How Do We Really Get Men to Engage?

It’s the question behind countless campaigns, services, workshops, and social media posts:

How do we actually get men to engage?

Not just nodding along when someone says “it’s okay to talk.”
Not just liking a mental health post before scrolling on.
Real engagement.
Turning up.
Opening up.
Sticking around long enough to let themselves be seen.

The truth is, awareness is not really the problem anymore. Most men I meet know the slogans. They have heard the statistics. They know mental health matters. But knowing something intellectually and living it emotionally are very different things.

From a young age, many men are handed invisible rules.

Don’t cry.
Don’t ask for help.
Don’t show weakness.
Be capable.
Be useful.
Keep going.

Those rules are rarely taught directly. They arrive quietly through families, schools, football changing rooms, workplaces, friendship groups, television, social media, and the wider culture around us. Over time they become so ingrained that many men stop noticing they are there at all.

By the time some men arrive in therapy, the idea of openly talking about themselves can feel less like vulnerability and more like breaking some unwritten code.

So what often happens instead?

Men wait.

They push through.
Minimise.
Distract themselves.
Keep functioning.
Keep working.
Keep carrying.

Until eventually the wheels come off.

The relationship breaks down.
The anxiety becomes impossible to ignore.
Sleep disappears.
Alcohol increases.
The sense of hopelessness gets louder.
Or the suicidal thoughts stop feeling abstract and start feeling frighteningly real.

That is not engagement.
That is survival.

And this is where I think many services unintentionally misunderstand men. Telling men to “just talk” is often not enough. If someone has spent thirty years learning that emotional openness equals weakness, shame, failure, or burdening other people, then a slogan alone is unlikely to undo that conditioning.

The words may be correct.
But the ground underneath them has never been prepared.

In practice, I often notice men testing the waters first.

A small comment.
A joke.
Something dropped casually into conversation.

Almost as if they are quietly asking:
“Is this safe?”
“Are you going to judge me?”
“Am I about to look weak?”
“Can I actually say this here?”

Sometimes therapists, services, or even friends move too quickly at this point. The moment a man says something difficult, there can be an immediate rush towards emotional exploration.

“How does that make you feel?”

Now sometimes that question matters deeply. But asked too quickly, it can also feel overwhelming, exposing, or unfamiliar. Not because the man does not care about his emotions, but because he may never have learned how to safely approach them in the first place.

That is why engagement is rarely about pushing men to talk.

It is about creating conditions where talking no longer feels dangerous.

And sometimes therapy is not even the first doorway.

A walking group.
A football team.
A fishing trip.
A Men’s Shed.
A coffee after work.
Sitting side-by-side rather than face-to-face.

For many men, connection often begins through doing something together rather than immediately talking about feelings. The conversation comes later, once safety arrives first.

That is why organisations like Andy’s Man Club, Men Walking and Talking, Mandem Meetup, and Men’s Sheds often work so well. They understand something important:

Connection usually comes before disclosure.

Role models matter too. If the only version of masculinity men see is silent, stoic, emotionally closed off, then openness will always feel out of reach. But when men see fathers, friends, colleagues, footballers, or other ordinary men speaking honestly in grounded ways, the rules slowly begin to shift.

Not dramatic vulnerability.
Not performative emotion.
Just real human honesty.

And none of this works without empathy.

Men notice very quickly when support becomes mechanical, rushed, scripted, or emotionally absent. Burnout within services matters because emotionally exhausted systems struggle to create emotional safety. Protecting empathy, humanity, and genuine connection within support services is not optional. It is central to engagement itself.

So what does real engagement actually look like?

It often looks ordinary.

A man turning up to a walking group for the first time.
A dad quietly asking his mate if he is alright.
A colleague noticing somebody has gone quiet.
A therapist sitting patiently while a client says:
“I don’t really know how I feel.”

That is engagement.

Not pressure.
Not slogans.
Connection.

And perhaps this is the part I have learned most strongly over time: we cannot ask men to emotionally connect while simultaneously rewarding exhaustion, emotional suppression, and constant self-sacrifice.

Men do not just need permission to talk.
They need spaces where talking feels possible.

That takes trust.
Safety.
Patience.
Role models.
Culture.
Consistency.
Humanity.

In the end, men rarely engage because somebody told them to.

They engage because somewhere, with someone, they finally stop feeling alone.