⚠️ Content Warning: This article discusses mental health struggles, sexual assault, coercion, and trauma. If you're in crisis, please reach out to a support resource like the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call or text 988) or RAINN (1-800-656-4673).

I want to talk about something that doesn't get nearly enough attention: men's mental health. More specifically, the shame and stigma that keeps men suffering in silence.

This is a topic close to my heart because I've worked with so many men who've been told their entire lives that feelings are weakness, that asking for help makes them less of a man, and that real strength means handling everything alone.

That's not strength. That's isolation. And it's killing people.

Men are struggling. The statistics are staggering, but the real story is in the lived experiences of men who've been taught that their emotional pain doesn't matter.

Mental health challenges don't discriminate by gender, but the way we talk about them—and more importantly, the way we don't talk about them when it comes to men—creates a significant barrier to getting help.

From a young age, boys learn that certain emotions are off-limits. Sadness becomes something to suppress. Fear becomes something to hide. Vulnerability becomes a sign of weakness rather than a sign of strength.

These messages don't just come from fathers or male role models. They come from mothers, teachers, peers, media, and every corner of society. Everyone participates in teaching boys to disconnect from their feelings, often without even realizing it.

By the time boys become men, they've internalized these lessons so deeply that seeking mental health care feels impossible. Not because they don't need it, but because admitting they need it feels like admitting failure.

Let's talk about what's really happening here: societal expectations and cultural norms around masculinity are setting men up to fail.

"Man up." "Boys don't cry." "Don't be a pussy." "Grow a pair."

These aren't just throwaway phrases. They're cultural expectations that define what it means to be a man in our society. And they're toxic as hell.

This pressure to be tough, unfeeling, and self-sufficient doesn't come from some inherent masculine trait. It comes from generations of cultural conditioning that tells men their worth is tied to their ability to never show weakness.

The result? Men learn to:

Here's what's particularly cruel about this: when society does tell men to "just open up" and "share your feelings," they often face rejection, ridicule, or dismissal when they try to do it.

I've heard countless stories from men about what happened when they tried to finally open up:

A man going through intense personal struggles finally broke down and cried in front of his girlfriend after holding everything in for years. She listened, seemed supportive in the moment. The next day she broke up with him. Later, he found out through a mutual friend that she'd told her friends "seeing him cry was such a turn off" and that she "didn't know he was weak." She and her friends were making fun of him. After being together for over two years.

This was his first time crying in a decade. His takeaway? Opening up isn't worth the risk.

This is what "toxic masculinity" actually means—not that men are toxic, but that the rigid expectations placed on men are toxic to men themselves. It strips them of their humanity and punishes them for being fully human.

The consequences of these cultural norms are devastating when it comes to mental health support.

Even when men recognize they're struggling, getting help feels like navigating a minefield:

The stigma is real. Admitting you need help with your mental health can feel like admitting you're broken, weak, or "less of a man." This fear of judgment—from friends, family members, partners, coworkers—keeps men suffering in silence.

The language doesn't fit. Mental health conversations often center women's experiences. The symptoms of depression in men can look different—more like irritability, anger, or numbness than sadness. Men may not even recognize they're experiencing mental health struggles because they don't match the "typical" presentation.

Support groups feel like foreign territory. Finding a safe space where men feel comfortable being vulnerable is incredibly difficult. Traditional support groups may feel intimidating or unwelcoming to men who've never been encouraged to share their feelings.

Professional help seems out of reach. Whether it's the cost of individual therapy, not knowing where to start, or fear that a therapist won't understand male experiences, barriers to mental health services are everywhere. And that's before considering that some men grew up in environments where therapy was seen as something only "crazy" people need.

Here's the impossible bind men find themselves in:

Society says: "Men should be emotionally available and communicate their feelings."

But also: "Real men don't cry or show weakness."

And then: "Why don't men ever talk about their emotions?"

Followed by: "Ew, he's so emotional and needy."

It's a no-win situation. Men are supposed to have feelings but not too many feelings. They're supposed to open up but not be vulnerable. They're supposed to seek help but also handle things on their own.

These contradictory cultural expectations create a psychological minefield that makes navigating mental health nearly impossible.

There's another layer to this: men with mental health conditions are often under-diagnosed or misdiagnosed entirely.

Certain behaviors that might indicate mental health struggles—like promiscuity, aggression, or substance abuse—are sometimes dismissed as "just how men are" rather than symptoms that deserve attention and care. A man exhibiting behaviors that would raise red flags in a woman might be told he's just being a typical guy.

This means men who desperately need mental health support might never receive proper diagnosis or treatment. Instead, they may end up bouncing from job to job, relationship to relationship, or even caught up in the criminal justice system. They may end up struggling endlessly rather than getting the mental health care they need.

The first step toward getting help is recognizing when there's an actual problem. But if society keeps telling men their very real symptoms are just "normal male behavior," how are they supposed to know when to seek help? Especially when they’re supposed to also be “tough?”

One of the most painful consequences of all this is that men often can't recognize or speak up when they're being abused—especially when the abuse is sexual.

Society tells us that men are always ready for sex, always want it, and should be grateful for any sexual attention they receive. This lie creates a particularly insidious problem: when men are sexually coerced or assaulted, they often don't recognize it as assault.

I've worked with men who described situations where:

In every case, these men questioned whether what happened to them "counted" as assault. Because they're men. Because they're "supposed" to always want sex. Because admitting they were victimized feels impossible when society tells them men can't be victims.

When men experience sexual coercion or assault, the feelings of shame and confusion are compounded by:

Questioning their own experience. "Was that actually assault? I'm a man, can a woman even assault me? Maybe I'm overreacting."

Fear of not being believed. When men try to talk about sexual trauma, they're often met with disbelief, dismissal, or even mockery. "You should be grateful." "Men can't be raped." "You must have wanted it."

Concerns about their sexuality. If the assault was perpetrated by another man, there's an added layer of shame and confusion, especially given how harshly society judges anything that might be perceived as homosexual.

Lack of resources. Support services for sexual assault survivors are often designed with women in mind. Men may not even know where to turn for help.

One young man shared his experience of being coerced into sex by a woman he met on a dating app. She kept pushing and pressuring despite him repeatedly saying he wasn't interested in anything sexual. He felt disgusting afterward and blamed himself for even showing up. He kept overthinking whether the glass of wine she'd had at dinner meant he'd actually taken advantage of her, even though she'd explicitly told him she was sober and he was the one who'd been pressured.

His confusion was understandable—but it also showed how deeply men internalize the idea that they can't be victims. And worse, that they’re always the perpetrator. 

Another man was tied to his bed while sleeping and sexually assaulted by his girlfriend. When he reacted in self-defense and accidentally hurt her, she told everyone he was abusive. The physical evidence of her broken nose "proved" his violence, while his trauma was completely invalidated.

These aren't isolated incidents. They're patterns. And they happen because we've created a culture where men's pain, boundaries, and trauma don't matter as much as maintaining the myth that men are always in control, always willing, and never vulnerable.

If you're reading this and recognizing yourself in these stories—if you've been struggling alone, if you've been told to "man up," if you've questioned whether your pain is valid—I want you to know something:

Your feelings matter. Your trauma is real. And seeking help doesn't make you weak. It makes you wise.

The first step toward healing is often the hardest: acknowledging that you're struggling and that you deserve support. Not because you're broken, but because you're human.

Here's what that might look like:

Mental health care isn't one-size-fits-all. There are options:

Individual therapy can provide a confidential space to work through your experiences with a trained professional. Look for therapists who specialize in men's mental health or trauma-informed therapy.

Support groups for men can help you realize you're not alone. Connecting with others who understand can be incredibly validating.

Crisis resources are available 24/7 if you're in immediate distress. There's no shame in reaching out when you need help right now.

The truth is that early intervention makes a significant difference. The sooner you address mental health struggles, the better your chances of recovery and building the life you want.

You deserve to have people in your life who see your vulnerability as strength, not weakness.

Look for:

And if the people currently in your life can't handle your humanity? That's information about them, not about you.

Real strength isn't about suppressing your emotions or handling everything alone. Real strength is:

The cultural expectations that tell you otherwise? Those need to change. And change starts with men like you refusing to accept the lie that your mental health doesn't matter.

Men deserve emotional support. You deserve to express feelings of shame, fear, sadness, and vulnerability without being punished for it. You deserve mental health care that actually addresses your needs. You deserve to have your trauma recognized and validated.

The mental health crisis among men won't get better until we create a supportive environment where seeking help is normalized, where emotional expression is valued, and where men are seen as complex human beings rather than emotionless providers and protectors.

This isn't about tearing down masculinity. It's about expanding what masculinity can mean—making space for sensitivity, emotional intelligence, and the full range of human experiences.

You're not weak for struggling. You're not less of a man for needing support. You're a human being dealing with very human challenges in a world that hasn't given you the proper tools.

But those tools exist. Professional help is available. Recovery is possible. And you don't have to do this alone.

If you're ready to take that first step, if you want support navigating men's mental health challenges, or if you're looking for a safe space to work through shame and trauma, I'm here. Visit Hart’s Desire to learn more about how coaching can help.

Love always,