Opinion How to raise a boy | I see my sons’ gentleness as essential rebellion against the ‘manosphere’

Looking back, I see that those three boys were the greatest gift life could have handed me. Raising them — with all the chaos, laughter, and love that comes with boyhood — has been the most profound, enriching and joyful experience of my life.

I live in London, where all three were born and brought up. From the very beginning, I made a promise to myself: I would not raise them in stereotypical ways. It wasn’t a grand feminist statement — more an instinctive sense that boys, too, deserve the full range of colour, feeling, and freedom that girlhood allows. I wanted them to grow into men who could feel deeply, express themselves honestly, and treat others — especially women — with empathy and respect.

In today’s climate — with the rise of the so-called “manosphere”, the influence of figures like Andrew Tate, and so many adolescent boys being drawn toward warped versions of masculinity — I feel even more certain that how we raise our sons matters profoundly. Boys are looking for identity, guidance, and belonging, and if they don’t find empathy and balance at home, the internet will offer them anger and dominance instead. Parenting boys with emotional openness isn’t just personal anymore; it’s cultural resistance.

When my eldest was learning his colours, his favourite was a bright, unapologetic cerise pink. In the early 1990s, that wasn’t exactly easy to accommodate. Shops were filled with blue and grey for boys, pink and lilac for girls. Finding pink clothes for a little boy was nearly impossible.

But one day, I found a pair of cheerful pink woollen gloves in the girls section of Woolworths, and his face lit up when he saw them. He wore them everywhere — to the park, to school, even to bed sometimes. They were his favourite thing for several winters, until one afternoon he came home quieter than usual. Some boys at school had teased him. “Mum,” he said softly, “I don’t think I want to wear the pink gloves anymore”.

That moment stayed with me. I still have those gloves tucked away, a reminder of how early the world starts telling children who they should be — and how fragile individuality can feel in the face of mockery. It also reminded me that even when we raise our children with open hearts, the wider world still has lessons of its own. Perhaps the best we can do is make home the place where they feel safe enough to come back, to regroup, and to remember who they are.

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned in raising boys is that they need permission — and language — to express their emotions. From the time my sons were little, I made sure feelings were part of everyday conversation. “How do you feel?” wasn’t a question reserved for moments of crisis; it was something we talked about as naturally as what we were having for dinner.

I refused to let phrases like “boys don’t cry” find a place in our home. Tears were allowed. Vulnerability was allowed. We talked about anger, fear, sadness, and frustration — not as weaknesses, but as parts of being human. I wanted them to see that strength and sensitivity are not opposites. In fact, the ability to be kind, empathetic, and emotionally aware is one of the greatest forms of strength.

Now that they’re adults, I see how that openness has shaped them. They’re thoughtful, gentle men who can listen without needing to fix everything, who can admit when they’re struggling, and who don’t hide behind silence. In a world that still too often tells men to “man up,” I’m proud they’ve learned instead to open up.

When it came to friendships and relationships, I always encouraged inclusion. Their birthday parties were never “boys only”. They grew up seeing girls not as “other” but as friends, teammates, and equals.

When they were around 11 or 12, we talked about what it means to care for someone, to be trusted, to communicate honestly. These were awkward conversations at first — as they often are between parents and children — but I wanted them to have space to explore those questions safely, without shame or judgment.

When they reached their teenage years, I had early, honest conversations with them about love and sexuality. I didn’t want them to think that heterosexuality was the only “right” way to be. I told them that love can take many forms — what matters is respect and kindness.

I truly believe that if we want boys to grow into men who are compassionate partners, fathers, and friends, those conversations need to start early — long before society teaches them otherwise.

I also wanted my boys to know that their interests didn’t need to fit into anyone’s definition of “what boys do”. Each of them learned the piano, football, and tennis. Two became talented musicians. None became star athletes — and that was perfectly fine.

They also loved drawing, and our kitchen table was often buried under sketchbooks, crayons, and coloured pens. I never told them that drawing was a “girl’s pastime”. Creativity, after all, belongs to everyone. All three are very creative men.

Parenting, I’ve learned, is less about steering and more about noticing — paying attention to what lights your child up, and then making space for it. When you let boys choose for themselves, they discover who they really are — and that discovery, in turn, teaches them empathy, patience, and pride in individuality.

Today, they are men who listen, who care deeply, who share the emotional load of relationships rather than leaving it to others. They treat their partners with tenderness and their friends with loyalty.

A few years ago, I was badly injured in a car accident. One of my sons moved back home to care for me. He bathed me, cooked for me, and helped me through the long process of recovery. So many people used to say: “A son is a son till he takes a wife; a daughter is a daughter all her life.”

But my son’s care, patience, and devotion showed me that love and compassion are not defined by gender. They are defined by the values we teach and the bonds we build.

Raising boys has been a journey filled with unexpected lessons. It has taught me that love can be both firm and gentle, that strength has many faces, and that there’s immense power in simply letting your children be themselves.

Especially now — when online influencers preach that power matters more than kindness, and boys are being told that empathy makes them weak — I see my sons’ gentleness as essential rebellion. The world needs more of that.

I may never have had the daughter I once imagined, but in raising three sons, I’ve learned everything I ever hoped to teach a child — compassion, courage, kindness, and self-knowledge. Those pink gloves — now tucked in a drawer — remind me of where it all began: A little boy who loved colour, and a mother determined to let him.

Raising boys has been my greatest achievement, my deepest education, and my greatest joy. They have taught me to listen more, judge less, and see how much beauty there is in sensitivity. They have taught me about empathy and humanity. My three sons have shown me every side of love — and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

The writer is a coach, organisational behaviour adviser, TEDx speaker and is a host of the global podcast Stories Seldom Told