The Undeniably Good: It’s Time to Reclaim Healthy Masculinity

Why We Need It Now More Than Ever

As a man and a father of five boys who grew up in a predominantly male household and have spent much of my working life in male-dominated spaces, I find myself perplexed by what the modern man on the street thinks it means to be “masculine.”

When I was growing up, the power in our home was unmistakably matriarchal. My mother called the shots; my grandmothers did much the same in their houses. There was no talk of “toxic masculinity” or “patriarchy”; those words hadn’t entered our vocabulary, and for a simple reason: everyone knew who was in charge. The women kept the wheels turning, made the decisions, and defined the terms of our daily lives. The men? They played their roles without complaint—providing, sacrificing, enduring, quietly honouring their responsibilities in the grand, messy play we call life.

Let’s cut the crap. “Masculinity” is a loaded word these days, a cultural landmine nobody wants to step on. It’s gotten knotted up in toxicity, outdated stereotypes, and all the messy human traits we’d rather sweep under the rug. But ignoring it? Dismissing it outright? That’s not progress, it’s cowardice. It’s the easy way out. I see it in young and old men alike, hunched in the shadows, swapping virtue signals about the latest lapel pin controversy, always eager to confess their own supposed blame. It’s a kind of performative shame, a way to opt out instead of stepping up.

Beneath all that noise and cowardice, there’s a deep thread tying generations together — a set of virtues we’d be mad to lose. Healthy masculinity isn’t a spotless, perfect ideal; it’s messy, flawed, human. But it’s a quiet power, an elemental force that holds men, families, and communities together when everything else starts to tremble. It’s not about domination; it’s about service. It’s not about ego; it’s about responsibility. It’s the ability to carry weight without making it all about you.

Look to the samurai, Bushido, “the way of the warrior.” It’s not about domination or macho posturing. It’s about discipline, loyalty, honouring something greater than yourself, putting service above ego. In a world obsessed with shortcuts, instant payoffs, and the path of least resistance, choosing Bushido is a radical act, a gutsier, quieter form of rebellion. It’s choosing the hard road when everyone else cuts and runs.

Healthy masculinity is that silent force. The man who stays when it would be easier to quit. The friend who answers the phone at 3 a.m. without needing a backstory. The father who shoulders a heavy load without a chorus cheering him on. It’s discipline without domination; service without submission. It’s the Bushido ideal lived quietly, rectitude, courage, compassion, loyalty, without the need for a spotlight or a pat on the back.

Picture the Crusaders, marching forward into the unknown, fully aware they might not return. They weren’t driven by ego or a lust for glory, but by something greater than themselves. They carried a weight heavier than their armour, the weight of purpose and honour, and walked into danger with their heads held high. That’s the kind of courage healthy masculinity demands. It’s not glamorous. It’s a long, dark road, taken without promises, without accolades, just a deep, unyielding sense of duty.

True strength isn’t aggression — it’s resiliency. It’s taking a beating, hitting the ground, and then clawing your way back up without a chorus of excuses. It’s moral muscle — the ability to shoulder responsibility without making it all about you. It’s what holds a family together when tragedy drops like a hammer, and what lets a community stay on its feet when the world is falling apart. It’s messy, it’s hard, it’s flawed — but it’s indispensable. Without it, we become weak, directionless, stranded in a world that’s forgotten what it means to be brave.

Healthy masculinity means owning your choices, honouring your commitments, and refusing to cut and run when it gets tough. It means standing up and saying, “This is mine to carry”—and then actually carrying it. In a culture obsessed with outsourcing blame and avoiding discomfort, that kind of discipline isn’t toxic; it’s warrior-like.

It’s the builder, the problem-solver, the man who converts chaos into something purposeful. It’s service made manifest, adding something to the human story instead of just consuming it.

So when we dismiss all this as “toxic,” we’re not tearing down a monster — we’re tearing down a foundation. We undermine a fundamental human need: stability, service, discipline, renewal. We leave young men stranded, ashamed of their own nature, unsure of their roles in the world. And a society without strong, purposeful men? That’s a society that trembles when the pressure comes — a society without a spine.

Healthy masculinity isn’t a relic to burn; it’s a legacy to reclaim. It’s time to cut through the slogans and face this honestly. Being a healthy man isn’t about conquering the world — it’s about caretaking it. Carrying burdens without ego. Finding power in service, not domination. Being the steady hand when everything else slips into chaos.

Because when the power cuts out, the internet drops, and the world finds itself stranded in literal and figurative darkness, it’s not the Instagram heroes who keep it together. It’s the ones who show up, shoulder heavy loads, and illuminate the path forward. The ones who live Bushido without needing to name it. The Crusaders who march into the unknown not for glory, but for something greater than themselves.

Healthy masculinity is the last line of defence against chaos. It’s a thread tying past, present, and future, a legacy we ignore at our peril. So when we ask what kind of men we want in the world to come, the answer isn’t a return to a past we barely understood. It’s a renewal — a deepening — a recommitment. Because service, discipline, and sacrifice aren’t weakness; they’re the hidden architecture that holds up everything we care about. Without it, we all tremble in the dark. With it, we find a way forward.