For years we’ve been telling men to open up.
We’ve run campaigns encouraging them to talk. We’ve told them it’s okay not to be okay. We’ve urged them to reach out when they’re struggling. We’ve asked them to be honest about what’s going on beneath the surface.
On the face of it, it sounds like we’ve made real progress. Then something strange happens.
When a man actually does open up, many of us don’t know what to do with it.
We say we want vulnerability, but often we’re only comfortable with it in theory. We’re happy for men to talk about struggles they’ve already overcome.
We applaud the comeback story because it feels safe. The crisis has passed. The ending is already written.
What makes people uncomfortable is vulnerability in real time. A man standing in front of us admitting he’s not coping.
A father confessing he’s overwhelmed. A husband acknowledging he’s scared. A young bloke saying he feels lost.
So many men become experts at hiding what’s really going on. They learn how to smile when they’re struggling. How to joke when they’re hurting. How to tell everyone they’re fine when they’re anything but.
The trouble is that hiding pain doesn’t make it disappear. It just makes it harder to see.
Over the years I’ve spoken to thousands of men through my work. Farmers. Builders. CEOs. Teachers. Tradesmen. Athletes. Fathers. Grandfathers.
Underneath, the conversations were remarkably similar.
Many carried a deep belief that their value was tied to what they could provide for others. They felt responsible for everyone around them while believing they had nowhere to take their own struggles.
Many worried that if they showed weakness they would somehow become less of a man.
What struck me wasn’t how different these men were. It was how lonely they were.
The good news is that things are changing. I meet young men today who are having conversations their fathers and grandfathers never had.
I see mates checking in on each other. I see fathers talking openly with their sons. I see more men willing to say, “I’m struggling,” without feeling ashamed.
But we still have a long way to go. Because if we genuinely want men to be vulnerable, we have to do more than encourage them to speak.
We have to change the way we respond when they do. We have to listen without judgement instead of rushing to fix the problem.
Most importantly, we have to stop treating vulnerability as the opposite of strength.
The strongest men I’ve ever met weren’t the ones who never struggled. They were the ones who found the courage to admit when they did.
Under 25 and need someone to talk to? Book a FREE counsellor at gumbootfriday.org.nz — no GP referral needed.
