As a man who has lost a number of heroes due to mental health issues, emotional trauma, and unresolved pains, this month is particularly important to me, and even more so a topic of extreme passion.
I myself have struggled with issues that made me question the strength of a support beam and a rope. I have faced periods of incredible emotional struggle, regret, paranoia. I have lost family to the power of those who have power over men. I have faced courtrooms that saw me only as the male, the oppressor, the aggressor, and never as a part of a bigger puzzle.
I have been silenced. Abused. Stabbed, Robbed. Ostracized. And I am not alone.
Each year, June marks Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month—a time to shine a light on a crisis we rarely speak about with the gravity it deserves.
While society has made meaningful strides in mental health awareness overall, there remains a critical gap when it comes to men. It’s a conversation too often whispered—if it's had at all. But the numbers don’t whisper. They scream.
Globally, men make up over 75% of all suicides. That’s not a typo. Three out of every four people who take their own life are male—regardless of race, nationality, or sexual orientation. This is not just a statistic. It is a devastating, preventable loss of life. It is fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, and friends—gone because they felt they had no place left to turn. Because they were too ashamed to ask for help. Because society told them, directly or indirectly, that they shouldn’t need any.
What makes this crisis so insidious is how invisible it often is. Men are told—explicitly and implicitly
And even as the mental health movement has expanded in recent years, the language and tone of that expansion often overlooks men entirely—or worse, blames them.
In today’s social climate, men are frequently painted in one shade: oppressors. Aggressors. The "problem." This reductionist view does incredible harm—not just to men but to the fabric of empathy and mutual healing in our culture. Yes, power structures exist. Yes, inequities must be addressed. But reducing individual men to symbols of guilt robs them of the basic dignity and complexity every human being deserves.
Men are not monoliths. They are not invincible. And they are not the enemy.
They are hurting—and they are dying.
Talking about men’s mental health does not mean silencing other conversations. It does not mean ignoring the struggles of women or marginalized groups. This is not a zero-sum game. In fact, the opposite is true.
Compassion for men does not erase the need for accountability when harm is done. But healing and growth require the belief that change is possible. That people are worth saving. That people—even those who have struggled, failed, or hurt others—can learn, rise, and become something better.
If we deny men the right to feel, to falter, to grow—we don't just deny them humanity, we deny our own.
Men don’t talk about their pain for a reason. Many, in fact, many reasons:
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They're afraid they won’t be taken seriously.
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They're afraid they’ll be mocked, emasculated, or dismissed.
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They worry they’ll be told to "man up."
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They're afraid that admitting weakness makes them disposable, unwanted, or unlovable.
And tragically, many of them are right. When they do speak up, they often face ridicule, skepticism, or silence.
We must do better.
If you’re reading this and you’re wondering how to help—how to start—here are some simple, powerful places to begin:
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Listen. When a man shares something real with you—especially if it’s painful—honor it. Don’t brush it off. Don’t rush to fix. Just listen. -
Stop the ridicule. We have to stop treating male vulnerability as a joke or a sign of weakness. It's not. It's courage.
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Support therapy. Normalize therapy for men the same way it’s becoming normalized for others. Emotional hygiene is just as important as physical health.
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Check on the strong ones. The men who "have it all together" are often the ones in the deepest quiet despair. Ask the hard questions.
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Create spaces for honesty. Whether it's in friendship, fatherhood, brotherhood, or romance—make room for real talk.
This June is about awareness, yes—but also about hope. It’s about reclaiming the idea that men are not emotionless machines, nor inherently harmful. That masculinity and vulnerability are not opposites. That asking for help is not shameful. That every man deserves to feel seen, heard, and cared for—not just in crisis, but in everyday life.
Let this be the month we stop saying “men don’t talk about their feelings” and start asking why they don’t feel safe enough to.
Let this be the month we show that strength isn’t silence—it’s truth.
Let this be the month we fight for our brothers the way we would fight for anyone we love.
Because if we don’t—who will?
