Ahen Hembe’s collection of stories, If Boys Could Cry, operates as a powerful and painful critique of the unspoken covenants of masculinity, charting the devastating psychological toll exacted by a culture that equates emotional expression with weakness. Far from offering a single narrative, the work presents a mosaic of male experience, showcasing the lives of “lost sons to broken fathers and men who never learned softness,” and collectively arguing that the societal prohibition against male vulnerability is not merely restrictive, but actively destructive. By exploring the inter-generational trauma of emotional repression, the crippling effects of internalized shame, and the revolutionary potential of genuine vulnerability, Hembe’s collection demands a re-evaluation of what constitutes male strength in the modern era.
The book’s central, unifying thesis is that the capacity to cry — or, more broadly, to feel and express the full spectrum of human emotion — is not a vulnerability, but a necessary condition for psychological survival and authentic human connection. It is through these varied narratives that Hembe excavates the buried feelings of men, demonstrating that their silence is not a choice of stoicism, but a symptom of profound, inherited emotional imprisonment.
I. The inherited silence: A taxonomy of generational emotional imprisonment
The collection’s narratives collectively establish that toxic masculinity is not an innate trait but an “inherited silence” — a generational curse passed from fathers who were taught stoicism to sons who struggle to articulate their grief, fear, and need.
Hembe meticulously details this transmission, where the father figure, often appearing “grim” or “colossal cruel” through the child’s eyes, is himself an emotionally compromised figure, desperately masking his own vulnerability to uphold a destructive ideal. This adherence to the “male code” — the rigid set of behavioural expectations demanding toughness, antifemininity, and emotional self-sufficiency — is shown to begin in early childhood, where boys are conditioned to view emotions like sadness or fear as “feminine” and therefore shameful.
This is the structural foundation of the collection’s world: a social environment governed by the Gender Strain Paradigm, wherein men continually strive to meet a socially constructed, often unattainable ideal of manliness, leading to chronic internal conflict. The protagonists, whether “lost sons” grappling with their identity or “broken fathers” incapable of offering comfort, are all victims of this paradigm. The father, unable to share his own pain or demonstrate softness, unwittingly models a coping mechanism — suppression — that his son then adopts, perpetuating the cycle.
In one narrative thread, a father’s inability to express grief after a loss manifests not as stoicism, but as rage, driving a chasm between himself and his son, who internalizes the lesson that feelings are dangerous and must be vented through aggression or not at all. This silence is often an act of misguided love; the father, believing he is preparing his son for the “toughness” of the world, actually strips him of the emotional tools necessary to navigate it.
Hembe highlights how this emotional self-sufficiency is a societal expectation that actively obstructs the formation of genuine intimacy. The men in these stories are often fiercely independent in their external lives, yet pathologically isolated in their internal lives. They build walls of self-reliance so high that no loved one can penetrate them, leading to damaged relationships with partners, children, and friends. The emotional debt incurred by this inherited silence accumulates, manifesting as substance abuse, withdrawal, or unexplained irritability — all surface-level expressions of deeper, unaddressed sorrow. The collection suggests that until the son consciously rejects the inherited silence and chooses to engage in the terrifying act of emotional honesty, he is doomed to become the very “broken father” he once feared, thereby passing the curse onto the next generation.
Hembe’s work emphasizes that this cycle is cultural and systemic, not personal, making the individual’s journey toward emotional literacy an act of defiance against a deeply ingrained societal structure. The inherited silence, therefore, functions as a literary device to demonstrate that true freedom for the male protagonists can only be achieved by consciously severing the ties to this destructive legacy of repression.
II. The internal landscape and the crippling cost of suppressing grief.
The central tragedy documented throughout If Boys Could Cry is the profound and quantifiable psychological and relational cost of emotional repression. The men in Hembe’s narratives live in a state of constant internal dissonance, forced to maintain a façade of composure while wrestling with tempestuous emotions beneath the surface. This continuous self-policing, the necessity of wearing a “mask” of “grimness” and control, is presented as the primary driver of the severe mental health crisis plaguing men, a crisis evidenced by the chilling statistics on male suicide and under-diagnosis of depression.
The collection implicitly analyzes the three types of stigma — public, self, and institutional — that perpetuate this suffering. Public stigma, the idea that society views emotional men as “weak,” fuels the initial fear of expression. This fear then crystallizes into self-stigma, where the men internalize the shame, believing their own feelings are evidence of personal failure or inadequacy. They become adept at suppressing emotions such as fear, grief, and shame, replacing them with socially acceptable, “masculine” substitutes, most notably anger or aggressive physical exertion.
Hembe expertly illustrates how this dynamic leads to destructive coping mechanisms. When the characters face divorce, financial ruin, or the loss of a loved one, the trauma is not processed; it is simply locked away, festering until it finds an explosive outlet. This is why many protagonists turn to alcohol, gambling, or self-sabotaging behaviour: they are attempting to numb the intense feelings that they have been conditioned to view as a threat to their identity. The book posits that suppressing emotions does not eliminate them; it merely converts them into physical and psychological maladies, leading to headaches, chronic fatigue, stomach issues, and the dark space of suicidal ideation.
Furthermore, this emotional reticence fundamentally destroys the potential for intimacy in their relationships. In a heterosexual partnership, the man’s emotional unavailability forces his partner to become the sole curator of feeling, creating an unbalanced and ultimately unsustainable dynamic. He struggles to articulate his love, his needs, or his hurts, leaving his loved ones perpetually confused and emotionally starved.
The book suggests that the inability to be truly vulnerable makes the men, despite their outward appearance of strength, profoundly weak in the areas that matter most: connection, empathy, and resilience. The core paradox of the repression is that the effort to be “strong” actually fosters weakness, stripping the individual of the genuine emotional intelligence required for personal growth and resilience. By showcasing the silent damage of these internal struggles — the nights spent staring at the ceiling, the moment of self-loathing in the mirror, the unbridgeable distance from a child — Hembe forces the reader to confront the real human cost of the myth that “boys don’t cry,” making the collection a vital intervention in the contemporary conversation about male mental health.
III. The path to liberation: Redefining strength through the act of vulnerability
Despite the pervasive darkness of repression, If Boys Could Cry ultimately charts a hopeful, albeit arduous, path toward emotional liberation, suggesting that the conscious act of embracing vulnerability is the true hallmark of strength.
The collection’s turning points occur when a protagonist, facing the brink of collapse or utter relational ruin, makes the radical choice to break the inherited silence. This choice is depicted not as a moment of defeat, but as a Herculean effort that requires far more courage than the stoic maintenance of the status quo. The book subtly argues for a rejection of Hegemonic Masculinity, replacing the outdated markers of power, dominance, and physical toughness with a new definition centered on emotional authenticity and self-awareness.
Hembe reframes the capacity to seek help — whether through counseling, a deep conversation with a trusted friend, or simply the act of journaling — as an act of immense bravery. This is where the collection offers a revolutionary perspective: true strength is not the ability to hide pain, but the determination to confront it and share it.
The narratives where this shift occurs illustrate the subsequent rebuilding of self and relationships. When a man allows himself to be vulnerable, the collections show a cascading effect: the partner finally understands the source of the distance, the son receives a model of healthy emotion, and the community is strengthened by an act of honesty. The willingness to reveal one’s authentic self, flaws and all, leads to the development of stronger bonds, as emotional openness is the non-negotiable prerequisite for intimacy. Moreover, the book implicitly encourages the cultivation of therapeutic hobbies — journaling, engaging in nature, or creative pursuits — as vital tools for developing the emotional vocabulary that was neglected in childhood. The process of becoming “emotionally healthy” is presented as a lifelong commitment, a continuous practice of challenging old, toxic narratives.
Hembe’s work is a powerful testament to the idea that men must “flip the script” on traditional definitions, recognising that feelings are a source of power and connection, not weakness. The ultimate liberation for the men in this collection is not achieved through external triumph, but through the internal realisation that they are human, capable of sorrow, fear, and joy, and that sharing these feelings is the only way to heal the self and the relationships that define a meaningful life.
In its entirety, If Boys Could Cry serves not just as a mirror reflecting the pain of male repression, but as a roadmap for finding the courage to cry, and in doing so, finally becoming whole.
*This piece is an AI deconstruction by Ade Adefeko.
Ade Adefeko is director of corporate and regulatory affairs, Olam Agri, an ex-officio of Nigerian Association of Chambers of Commerce, Industry, Mines and Agriculture (NACCIMA), and Honorary Consul of Botswana in Lagos.
