It’s easy to think politics are about policies, parties, or who promises what. But in recent elections, voting has been much more about group identity and voting out of grievance. The perception that power is being lost by a group and looking to a “strong man” to save them looms large in our American political landscape. No group has shown more grievance, and more influence on recent elections, the young males struggling with the societal definition of masculine identity.

It’s been much discussed how podcasters, like Joe Rogan, had such an outsized impact on this last election cycle. Rogan’s hours long conversation with Trump wasn’t just a viral moment – it was a sermon to millions of young men who look to the Rogan’s of the world to assure them it’s OK to consider strength to mean dominance. To mean certainty. To mean their world is slipping from their control. Across social media, the “manosphere” audiences of such podcasts saw their audiences lean heavily toward Trump. This wasn’t accidental. It was emotional. It was cultural.

It was about masculinity as much as politics.

No nuanced policy debates here. Young men were drawn to Trump by a deep hunger for social affirmation – a version of manhood that doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t self-examine, and certainly doesn’t cry. That version of masculinity still holds sway in our culture.

But more and more biological males are finding it not to be the antidote for their fears as they had hoped.

What if we could convince these males that there’s another way? And would a change in politics follow?

Softness As Resistance

We’ve been conditioned to see softness as weakness. Vulnerability as failure. Tenderness as risk. Especially in male-bodied people, softness has been treated as something shameful, something to be burned off through competition, harsh razzing, or even violence.

But softness is resistance. Gentleness is bravely standing against the status quo. In a world that demands a male always exude strength, choosing to slow down, listen inward, and care deeply for others – and ourselves – is a rebellion against everything toxic young males are taught growing up. Leaning into gentleness is how one begins to unravel systems bent on domination and the crushing of egalitarianism.

I’ve lived it myself: the moments when I could have armored up, snapped back, powered through. But softness – true, sacred gentleness – opened a door to healing instead.

The Lie of Trumpist Masculinity

Trump’s appeal to so many young men was the permission he gave them to be a more medieval version of themselves. No one asking them to treat women with equality, but encouraged a dominant ownership. Trump didn’t ask them to “go high when others go low,” he went lower than anyone else – and to our young men fearing equality meant loss of power, Trump’s “be a man” philosophy.

It’s as I’ve heard the description of masculine theology in some evangelical circles these days: The answer for a woman to deal with a bad, violent man, is to find a good, violent man to deal with him. Women are expected to return to their damsel in distress schema of being tied to a railroad. Males are allowed to be tough. Be loud. Be in charge.

‘Don’t show weakness’ is the mantra. Don’t let anyone tell you who you are.

And if you feel small, or scared, or uncertain? Find someone who sounds certain. Find someone who promises you power. Find someone who tells you softness is for losers. That’s what draws young men into these political narratives. Not logic. Not economics. But a need to feel safe in their learned identity.

But allow me to let you in on a little secret about Trumpist masculinity: Donald Trump probably needs a hug from his daddy more than any other human on earth. That’s not snark. That’s just the truth of the wound evident in a male who needs so much external affirmation.

Thus, Trump’s need to denigrate anyone who challenges his created reality and the need to, in biblical terms, puff himself up.

“Love your neighbor as yourself” is impossible until you learn to love yourself.

If we want to break this harmful cycle of masculine begging – for ourselves, for those we love, for our communities – it starts with a look in the mirror and some challenging questions.

Do You Need to Detox Masculinity? Questions to Ask Yourself

• Were you taught that vulnerability equals weakness?
• Did you learn that big boys don’t cry?
• Did you need sports, video games, etc. as a way to feel a conquerer? Rather than for relationship, self challenge and growth?
• Were emotions other than anger discouraged or silenced in your childhood household?
• Did you feel pressure to always be right, always lead, always defend?
• Did a male figure in your life project their feelings of inadequacy onto you?

These aren’t just personal questions. They are cultural ones. They shape how we love, how we lead, and these days, how we vote.

What’s the Alternative? Softness Includes You.

Softness isn’t surrender. It’s wisdom. It’s letting curiosity, rather than judgment, guide how we show up – in our relationships, our workplaces, in our own thoughts.

Softness isn’t only outward. Softness must include how we treat ourself. It takes loving ourself in a way that is not the scared, little mask of arrogance, but rather the powerful choice to ask how the questions above have impacted who we are.

How those childhood teachings forced us to act as a character, rather then building character.

“Love your neighbor.” Every major religion carries this imperative. When Jesus spoke this in the Christian New Testament, it carried with it the implicit command to love yourself. If you wear the mask of American societal manliness, unable to meet the unatainable status it demands, they self hatred displaces love and softness that the human psyche and physiology naturally craves.

Self hatred steals authentic love. This is a psychological and biblical truth.

Jesus was able to call the most powerful people in his culture, the most sarcastic and belittling of names. Yet, we’re told in the story that he would often cry and wail all night to process his pain.

King David’s story included leading a legion of mighty men, but he also was a poet and a harpist and danced naked in a way that embarrassed his wife so much, she left the King’s Palace never to return.

Joseph is said to have risen to the second highest position of power in the most powerful nation in the world. Yet his brothers hated him because his dad gave him a robe more like a princess would wear than a “real man.”

Jacob was a master schemer and con man. His name literally means “heel catcher,” a euphemism for one who is always cheating others. But he didn’t reach his full potential until his hip was dislocated and he had to face his problems in relationship, rather than running his next scheme.

You see, the power of these males wasn’t in their hardness, but rather in their ability to find time to lean into the softness of their being. To allow healing to begin at home, within one’s own skin. Not in the conquer of some other or some thing.

Softness forms the foundation of Sacred Rebellion and sacred healing. It’s not weakness. It’s how we build a future in which all have a chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

A Blessing for Your Week

Here’s what I hope you’ll carry with you:

This week, I choose the strength and power of softness.
I choose listening over proving. Even listening to myself.
I choose humble power.
I don’t need to feel superior in order to matter.

Let your softness lead. Let your healing unfold in its own time. Let your revolution begin with tenderness – for yourself, and for this aching, fearful world.

Softness doesn’t just heal our hearts. It has the power to heal everything.
Start there.

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