Author: Cody Thompson

Cody Thompson is a public health advocate, policy researcher, and writer working to transform how we talk about masculinity, addiction, and gender-based violence. Drawing on his lived experience in recovery and as a gay man, he challenges the harmful systems and cultural narratives that isolate men while fueling violence, stigma, and inequity. He has conducted research on domestic violence, HIV prevention, and addiction policy.

I Sympathize With the Gender-Policing Boys That Ruined My Childhood—Because Homophobia and Bullying Are Symptoms of the Same Disease

Across the country, many boys and young men are navigating loneliness and uncertainty about who they are expected to become. Rigid ideals of masculinity can shape that search: Be self-reliant. Do not show too much emotion. Face problems alone. Looking for acceptance and a sense of belonging, some move through online communities and public figures—from red-pill influencers and podcasters to politicians—that offer competing, often prescriptive, ideas of manhood.

I was one of these young boys nearly 20 years ago. This is my story.

The Silence I Learned to Carry: Real Talk From a Male Survivor of Sexual Abuse

Roughly one in six men in the United States experience sexual abuse before age 18, yet many never disclose their abuse because of stigma and rigid expectations about masculinity.

As a survivor, I learned early that being a boy, and later a man, meant burying fear, sadness and vulnerability. My silence equated with strength, control and survival—a lesson reinforced by male role models and peers.

Let’s face it, most sexual violence is committed by men, but women and girls are not its only victims. Men and boys experience sexual violence, too. Although it’s not talked about as much, we are survivors too. 

So, let’s talk about it—to heal ourselves and help others.

My journey has given me a unique opportunity to help others while continuing to heal myself. I believe I am meant to use my lived experience as a tool for good in the world. I’ve learned that many boys and men carry similar stories, often in isolation, often convinced that no one would believe them or care. Masculinity did not protect me; it protected the silence around abuse. And I learned that healing required not becoming “less of a man,” but redefining what being a man could mean.

Domestic Violence Is a Men’s Issue

Nearly one in two women has experienced domestic violence (DV) in their lifetime, yet accountability remains limited, as nearly half of survivors never report their abuse to law enforcement. Out of fear of retribution, survivors often minimize harm and shield their perpetrator’s behavior, shifting responsibility away from them: “That’s just how men are,” or “He didn’t mean it.” DV affects almost everyone—directly or indirectly. Nearly half of people know someone who has experienced it, through personal experience, witnessing it in childhood, seeing loved ones endure it or encountering it in public spaces. 

DV has taught me about silence. The silence of victims who feared retaliation or shame. The silence of witnesses like me who did not know how to intervene. And the silence of communities that preferred to avoid conflict and not to disrupt the image of a functional family. Silence does not protect anyone; it allows the harm to continue. 

In America, toxic masculinity thrives in that silence. It discourages men from seeking help, discourages women from speaking out and discourages bystanders from stepping in. Over time, domestic violence becomes predictable as patterns emerge—slammed doors, raised voices, a tension that fills rooms before anyone speaks.

Over time, beneath their rage, I’ve come to understand that many male abusers are suffering too or have suffered. The problem is, intimate partner violence will not end by ignoring men. This raises essential questions beyond how did we get here, in a nation that champions violence and spends more on its military than on education and social services. For example, who is intervening to address husbands and boyfriends who batter? What tools are needed to support men in building lives free from violence? Let’s be clear, addressing these challenging concerns will not only benefit men, but also their families and society more broadly. Families deserve to heal from domestic violence, and men should be part of that equation.   

Recovery Saved My Life. It Can Also Save U.S. Democracy.

For many years, alcohol and other substances felt like the only thing that made me feel safe, seen and comfortable in my own skin. Growing up in a small Midwestern town, I never fit the mold of what a boy was “supposed” to be. I was bullied for how I dressed and looked, and called names when I showed emotion or vulnerability. The message was clear: Who I was wasn’t acceptable. Anxiety and depression followed, and by the time I discovered alcohol as a teenager, it felt like the only thing that made life bearable. But that relief was fleeting. My life spiraled into darkness—I failed out of college, lost relationships and, most painfully, felt like I was losing myself. Recovery gave me my life back. It reminded me that no matter how dark life becomes, there is always a way forward.

But recovery is not just a personal journey—it is a political one. When people recover, they become active participants in their communities. They vote, parent, work, study and volunteer. Recovery teaches us how to sit beside people who are different from us, offer a hand, and say: You got this, you are not alone. At a time when our democracy feels fractured and so many are isolated and hurting, recovery provides a roadmap for how we can heal together. It’s not only about saving individual lives—it’s about restoring the conditions that make democracy possible: connection, resilience and shared purpose.

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The road to recovery—and the right to recovery—is essential to a free and fair democracy. This essay is part of a new multimedia collection exploring the intersections of addiction, recovery and gender justice. The Right to Recovery Is Essential to Democracy is a collaboration between Ms. and the O’Neill Institute for National and Global Health at Georgetown Law, in honor of National Recovery Month.