Beyond the Mask: Breaking the Cycle
by Brad Hieftje, Healthy Manhood Coordinator
When I first met him, he was the kind of student everyone knew.
A talented wrestler and gifted athlete, he was popular, successful, and respected by his peers. He carried himself with confidence and had already learned how to play the role many young men feel expected to perform: be tough, be strong, be successful, and never let anyone see you struggle.
During the first few weeks of our yearlong Healthy Manhood Club, he rarely spoke when the conversation became serious. When we talked about emotions, vulnerability, relationships, or the pressures young men face, he often responded with a joke or a laugh. Humor was part of his armor.
As a young man of color, he may also have felt additional pressure from cultural stereotypes that too often equate masculinity with toughness, dominance, and emotional invulnerability. At school, he was known as the athlete, the wrestler, the popular kid, the winner. But beneath that identity was a young man carrying a story few people could see.
I met that young man during our “mask” activity.
Students were given a paper mask and asked to consider two questions. On the front: What do you show the world? On the back: What do you hide?
On the front of his mask, he wrote the words people might have expected:
Athlete. Tough. Popular. Jock. Winner. Leader. Successful.
Then he turned the mask over.
On the back, he wrote about the things he had been carrying in silence. His father was in prison for abusing his mother. He wondered why he had not been strong enough to protect her. He questioned why his father had not loved their family. And perhaps most painfully, he shared a fear that had followed him into adolescence:
What if I become my dad someday?
I was struck by the depth of his vulnerability. The student who had spent weeks laughing when conversations became serious had finally allowed himself to be seen.
That moment changed our relationship.
For perhaps the first time in our group, he had a space where he did not have to perform. He did not have to be the wrestler, the tough kid, the winner, or the young man who had everything figured out. He had permission to tell the truth. He had permission to feel.
And in that moment, I was able to tell him something I needed him to hear: You are not alone.
I shared that I, too, had grown up in a home impacted by abuse. I understood what it was like to carry questions about the kind of man you might become. But I could also tell him, from lived experience, that our past does not have to determine our future. We can choose a different path. We can break generational cycles of harm.
The mask activity was not the end of his story. It was the beginning.
Because this was a yearlong program, we had six more months together. Week after week, he continued learning and practicing a different vision of manhood, one built on deep and meaningful connection, the courage to take off the mask and express emotion, the vulnerability to ask for help, and empathy for the experiences of others, particularly women and girls.
By the end of the year, he had become one of the leaders of the group.
He was never the student who needed to talk the most. He did not have to be. When he spoke, it mattered. The other students listened. I watched him encourage other young men to open up and share their stories. I saw him become more willing to connect with his coaches and teachers. The same young man who once used humor to escape vulnerable moments was now helping create those moments for others.
At the end of the school year, I selected him to receive our Champion of Healthy Manhood Award.
After I presented him with the award, we hugged. I will never forget seeing tears in his eyes as he thanked me for everything I had taught him.
But the truth is, he taught me something, too.
He reminded me why this work matters.
This year, hundreds of middle and high school boys and young men participated in our Healthy Manhood programming through classroom-based education, year-long clubs, and Coaching Boys Into Men. Each student entered the program with his own story. Some carried loneliness. Some carried pressure. Some carried pain they had never put into words. Many had received powerful messages about what a “real man” should be: tough, dominant, unemotional, self-reliant, and always in control.
Our program offers them another possibility.
We teach young men that strength can look like building meaningful relationships. That courage can mean taking off the mask and telling the truth about how you feel. That vulnerability can mean asking for help before a struggle becomes a crisis. And that healthy manhood requires empathy, respect, and a commitment to the safety and dignity of women and girls.
This is how violence prevention begins long before violence occurs.
It begins by helping a young man understand that he does not have to repeat the patterns he has witnessed. It begins by giving him safe relationships with trusted adults and peers. It begins by helping him replace silence with connection, shame with vulnerability, and fear with the belief that he can choose who he becomes.
When I first met this student, he was afraid that his future had already been written for him.
By the end of the year, I saw a young man beginning to write a different story.
I have no doubt that he has the capacity to become an incredible friend, teammate, partner, leader, and, if he chooses, father someday.
The best part is that I believe he now knows that, too.
