The Silent Burden: What Men Really Worry About but Rarely Say
Very early in life, we begin to worry about being liked. That little girl in dance class—does she like me? The boys on the playground—will they let me join in their game? Our first social concerns arrive before we even understand the concept of self-worth, yet they shape so much of who we become.
As we grow older, the worries evolve but never really leave. In high school, we begin to worry about disappointing our parents. They want us to behave well, to make them proud—not just proud, but prouder than they are of our siblings or the neighbour’s overachieving children. Every moment starts to feel like a performance. And for many boys, that pressure is often absorbed in silence.
Adulthood doesn’t bring relief. We worry about finishing the degree, landing that respectable job. Years of sacrifice—ours, our parents’, and sometimes an entire family’s—poured into that one hope: security, success, dignity. Then comes the job market. We wonder if the hard work will pay off or if we’ll be just another CV in a pile.
Eventually, we worry about settling down. We find a partner. We marry. And the worries intensify.
“It’s our duty to take care of the woman we’ve chosen. It’s our duty to take care of the children we’ve fathered.”
Our fathers told us this. Society told us this. In Invisible Men: Men’s Inner Lives and the Consequences of Silence, author Michael Addis explains how men learn early to suppress their emotional expression, internalizing instead a quiet burden of duty. The family’s fate, its emotional climate and financial survival, often rests—at least in the minds of men—on their shoulders alone.
We internalise these pressures. At work, we must meet expectations. At home, we must provide. In our communities, our churches, and even in the eyes of ancestors long gone—we must not fail. For some of us, that sense of obligation reaches beyond the grave. There are ancestral expectations, cultural legacies, and the silent reminder: You’re the one. Don’t drop the baton.
But perhaps the most painful worry comes with middle age. A man can suddenly stop and ask himself:
Am I a disappointment to myself?
The dreams we once held—of success, impact, legacy—now feel distant. And when we compare them to where we stand, we sometimes see a chasm that feels impossible to bridge. Is this the life I dreamed of? Is this the job I always wanted? Is this the marriage I desired? Have I achieved all that I set out to accomplish?
This is the quiet crisis of masculinity.
He’s alone in the crowd.
The painful truth? No one knows we carry these worries. We don’t talk about them. We weren’t taught to. Our fathers didn’t talk about it. Society doesn’t expect us to. And even when we muster the strength to speak, too often we are judged or dismissed for doing so.
As Bell Hooks writes in The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love, patriarchy doesn’t just restrict women—it cages men, too. It teaches boys that vulnerability is weakness, that emotional honesty is shameful. Over time, that silence becomes a prison.
When men do speak out, they’re often met with suspicion. Or worse, ridicule. In Of Boys and Men by Richard Reeves, it’s pointed out that we are living in a time when male well-being is in quiet crisis, but the discourse often fails to acknowledge it—or even allow space for it.
This silence has a cost. A 2023 report by the American Psychological Association found that men are significantly less likely than women to seek help for mental health challenges. Among men aged 40–59, rates of depression and anxiety are climbing—but treatment rates are not.
So, what are we going to do?
Break the mold. Or be broken by the mold.
This isn’t about rejecting manhood, but reshaping it. Expanding it. Reclaiming the full spectrum of what it means to be human.
To the men reading this: you are not alone in your worry. You are not weak for carrying it. And you are not beyond healing or change.
To everyone else: listen. Really listen. Because men need spaces to speak—and be heard—without fear.
ASTOR TATE 