One of my biggest dreams is to become a mother. I’ve always seen motherhood as one of life’s greatest gifts, and though I’m still young, I think about it more often than I probably should. Sometimes baby fever takes over, and I forget I’m just a college student. But as my love for children has stayed constant over the years, so has this quiet pull I’ve always felt towards having a son. Of course, I would love my child no matter who they are, and I dream of having a daughter someday. But I always anticipated having a son in the future, and not in the way “boy mom” culture often presents it.
Whenever I picture the sweet moments of having a son, I think about something deeper: the kind of man he’ll become and whether I’ll do a good job raising him. To me, wanting a son doesn’t just feel like a preference, but rather a responsibility. I’ve grown up in a generation where so many boys are shaped by quiet misogyny and ego, and I don’t want to contribute to that. I want to raise a boy who grows into a man who is not only strong, but kind, someone who understands respect and emotional awareness.
Why I’ve Always Imagined Having a Son
There’s something about a baby boy that pulls at my heartstrings. I think that comes from growing up with my little brother. With a four-year age gap, he felt just as much like my baby as my parents’. I fed him patiently through tantrums, taught him to say his R’s when he kept replacing them with L’s, and essentially raised him.
Because of that, boys never intimidated me. Between my brother, two next-door neighbors, and the sons of my parents’ friends, I was surrounded by boys. I think that made me see them differently. I’ve always found their energy so entertaining and oddly endearing, with their humor and chaos. I’ve found myself naturally drawn to that, wanting to take care of them, laugh with them, and, admittedly, obsess over how cute they are along the way.
As much as these experiences made me desperately hope that one day I’d be blessed with a son of my own, they weren’t the only reason. A big part of that desire comes from the men I continue to observe around me today. There have been so many moments when their statements or actions have left me feeling disappointed and even disgusted. While it would be easy to turn that into resentment, it’s made me realize that our generation must raise men who don’t carry those same traits forward. Because the truth is, it’s not impossible to raise boys differently—we just have to choose to.
The Kind of Man I Refuse to Raise
As much as I’ve always felt comfortable around boys and naturally drawn to caring for them, I’ve also always been deeply proud of my identity as a woman. Much of that comes from my mom, who is strong, grounded, and unwavering in her beliefs. Though she chose a more traditional path, dedicating her life to our family as a housewife, she made one thing clear: a woman’s life should be the result of her own choices. Because of that, I am someone who values tradition and certain social ideals, but believes they should never come at the expense of a woman’s autonomy or worth.
My mom and I were always vocal, especially in moments where conversations around women’s struggles were dismissed or minimized. She never let the moments when my dad and brother would get defensive or quick to justify pass by. Growing up, I took on that responsibility with my little brother. Whenever he spoke or acted in ways that felt disrespectful, I’d call it out. I recognized behaviors I’d seen in other men and refused to let them go unchecked in my own home.
Often, boys who grow up only with brothers, or in environments where strong female voices aren’t as present, can be prone to entitlement or misogynistic thinking—not because they’re bad people, but because they haven’t been taught to engage with emotions in the same way. I’ve noticed many of the men I know who are especially respectful and emotionally aware have sisters or strong female influences in their lives. It happens often enough to suggest something important: the presence of a strong, positive female influence can make a real difference. That’s exactly who I hope to be for my son one day.
Today, we see many young men shaped by toxic masculinity and a distorted understanding of the patriarchy. It pains me when I hear the way some men speak about women, or see how they choose to treat them. I find myself thinking: how would you feel if someone treated your mother that way? That’s the question I’d want my son to carry with him, so that no woman is ever disrespected in his presence. Because misogyny doesn’t make men stronger, it holds everyone back. It’s rooted in ignorance, and it disregards something so fundamental: women are not beneath men, nor are they in competition with them. They are equal. That doesn’t mean women should be placed above men, but it does mean they deserve far more respect than they are often given.
Raising a Son Who Knows How to Stand Beside Women, Not Above Them
When I picture my dream of becoming a boy mom coming true one day, I don’t just see a child. I see the kind of man I would trust any girl to feel safe with and build a life alongside. While I’ve sometimes wondered if men like that even exist, I’ve come to believe that they do. Though they’re rare, it’s on us to raise more of them, and it starts with the simplest things. Teaching kindness. Teaching empathy. Teaching boys that emotions don’t make them weak, they make them human. Too often, boys are raised to see the world through a strictly logical lens, as if vulnerability strips their masculinity. But to me, there is nothing more admirable than a man who can express how he feels, who can be both strong and soft at once.
It starts in the smallest moments: saying “thank you,” holding the door open, and learning to resolve conflict with words instead of aggression. It’s teaching them to appreciate the women in their lives, value their mothers as much as their fathers, and recognize the care and strength that often go unseen. It’s teaching them that men and women are equal in intellect, capability, and potential. Above all, it’s teaching them to lead with respect, to see people not through gender, but through shared humanity.
When many men hear the word masculinity, they think of being the strongest and most protective. But those ideas are often misunderstood and misused. Strength turns into control. Protection turns into restriction. But that’s not what true masculinity should look like. Being the strongest man in the room should mean uplifting the people around you, making them feel respected and equal, not inferior. Being protective should mean ensuring that the women in your life feel safe and comfortable, not silenced or objectified.
When the Gender Reveal Turns Blue
Masculinity, in its truest form, is something incredibly beautiful; it’s just been deeply distorted. That’s exactly why I want a son. I hope to teach him that a man is not above a woman; he is the other half of humanity. And when you divide something into two halves, they are equal by definition. Yet, in the world we live in, one half has been treated as if it matters more. I want my son to grow up knowing that isn’t true and be the kind of man who helps change it. I believe that as a mother, I can be where that change begins.
When I picture the man I want to marry someday, I think of someone intelligent and ambitious, but also someone who recognizes those same qualities in me. I imagine a man who leads with confidence while giving me the space to be gentle and loving, and who respects not just who I am, but the strength and independence I carry. I want someone who isn’t just kind to me, but to all women, without needing to be told. One day, I hope my son meets someone who wants that same kind of love, built on mutual respect and equality. I hope she never has to shrink herself to be loved, or question whether she’s “too much.” I hope she feels safe and valued. I hope my son is a man who never speaks with arrogance or disrespect, carries a sense of superiority, or tries to assert his worth by belittling women. Maybe, in some quiet, full-circle way, she’ll get the love many girls wish for, simply because of how I chose to raise him.