Things are starting to shift. More men are talking about mental health now than ever before. There’s more space in the public conversation for emotions, for struggle, for being human. But even with this progress, there’s still a long way to go. Many young men, especially in their late teens and early twenties, are still growing up with the belief that vulnerability is a weakness, that asking for help means something is wrong with them. That silence is safer.
And so they keep things to themselves. They might make jokes or brush things off. “It’s fine.” “I’m just tired.” “It’s nothing.” These words often cover something much deeper—stress, fear, sadness, pressure, anger—but they’ve never really been shown how to recognise or talk about those feelings. Emotional literacy—knowing what you feel, being able to express it, and having the tools to manage it—is something many boys never get to learn.
Instead, they’re taught—directly or indirectly—that they should toughen up, sort it out on their own, and avoid looking ‘soft’. Emotional pain gets tucked away. Crying becomes something to be ashamed of. And if they do feel something intense, it often comes out sideways—through sarcasm, withdrawal, anger, or shutting down completely.
By the time they reach their twenties, many of these patterns are well set. At that age, there’s often a lot of pressure: to be successful, to seem confident, to have a plan. There’s a strong pull to prove something, not just to others but also to themselves. Therapy can feel like the opposite of all that. Some see it as something for people who are really struggling, not for someone who’s “just going through a rough patch.” Some laugh it off or say they’re not the type to talk about feelings. Others come because someone else encouraged them—a girlfriend, a parent, a friend—but arrive guarded, unsure what the point of it is.
In my work with men in this age group, I notice this a lot. There’s often resistance at first, or uncertainty. They might not know what to say or might worry that they’ll be judged. Some are afraid they’ll get emotional and won’t know how to handle it. But something begins to change when they realise they’re in a space where they don’t have to perform. They don’t have to be funny, or clever, or impressive. They can just be.
Once there’s a sense of safety and no pressure to open up too fast, things start to shift. They begin to reflect on things they haven’t had words for before—disappointment, loneliness, pressure, grief. For some, it’s the first time they’ve been asked how they really feel, and actually had the space to answer. It’s powerful to watch.
It’s not that men don’t feel as deeply as women. They do. But many haven’t had the practice, support, or language to express those feelings. So it builds up. It can turn into irritation, withdrawal, or burnout. Some turn to drinking, gaming, or working constantly—ways of coping without ever naming what’s really going on inside.
The idea that men should just “get on with it” is still very present in our culture. It’s tied into all kinds of myths about masculinity. But real strength isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about being honest with yourself. It’s about showing up, even when things are hard. It’s about saying, “I don’t have all the answers, but I want to understand myself better.”
Creating spaces where men can do that is crucial. Whether it’s therapy, honest friendships, or just starting small by saying “actually, I’ve been struggling a bit lately,” it matters. These moments of honesty are the beginning of change—not just for individual men, but for how we all relate to one another.
We still have work to do. We need to raise boys with permission to feel. We need to model emotional openness for our sons, brothers, and friends. And we need to make sure young men know they’re allowed to ask for help—not because they’re weak, but because they’re human.
There’s no shame in feeling. No shame in not having it all figured out. The silence around men’s emotional lives has been passed down through generations, but it doesn’t have to continue. It can stop with this one. And it starts with small moments of truth, spoken out loud.