Bullying nearly broke me, but it taught me that the boys who hurt me were drowning in the same violent masculinity that almost drowned me too.A group of boys corners a peer in a school corridor in this 1956 photograph—a scene that echoes across generations of boys policing each other’s masculinity. (Maurice Ambler / Picture Post / Hulton Archive / Getty Images)

Editor’s note: This piece references homophobic slurs.

Across the country, many boys and young men are navigating loneliness and uncertainty about who they are expected to become. Rigid ideals of masculinity can shape that search: Be self-reliant. Do not show too much emotion. Face problems alone. Looking for acceptance and a sense of belonging, some move through online communities and public figures—from red-pill influencers and podcasters to politicians—that offer competing, often prescriptive, ideas of manhood.

I was one of these young boys nearly 20 years ago. This is my story.

Beginning in junior high, I was bullied for being different—more effeminate, soft-spoken and unable to perform the version of masculinity expected of me.

The intensity of the bullying shifted over time, but its impact only deepened as I absorbed every message: sissy, pretty boy, homo, faggot. Once I internalized those labels and began to believe them—maybe they’re right; maybe I’m not good enough—there was no turning back. I became an anxious and depressed young man who was constantly on guard, looking over my shoulder filled with fear.

I grew up believing something was wrong with me, when the real problem was the narrow definition of masculinity that shaped the minds of boys I grew up with.

I later learned, my experience isn’t unusual. Research shows boys who do not conform to conventional gender expectations and boys reporting same-sex attraction experience higher levels of homophobic name-calling and other peer victimization. This kind of gender policing begins shockingly early, and can have long-term mental health consequences: higher anxiety, higher depression and increased feelings of social isolation, all of which I carried for years.

Being an effeminate young man made everything harder: No matter how much I tried to hide who I was, my femininity overshadowed the attempt. In small towns like mine, boys like me are quickly labeled, monitored and disciplined through constant questions about our sexuality and our place in the community. No matter how hard I tried, I never fit the mold of what a boy was supposed to be. To fit in, I even dated a girl for a week—a choice I now regret. The decision was never about our shared humanity, connection or desire; it was about survival, an attempt to deflect suspicion and avoid further bullying.

But performance has its limits. What I didn’t know at the time, but clearly felt, was that masculinity rewards those who comply, while punishing those who deviate.

Every Child That Bullies Is Fighting a “Noiseless Crisis”

There is no single reason boys bully others. Federal anti-bullying guidance says children who bully may be well-connected to peers, socially powerful or concerned about maintaining their popularity. Bullying can also stem from intergenerational trauma within the family, a desire to fit in among other boys, an opportunity for boys to exert their dominance and power to show their friends what they are capable of, and to prevent oneself from becoming a target.

Regardless of their reason, boys who bully often carry their own pain. Both those who are bullied and those who do the bullying face long-term mental health consequences, including reduced engagement in leisure activities and a higher risk of psychiatric hospitalization. 

Bullying allows boys to channel pent-up emotions and feelings they’ve been conditioned to suppress. If someone isn’t able to express their feelings, they become a ticking time bomb—unpredictable, able to explode at any minute. Many boys who bully lack the skills to navigate their mental and emotional state of being in healthy ways, so it manifests as abuse towards others.

I recently listened to an episode of On Purpose with Jay Shetty, in which Shetty, a British author, podcast host and former monk, was in conversation with Dr. K, a psychiatrist and meditation teacher. The guest, Dr. K, raised the concept of someone going through a “noiseless crisis,” meaning a lot of people you encounter are going through a crisis that you will never see. I believe every boy who bullies others is going through a noiseless crisis, desperate for an opportunity to express themselves in a way that will allow someone to hear their cry for help.

So how can we help them—as well as those who are bullied?

When addressing bullying, use person-first language, focusing on the behavior and not the identity. Rather than labeling a child a “bully,” say “the child who bullied.” And rather than labeling a child a “victim,” say “the child who was bullied.” Behaviors can change with awareness, education and support; labels may prevent the belief that change is possible.

Use trauma-informed, relationship-centered approaches, instead of punishment alone, by addressing the root causes of bullying—exposure to violence, neglect, shame and social isolation—while prioritizing the safety of those harmed.

Counseling, emotional regulation skills, therapy and consistent adult mentorship can help children who bully develop healthier ways to cope with distress and express themselves without causing harm.

Children who experience bullying need a physically and emotionally safe environment to process their trauma, whether that be through counseling, therapy or other support groups.

Created by Congress in 2000 as part of the Children’s Health Act to raise the standard of care and increase access to services for children and families who experience or witness traumatic events, the National Child Traumatic Stress Network (NCTSN) offers resources, training and support for various traumatic experiences, such as bullying, community violence, disasters and intimate partner violence.

Finding Peace on the Other Side of Masculinity

I grew up believing something was wrong with me, when the real problem was the narrow definition of masculinity that shaped the minds of boys I grew up with. Like countless boys in similar communities, I learned to navigate a world where my existence itself felt like a challenge to its rules. Today, I’m grateful to have a voice and an identity that reflect who I am. I hope boys facing similar struggles find peace with themselves, clear a path for others, and challenge violent masculinity in all its forms. Men and boys need support now more than ever and it will take a movement to change the narrative and culture of masculinity that has dominated American life for too long. 

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned as I recover from the trauma I endured as a young boy is that beneath cruelty, there is usually a person in pain. Recognizing that helped me cultivate compassion instead of fear. Despite the abuse, hardship and trauma I experienced, I hope that every man in this world who feels compelled to bully or harm others finds peace and is provided an opportunity to express their emotions and feelings in a way they deserve, to begin healing their mind, body and spirit and to forge a new way of life, free from abuse, hate and violence towards others.

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