He is a devoted husband and a proud father, and the way he talks about his family reflects the quiet, steady kind of love that holds a household together.

He is strong, but not in the way the world often defines strength. His strength comes from consistency, integrity, and genuine care for others.

The second Steve is someone I have known for nearly fifteen years. Our eldest and his youngest were in kindergarten together, and our families have been intertwined ever since. He is a former rugby player with the kind of physical presence that can look intimidating if you catch him in a moment of concentration. But as soon as you speak to him, all of that melts away. He is generous, selfless, and deeply devoted to the kids he works with. He is in the trenches every day, shaping young lives with quiet consistency and a remarkable sense of responsibility.

You can see the quality of his character and that of his wife, Tanya, in their children. They are thoughtful, grounded, respectful, and yes, a handful on the rugby pitch.

These two Steves are strong men in the ways that matter. They are capable, reliable, devoted, compassionate, and steady. They do not perform masculinity. They live it.

And they remind me constantly that we need more men like them in the world.

A word cloud in the image of a human brain

The Realisation That Changed Everything

At some point over the last several years, I realised that you do not need to raise a son to raise better men. You simply need to live in a way that models the behaviour you hope the next generation will absorb.

Kids watch everything. They learn from what we do far more than what we say. They pick up on the tone we use with our partners. They notice the way we treat strangers. They pay attention to how we navigate stress, responsibility, and conflict.

If we want boys to grow into healthy men, we need to show them what a healthy man looks like. If we want girls to have high expectations of how they should be treated, we need to show them what respect looks like in a relationship. And if we want people of all genders to grow up free from the rigid boxes that once constrained us, we need to model that freedom ourselves.

Being a father to daughters taught me as much about healthy masculinity as any experience of raising sons could have. Being a father to a son who came out later in life has given me a deeper appreciation for the courage it takes to be yourself in a world that still clings to narrow definitions of manhood.

And being a coach for more than two decades has shown me, again and again, that people flourish when they have strong, grounded, compassionate models in their lives.

We do not become better men by performing strength. We become better men by living in a way that strengthens others.

Why We Need More Men in the Roles That Shape People

This brings me to something that has come up often in the work of Richard Reeves and Scott Galloway. Both have spoken extensively about the HEAL fields, which include health, education, administration, and literacy. These fields shape the next generation more directly than almost any others, yet they are overwhelmingly staffed by women.

There is nothing wrong with that, of course. Women have carried these professions with extraordinary skill and dedication. But the imbalance does matter, and not because men need more space in these roles. It matters because kids of all genders need exposure to healthy male role models in nurturing, supportive, service oriented fields.

Children model what they see. If all the teachers, counsellors, librarians, and care workers they encounter are women, then their picture of what caregiving looks like becomes incomplete. Boys learn that empathy and emotional labour are feminine traits. Girls learn that men are not present in the spaces where nurturing and guidance happen.

This is not a call for men to take anything away from the women who already carry these roles. It is a call for men to join them.

The same applies to mentoring organisations like Big Brothers and Big Sisters (you can check out Big Brothers Big Sisters of the Fraser Valley at https://fraservalley.bigbrothersbigsisters.ca/). These programmes are powerful. They pair young people with adults who can offer guidance, stability, and support. But there is a shortage of male mentors across North America. Boys in particular often wait longer to be matched because there simply are not enough men stepping forward.

Why is the shortage happening? Several reasons.

There is cultural suspicion around men in caregiving or youth facing roles. There is fear of being misunderstood. There is uncertainty about what mentoring involves. There is the belief that someone else is more qualified or more patient. And of course, there is the practical barrier of time.

But then there is a bright spot. A recent evaluation of a BBBS programme found that fifty three point seven percent of mentors were men, a significant jump from the usual numbers. The researchers suggested that the shift to online meetings during COVID reduced both the psychological and logistical barriers for male volunteers. Men felt more comfortable stepping in, more confident in their ability to contribute, and more welcome in the space.

That tells me something important. Men want to help. Men want to contribute. Men want to be part of the story. They just need more pathways, more encouragement, and fewer barriers.

If we want to raise better men, this is part of the work. Show up where it matters. Step into roles that shape young people. Offer your time, your presence, and your steadiness. You do not have to be perfect to make a difference. You only have to be willing.

What I Believe Makes a Man a Good Man

If you strip away all the noise, the stereotypes, the expectations, and the insecurities, what remains is a simple question. What does it mean to be a good man?

Here is what I believe now, after fifty one years of figuring it out.

A good man contributes where he can, in the ways he genuinely can. A good man is kind, inclusive, and supportive. A good man lifts others, not for praise or recognition, but because that is the right thing to do. A good man respects people regardless of gender, identity, faith, politics, ethnicity, geography, or status. A good man listens. A good man learns. A good man admits when he is wrong. A good man stands up when something is unjust or harmful, not because he wants to look tough, but because he will not stay silent in the face of harm.

A good man is not perfect. He does not need to be. He just needs to keep trying, keep growing, and keep showing up for the people who rely on him.

If you asked me what I want my kids to remember about the kind of man their father was, it would not be my income, my physical strength, or my accomplishments. It would be that I tried every day to be kind, honest, supportive, and present. It would be that I worked to lift others, to listen with intention, and to grow even when it was uncomfortable. It would be that I did my best to create a life built on respect, love, and integrity.

And if they turn into adults who do the same, then I will have done my job.

A stone with the words "Be here now" written on it among a field of stones

Being Present Matters More Than Being Perfect

Men spend so much time trying to hit impossible standards that we forget what actually matters. The world does not need perfect men. It needs present ones. Men who are willing to have hard conversations. Men who are willing to feel uncomfortable feelings. Men who are willing to model decency, compassion, and responsibility. Men who understand that masculinity is not a performance, it is a practice.

Movember reminds me of this every year. The statistics around men’s mental health, physical health, and suicide are a call to action. They remind us that the old definitions of masculinity are not serving us. They remind us that silence is harmful. They remind us that connection matters.

Being a better man is not about never struggling. It is about acknowledging when you are struggling and reaching out before the walls close in. It is about giving yourself permission to be human. It is about giving other men permission to be human too.

If you are a father, you have influence. If you are an uncle, a coach, a friend, a leader, a teacher, or a colleague, you have influence. Even if you do not feel like it, someone is learning from you.

The question is what you are teaching.

You do not need to be the strongest man in the room. You do not need to be the richest, the toughest, or the most accomplished. You only need to be someone who shows up with intention, respect, curiosity, and courage.

That is enough.

A Call to the Men Who Want to Make Things Better

If you are reading this, I want to leave you with three things.

Responsibility, because the next generation is watching and learning from you whether you realise it or not. Encouragement, because you are already far more capable of positive influence than you think. And hope, because change is possible at any stage of life, and the world genuinely becomes better when even one man chooses to live differently.

If you want boys to grow into healthier men, start by becoming one. If you want girls to walk confidently into relationships with high expectations, model that standard. If you want communities to become more compassionate, be the man who leads with compassion. If you want workplaces to become more balanced and respectful, be the man who reflects that in how you treat people.

And if you want to see a world where masculinity is not defined by power, dominance, or hierarchy, but by integrity, kindness, and steady contribution, start building it with your own hands.

We do not raise better men by talking about them.

We raise better men by being better men.

One decision at a time. One conversation at a time. One small act of courage at a time.

You do not have to be a supernova.

You just have to shine in the ways that matter.

Scrabble letters that spell FAQ

Frequently Asked Questions

Here are some of the most common questions people ask when it comes to modern masculinity, healthy male role models, and what it really takes to raise better men.

What does “healthy masculinity” look like today?

Healthy masculinity is about being kind, respectful, emotionally available, and responsible, rather than conforming to rigid traditional standards like dominance or stoicism. It focuses on nurturing relationships, practicing integrity, and lifting others up—not just “being tough” or “the provider.” It encourages men to model care, flexibility, and openness for all genders.

How can fathers model healthy behaviours for their children?

Fathers can model healthy masculinity by showing emotional vulnerability, sharing household responsibilities, and treating their partners and children with respect and compassion. Kids learn from what their parents do, so openly discussing feelings, owning mistakes, and supporting others are powerful ways to shape the next generation.

Why are positive male role models important for boys and girls?

Positive male role models help children see that kindness, empathy, and cooperation are male strengths. These models challenge harmful stereotypes and show both boys and girls that men can be nurturing, supportive, and emotionally expressive, helping children of all genders develop balanced expectations of relationships.

How can parents support a son or child who is transgender or gender-diverse?

Support starts by listening without judgement, affirming their identity, and creating a safe, accepting environment at home. It’s important to seek out resources, connect with communities or professionals who understand gender diversity, and reassure your child they are loved just as they are.

What are the mental health challenges men face during fatherhood?

Fatherhood is a major life transition and can bring emotional changes like vulnerability and identity shifts. Men often face pressures to “be strong” and may struggle with anxiety, depression, or feelings of inadequacy. Open conversations, supportive workplaces, and flexible roles can help.  Mental health care should be normalized and accessible for fathers.

How can men balance identity and partnership when their spouse or partner earns more?

Men can thrive in relationships where their partner is the primary earner by valuing their own contributions, whether in caregiving, emotional support, or household management. Healthy masculinity embraces shared responsibility and lets go of outdated “provider” expectations, focusing on partnership, respect, and mutual growth.

How can boys learn to be caring, emotionally expressive adults?

Boys need safe spaces to express their feelings, role models who validate compassion and vulnerability, and families who challenge limiting stereotypes. Introducing boys to nurturing activities, diverse mentors, and open discussion about emotions teaches that being sensitive and supportive is a strength, not a weakness.

Why do we need more men in HEAL (health, education, administration, literacy) professions?

More men in nurturing roles shows kids of all genders that empathy, guidance, and service are for everyone—not just women. It helps boys and girls see balanced teamwork, respectful care, and diverse models of leadership, and benefits communities by bringing different perspectives into crucial professions.

How can men overcome the pressure to “always provide” or “never show weakness”?

Men can redefine success by focusing on presence and steady contribution rather than just financial achievement. Talking openly about struggles, asking for help, and recognizing the value in caregiving all help dismantle harmful myths about masculinity, paving the way for healthier personal and family outcomes.

What should parents do if they never had good male role models themselves?

Parents who lack good role models can break cycles by seeking out mentors, supportive communities, or educational resources. Even imperfect adults can make a difference by showing up, learning new skills, and modelling growth-oriented behaviours, like demonstrating honesty, accountability, and compassion.

Movember Update: Moving for Something Bigger

As part of this year’s Movember campaign, I set out to “Move for Mental Health”, clocking meaningful kilometres to honour the sixty men lost to suicide every hour around the world and to raise funds for men’s health initiatives.

As of today, I have covered just over 258 km in November, and together we have raised $1,035 toward a goal of $2,500.

If this article resonates with you and you would like to support the cause, you can donate here:

Every dollar helps fund research and programmes focused on prostate cancer, testicular cancer, mental health, and suicide prevention. Every conversation, every shared post, and every small act of support helps too.

Thank you for being part of this.