Why is it so easy for men to ignore their own mental health, even while helping others with theirs?

Date: Monday 13 Nov 2017

Mental health affects everyone, even though some men refute such a claim.

By Mike Williams

It’s just as real as your physical health.

One thing’s for sure when it comes to mental health: anyone – no matter who you are, what your background, whether you’ve a good job, plenty of money, a loving and supportive family – can be struck down with any number of issues from panic attacks to severe depression. Mental illness is indiscriminate. No one is exempt.

So why do some men find it so difficult to not only express themselves but open up about their own issues? Denial and inexperience plays a big part when it comes to admitting we have a problem, as is actually recognising it. Masculinity has forever been expressed as a physically strong, silent, brave, and unflinching part of being a man.

‘Manning-up’ – a term I despise – is designed to shrug off anything in his path and smash through it with a brutish brawn.

Not only is that a woefully outdated and stale image of how a man should act, it’s also totally false. ‘Manning-up’ is a harmful, poisonous term that has no value in society. And therein lies one of the biggest dilemmas around masculinity: how do we break down these long existing stereotypes of how to behave? And, importantly, how should men be expected to conduct themselves? The answers to the above are neither straightforward nor singular as they can’t be pinpointed or solved by one solution.

 What is clear, as a man living in the 21st century, is that my attitudes to masculinity over the past decade or more have changed.

But when everyone in your vicinity is forcing this perceived image of masculinity onto you and inevitably shaping the person you are growing up to be (in the late 1980s and throughout the ’90s for me), it subsequently determines the person you grow into. Until you can open your mind and see beyond the facade of being nothing other than a manly man, people will continue to isolate themselves.Growing up in the 21st century with a greater focus on opening up about mental health, acceptance of others, and creating safe spaces, is very different from 20 years ago.

It is this contrast in attitude and upbringing that often prevents some men from acknowledging and accepting when they’re experiencing something that needs treating when it comes to their mental state.

There’s a sense of bravado that trickles down through generations and still hasn’t been eradicated even today. Gender stereotypes may have been watered down, but they still very much exist.In various regions there remains pressure for a man to be a man, and as a result, it programmes us to feel too proud, ashamed, or even embarrassed to discuss what’s considered weak and unmanly by some.

As open and honest and, where applicable, helpful as I am regarding the mental health of others, I personally find it difficult to process, accept, and deal with it when it’s happening to me.

For years I’ve suffered from anxiety which, as time has gone on, has only increased. But why did I fail to recognise or even spot this when it first began? Anxiety has long been seen as a non-existent problem. Something made out of nothing, when in fact it can be severely debilitating. As a man, if I were to say I had anxiety I feel the majority of people over the years wouldn’t have taken it seriously or even begun to understand what I was going through, so it was easier to remain quiet.

And why can I offer unequivocal, unwavering support for others but go against all logic when it happens to me?

Why do we feel that a girlfriend or male friend won’t want to hear about what’s troubling us? Why are we exempt from suffering? Sadly, there remains that stigma — even though there definitely shouldn’t be. It’s absurd logic to assume men don’t suffer from mental health problems or are strong enough to beat it without any assistance. Why is there a solid wall of isolation and, dare I say, shame when it comes to addressing one’s own well-being?

There’s long been an unspoken understanding between men about not talking about things on an emotional level and an instinctive desire not to. Don’t ask me why, but there is.

That said, I know I need to try harder and break down my own defensive walls around my own mental health. I’m 100% aware that issues like anxiety and depression are no one’s fault and the problems I have had in my life are nothing to be ashamed about. There is, however, an internal mechanism that triggers in regards to my own well-being that allows me to ignore it, or at least push it to one side, and prioritise other people’s health problems instead. Perhaps it’s a deflective tactic to avoid addressing my own needs.

This instinct feels ingrained and expected. I don’t like it; it frustrates me.

As someone who is generally in touch with his feelings and often speaks frankly to family, friends, and partners, I always find it’s far more straightforward to dish out advice than to take my own. Is it fear or weakness or embarrassment or vulnerability or societal construct that prevents this? In truth, it’s a mix. When I do speak about what’s weighing on my mind, there’s such a sense of relief. Sharing a problem really does alleviate the worry of bottling it all up. And afterwards, I feel somewhat calm.

But one thing is for sure: it’s imperative we look after ourselves and, like everyone, seek help when we need it because men no longer need to put on a front.