Click here to listen to Episode 175 of the Minutes on Growth Podcast on Apple Podcast, on Spotify or to watch it on Youtube.
Hi soul friends, this is Tannaz Hosseinpour, and welcome back to another short solo episode of the Minutes on Growth podcast.
I want to talk about men today.
And before we go anywhere with this conversation, I want to start here:
There are incredible men in this world.
Men who are present. Men who are kind. Men who are caring. Men who are phenomenal husbands, incredible fathers, loving sons, supportive brothers, loyal friends, and contributing members of their communities.
I know these men. I see these men. I’m living with one. And I hear about these men in my work.
And acknowledging that doesn’t mean we can’t simultaneously acknowledge another reality.
There are also abusive men.
There are neglectful husbands.
There are absent fathers.
There are men who refuse to take accountability, who don’t know how to regulate their anger, who consistently offer the bare minimum in their relationships and expect their partners to carry the rest.
Both realities can exist at the same time.
And I think we need to be able to have nuanced conversations about that without immediately falling into either men are terrible or not all men.
Of course not all men.
But enough women are experiencing these dynamics that they’re worth talking about.
And today, I don’t really want to talk about what women can do to make men change.
Because we can’t control another human being.
I want to talk about what we participate in.
We Are Not Their Therapists
Women, particularly women who are naturally nurturing, can sometimes slip into a role in their relationships that was never supposed to belong to them.
Therapist.
Mother.
Emotional regulator.
Life coach.
Manager.
Fixer.
We start reminding.
Teaching.
Explaining.
Regulating.
Making appointments.
Giving the same relationship lesson for the eighteenth time.
Trying to find exactly the right words that will finally make someone understand why their behaviour is hurting us.
And somewhere along the way, we’ve stopped being their partner.
I want to be really clear here.
Supporting your partner is part of a healthy relationship.
There will be seasons where your partner carries you more.
There will be seasons where you carry them more.
That’s partnership.
But supporting someone is different from assuming responsibility for their development.
Your partner’s emotional regulation is ultimately their responsibility.
Their healing is their responsibility.
Their relationship with their children is their responsibility.
Their willingness to communicate is their responsibility.
Their ambition is their responsibility.
Their integrity is their responsibility.
You can encourage.
You can support.
You can communicate.
But you cannot do someone’s internal work for them.
And this brings me to something I think we desperately need to normalize:
Stop glorifying breadcrumbs.
If someone remembers your birthday, that’s lovely.
If a father takes care of his children, that’s important.
If your partner listens when you’re struggling, wonderful.
If someone cleans the house they also live in, great.
Appreciate those things.
Express gratitude for those things.
But we have to be careful about turning basic relational responsibility into extraordinary heroism.
Because when we repeatedly celebrate the bare minimum as exceptional, we can inadvertently lower the standard for what partnership actually looks like.
And when we entertain the bare minimum over and over again, we’re communicating something too.
We’re saying:
This is enough for me to stay.
Raise the Expectation Because You Believe They’re Capable
I think about eldest daughters here.
So many eldest daughters grow up hearing:
“You have so much potential.”
“You can do so much.”
“You’re capable of more.”
“Keep going.”
“Be responsible.”
“Be successful.”
Now, there’s another entire podcast episode we could have about the enormous pressure that can place on girls and women.
Because sometimes that message becomes:
I always have to perform.
I can’t rest.
I can’t fail.
And that’s not what I’m advocating for.
I’m not asking us to replace unhealthy expectations placed on women with unhealthy expectations placed on men.
I’m asking:
What would happen if we believed in men’s capacity for growth just as deeply?
Not from:
“You’re inadequate.”
But from:
“I believe you’re capable.”
I expect men to be capable of learning emotional regulation.
I expect men to be capable of apologizing.
I expect men to be capable of nurturing their children.
I expect men to be capable of having difficult conversations.
I expect men to want to become better husbands, fathers, friends, brothers, sons, leaders, and human beings.
Not because women deserve perfect men.
Perfect men don’t exist.
Perfect women don’t exist.
But because men deserve access to their own potential too.
Having standards for someone isn’t necessarily an insult.
Sometimes it’s an acknowledgment of their capacity.
And here’s where this becomes uncomfortable for some of us.
If we want someone else to step up…
sometimes we have to stop stepping in.
We have to notice the part of ourselves that immediately says:
“I’ll fix it.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“I’ll remind him.”
“I’ll make it easier.”
“I’ll compensate.”
“I’ll explain it one more time.”
Because sometimes we become so uncomfortable watching another person struggle that we rescue them before they ever have the opportunity to develop the capacity to handle it themselves.
And this is where I would bring in parts work.
Get curious.
What part of me needs to fix this?
What does that part fear would happen if I didn’t?
Does it believe the relationship would fall apart?
Does it believe I won’t be loved?
Does it believe everything will descend into chaos unless I’m managing it?
Does being needed make me feel secure?
Was I rewarded for being responsible growing up?
Did I learn that love meant taking care of everyone?
That’s our work.
Because otherwise, we can call something “support” when underneath it is actually anxiety, overfunctioning, people pleasing, or fear.
There’s a concept in Kabbalah that I love: earning the light.
And one way I think about that in relationships is that we shouldn’t expect intimacy, trust, connection, partnership, and a beautiful relationship to simply appear without participation.
Both people have to participate.
Both people have to invest.
Both people have to stretch.
Both people have to take responsibility for what they bring into the relationship.
You earn the light of the relationship together.
And that doesn’t mean keeping score.
It doesn’t mean:
“I did the dishes three times, you did them twice.”
It doesn’t mean relationships are 50/50 every single day.
Sometimes they’re 80/20.
Sometimes they’re 30/70.
Life happens.
Someone gets sick.
Someone loses a parent.
Someone loses their job.
Someone goes through depression or grief or an incredibly difficult season.
There will be times when one person has more to give.
The question isn’t whether the relationship is perfectly equal every day.
The question is:
Are both people committed to showing up?
And I want to talk about something else.
Sometimes being destructive is easier.
It’s easier to scream than regulate.
It’s easier to lash out than communicate what’s underneath the anger.
It’s easier to disappear than tolerate the discomfort of vulnerability.
It’s easier to blame than take accountability.
It’s easier to stay exactly who we’ve always been than confront the parts of ourselves that are hurting the people we love.
Growth is uncomfortable.
Learning emotional regulation is uncomfortable.
Learning to communicate when nobody taught you how is uncomfortable.
Apologizing when your ego wants to defend itself is uncomfortable.
Going to therapy can be uncomfortable.
Breaking generational patterns is uncomfortable.
Being vulnerable when you’ve spent your entire life protecting yourself is uncomfortable.
But discomfort isn’t always a sign that something is wrong.
Sometimes discomfort is the doorway to development.
And this applies to all of us.
Men and women.
Because if I’m asking someone else to confront their patterns, I need to be willing to confront mine.
If I’m asking someone else to regulate their anger, I need to examine how I regulate mine.
If I’m asking someone else to grow, I have to remain committed to my own growth too.
And actually, there’s a fictional character who kept coming to mind while I was thinking about this episode:
Ted Lasso.
If you’ve watched the show, you know Ted isn’t portrayed as some perfect, endlessly emotionally regulated man.
He’s hurting.
He experiences anxiety and panic attacks.
His marriage ends.
He carries profound grief connected to losing his father to suicide.
He gets angry.
He makes mistakes.
There are moments when he doesn’t know what to do with what he’s feeling.
And yet, what I find so beautiful about his character is that his pain doesn’t become permission to consistently hurt everyone around him.
There’s this idea embedded in his character that kindness is a choice. Curiosity is a choice. Empathy is a choice.
And I think that’s important because sometimes we talk about kindness as though it’s simply a personality trait.
“Oh, he’s just a nice guy.”
But being kind when everything is going your way isn’t particularly difficult.
Who are you when you’re hurt?
Who are you when you’re rejected?
Who are you when your ego is bruised?
Who are you when somebody disappoints you?
What do you do with your pain when you have every reason to be angry?
That’s where character starts to become visible.
Ted isn’t without anger.
He isn’t without pain.
He isn’t without trauma.
He simply repeatedly attempts to do something constructive with it.
And I think that’s the kind of masculinity I want us to expect more of.
Not men who never struggle.
Not men who never get angry.
Not men who never experience depression, anxiety, insecurity, jealousy, grief, or fear.
That’s not realistic.
And frankly, that’s another form of emotional suppression.
I want men to know:
You are allowed to struggle.
You are allowed to need help.
You are allowed to cry.
You are allowed to say:
“I don’t know what to do with what I’m feeling right now.”
You are allowed to go to therapy.
You are allowed to lean on your friends.
You are allowed to be vulnerable.
But there is a difference between having pain and making everybody around you pay for your pain.
And I think that’s such an important distinction.
Because when we say:
“Well, that’s just how men are.”
When a man can’t communicate…
can’t regulate his anger…
can’t apologize…
can’t be emotionally present…
or refuses to work on himself…
I actually don’t think we’re doing men any favors.
We’re lowering our expectations of what they’re capable of.
And I don’t want to do that.
I want us to look at men and say:
I believe you are capable of more.
I believe you’re capable of experiencing anger without becoming abusive.
I believe you’re capable of experiencing pain without becoming cruel.
I believe you’re capable of vulnerability without believing it makes you weak.
I believe you’re capable of accountability without believing it diminishes you.
I believe you’re capable of being ambitious and emotionally available.
Strong and tender.
Independent and deeply connected.
Ted Lasso isn’t an example of a man without wounds.
He’s an example of a man whose wounds don’t have to become his identity.
And importantly, other people support him.
But they don’t do all of his emotional work for him.
That’s the distinction I want us to make in our relationships too.
We can love men.
We can encourage men.
We can hold space for men.
We can believe deeply in their potential.
Without becoming their mothers, their therapists, or the managers of their emotional lives.
Because believing in someone’s potential also means believing they’re capable of doing their own work.
And there’s an important distinction here.
Having standards doesn’t mean forcing someone to meet them.
That’s not a boundary.
That’s control.
You can say:
“This is what partnership means to me.”
“This is how I expect to be communicated with.”
“This is what I need in a marriage.”
“This behaviour isn’t something I’m willing to participate in.”
And then the other person gets to decide what they do with that information.
Your power isn’t in making them change.
Your power is in deciding what you do when they don’t.
That’s the part I think we sometimes forget.
We can spend years trying to extract someone’s potential from them.
But potential is not the same thing as participation.
Someone can have the potential to be an incredible partner and still choose not to do the work required to become one.
And loving their potential doesn’t require you to build a life around their unwillingness.
So maybe part of loving men is expecting more from them.
Not perfection.
Not emotional performance.
Not unrealistic standards.
More responsibility.
More accountability.
More emotional literacy.
More involvement as fathers.
More investment as husbands.
More willingness to confront the things that hurt themselves and the people around them.
And then allowing them the dignity of doing that work themselves.
We don’t have to mother grown men into becoming the men we believe they could be.
We don’t have to therapize them into emotional awareness.
We don’t have to overfunction so they never experience the consequences of underfunctioning.
Sometimes we need to hold back the fixer.
Hold back the rescuer.
Hold back the part that wants to compensate.
And create enough space for another adult to show us what they’re willing to do.
So I’ll leave you with this.
There are extraordinary men in this world.
And I want more men to experience the fullness of what they’re capable of becoming.
Not just because women deserve great partners.
Children deserve present fathers.
Friends deserve emotionally available friends.
Communities benefit from emotionally healthy men.
And men themselves deserve relationships, lives, and identities that aren’t restricted by the idea that emotional avoidance, rage, detachment, or doing the bare minimum is somehow all that’s expected of them.
But their growth belongs to them.
And ours belongs to us.
Our job isn’t to drag another person toward their potential.
Our job is to stop shrinking our standards to accommodate someone’s refusal to reach for it.
To stop glorifying breadcrumbs.
To stop confusing fixing with loving.
To do our own uncomfortable work.
And to build relationships where both people are willing to earn the light.
Because perhaps one of the greatest ways we can love another person isn’t by doing their work for them…
but by believing they’re capable of doing it themselves.
Thank you for spending these minutes with me, soul friends.
I’ll see you in the next episode.
Minutes on Growth 