The Trials, Tribulations, and Truth Behind the Alpha Male

After being a wife for 26 years and raising two now-adult sons, I’ve come to a staggering realization: I might finally understand what it means to be a man. No, I haven’t suddenly grown a beard or developed an inexplicable fascination with tools I’ll never use—but I’ve started to get a glimpse front row to the trials and tribulations that men, like my husband and sons, face daily. And let me tell you, the journey to this epiphany has been anything but straightforward.

For years, my judgment was colored by my past encounters with manipulative men. You know the type—the self-proclaimed alpha males. From childhood to adulthood, I encountered them in various forms: The boastful, the controlling, the “I can fix everything,” and the “I am never wrong” types who made it seem like vulnerability was reserved for “weaker” species, like goldfish. I became convinced that all men fit into this box and were born and bred as aggressive, emotionless, and perpetually always right and in charge.

So, let’s talk about the term “alpha male.” It’s a phrase we use with carelessness. The idea of an alpha male stems from our observations of chimpanzees, our closest primate relatives. The alpha chimp rules the troop, exuding confidence, power, and leadership. Sounds familiar, right? Except, it turns out we’ve been interpreting even the chimps wrong. The “alpha” doesn’t just lead through dominance and aggression; he builds alliances, shows empathy, and protects the group. He might even share his bananas! Part of my correlation stems from listening to 90-year-old Jane Goodall on Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s podcast Wiser Than Me, where she spoke about the hierarchy of chimps, their behavior, and how it influenced the mothering of her human son, Hugo.

Somewhere along the way, though, we humans latched onto only part of this picture—the part where the alpha male flexes his muscles and commands respect, whether he’s earned it or not. This perception spilled over into our culture, shaping the way we view men and how men view themselves. Cue the impossible expectations: be tough, never cry, and never ask for directions. Society turned masculinity into a survival of the fittest contest, where the fittest isn’t necessarily the strongest, but the one who appears to care the least. Charles Darwin, the father of evolutionary theory, believed it was the most adaptable person who survived, and I agree.

As I’ve learned through my marriage of over two decades and watching my sons grow into twenty-something men, the problem with this stereotype is that it ignores the truth: Men, just like women, are deeply emotional creatures. They feel pressure—immense pressure—underneath that carefully curated exterior. They are told to “man up” when the world weighs them down, yet they are just as susceptible to heartache, self-doubt, and vulnerability as anyone else.

The only difference is they’ve been trained to hide it.

What our culture misses—and what I missed for far too long—is that the depth men have is as vast and rich as any ocean. Their ability to care, connect, and be tender is there, often simmering beneath the surface. But showing these qualities can feel like crossing an invisible line, stepping into territory where judgment and ridicule await. Why? Because we’ve categorized emotions as a feminine trait, and heaven forbid a man to be “soft.”

Yet, in the privacy of my home, I’ve witnessed moments where my husband, the so-called alpha of our family, has been raw and real—even admitting his shortcomings. I’ve witnessed moments where our sons, striving to navigate the expectations placed upon them, revealed their fears and insecurities. In those quiet, unguarded moments, I see the complete picture of what it means to be a man—an image far more nuanced than the rugged, stoic figure society projects.

Perhaps this is where I, as a woman, tap into my masculine energy. Whether born with or developed through my experiences, I’ve had to harness a certain toughness to protect myself and stand up for injustice throughout my fifty years of living. Whether I was fourteen or forty, I’ve never shied away from a towering, angry man regardless of his physical strength or intellectual ability to manipulate. And, yes, I learned early on that being vocal, standing my ground, and speaking my mind were often labeled as “masculine” behaviors. And it’s true—being a verbal woman, unafraid to call out the truth, is frequently met with disapproval from men (and women, to be honest). But I’ve always believed that power lies in truth-telling, no matter how uncomfortable the conversation.

For the three men in my life—my husband and my two sons—maybe it is time and exposure that have conditioned them to the “uncomfortableness” of authentic expression, or perhaps they understand that my voice is not something I will ever hide. It is a significant part of who I am. They allow me to be me, without feeling threatened by my assertiveness, and I’m grateful for that. I am pleased that I fully know this is our family norm. Our home is filled with raw, honest moments that may feel intense at times, but through these moments, we forge authentic communication and connection; moments that allow us to adapt and grow. And isn’t that what real strength is—the ability to adapt? To learn not to suppress emotion or avoid tough conversations, to be unafraid to face truths together, and to break patterns of bad behavior.

So, I ask myself: What does “being an alpha male” mean? Is it the bravado? Is it dominance? Or, perhaps, it’s the courage to step outside those rigid confines and say, “Hey, I’m not okay.” I think it’s the latter. The actual alpha male does not suppress emotion but the one who embraces it—the one who understands that leadership doesn’t come from force but from compassion and understanding.

Being a man is not about taming the world—it’s about taming oneself. It’s about navigating a landscape where vulnerability is feared yet essential to be a whole and nuanced human. And, as I’ve realized, it’s a trial far more challenging than I once thought.

In redefining what it means to be a man, I now know that strength isn’t measured by dominance or silence but by the ability to show up authentically, to feel deeply, and to embrace the full spectrum of human emotion. As a wife and mother, I’ve witnessed this vulnerability in the men I love, and it’s challenged me to rethink the narrow definitions we often assign to masculinity. It’s time we give men the space to be more than society’s caricature of an alpha male and recognize their emotional depth and capacity for connection.

Maybe, just maybe, redefining manhood is the ultimate evolution—a redefining that begins when we raise our sons. I want to give all men the space to be more than the narrow confines of alpha—let’s allow them to be human. And now, after writing this, I hope my neighbor, Walt, who has given me a hard time for years about writing women’s stories and showcasing their voices, can finally be content. Walt, this one’s for you—now you know I’ve written about men, too. I support them the same; we’re all together, striving for understanding, connection, and a more compassionate world.