The silent cost of looking strong.

For a certain generation, beyond jabs, these were instructions. A survival manual passed down from father to son, coach to player, teacher to student, big boys to little boys.

They defined masculinity as strength, control, and emotional invisibility.

But what is all this costing us?

It costs connection, trust, and the ability to actually be with people instead of just performing next to them. When emotions do surface, they often bring the feeling of: “Something must be wrong with me for feeling this.”

This conditioning affects not only men. It shows up in anyone who has learned to hide what hurts. The traits that are rewarded—detachment, stoicism, hyper-independence—undermine your ability to lead, be present in your relationships, and threaten your well-being.

The pattern starts young:

• A boy cries → he's mocked.

• He admits fear → he's dismissed.

• He seeks comfort → he's called weak.

So he learns to shut it down.

• The boy who held back tears becomes the man who pulls away from intimacy.

• He overworks to feel worthy.

• He doesn’t cry, but he does get angry because that was always accepted. Being angry gives him power and makes him feel safe.

Leadership reflects this.

A leader who avoids showing emotion creates tension. Conversations shorten. People go silent. They don't want to, but they follow your lead.

Shame-based leadership avoids feedback. It sounds good but feels distant. It gets people moving but not connected. These leaders manage tasks but struggle to build trust. They quietly burn out, and eventually, their teams do too.

But when a leader says, “This is hard,” or “I don’t know yet,” it opens a door. That honesty sets the tone for something real and human.

That’s where emotional intelligence comes in.

Not the kumbaya kind—the sharp remedy kind. The kind that notices when fear is driving the bus and helps you choose another driver. The kind that separates good managers from great leaders. The kind that gives a shit.

That kind.

Being seen isn't a sign of weakness; it's what keeps you—and your team—connected and alive.

So, what say you, buttercup—are you leading honestly, or just faking it with style?

Until next Sunday.