Why Men’s Mental Health Became the Focus of My Practice

When I first started training as a counsellor, I assumed the hardest part would be learning theory, sitting with silence, or writing enough assignments to earn the next green tick from my tutor. What stayed with me most, though, was something else entirely.

I realised how rarely men’s mental health was spoken about as a stand-alone subject.

It appeared around the edges occasionally, but rarely as a direct focus in training rooms, placements, or conversations between peers. The more experience I gained, the more I found myself drawn towards the men who entered the room carrying something difficult but struggling to find words for it.

Not because men are unwilling to talk.

Often because many were never taught how.

Part of that understanding comes from my own upbringing. Being a man of a certain age meant growing up around phrases like:
“Big boys don’t cry.”
“Pull your socks up.”
“Man up.”

That was simply the culture many of us absorbed. You learned to stay strong, stay useful, and keep going. Emotions were often pushed down or hidden altogether. Looking after other people came more naturally than asking for help yourself.

Over time, I began noticing how deeply those messages still shaped many of the men I worked with.

Even in the counselling room, where permission to speak openly existed, some men struggled to know where to begin. Some arrived visibly anxious, apologising before they had even sat down. Others carried decades of silence, uncertainty, shame, or emotional suppression.

A few clients even asked me not to use the phrase:
“How does that make you feel?”

At first, that surprised me. But underneath the reaction was often something understandable:
“How can I describe a feeling I do not yet understand myself?”

Those moments stayed with me because they highlighted something important. There can be a significant gap between expecting emotional openness and recognising that some people were never given the language, safety, or permission to explore emotions in the first place.

The statistics around men’s mental health reflect this reality too. In England and Wales, around three quarters of suicides are male, with the highest suicide rates often seen in middle-aged men.

But beyond the statistics are real people quietly carrying pressure, grief, shame, loneliness, responsibility, and emotional exhaustion while still trying to function as though everything is fine.

Training prepared me for counselling theory. What it could not fully prepare me for was the sheer weight of silence many men carry into the room.

And those unspoken rules do not stay inside therapy.

Men carry them into workplaces, relationships, friendships, fatherhood, and everyday life. Into offices, building sites, boardrooms, warehouses, classrooms, and homes.

That is why I believe men’s mental health matters far beyond counselling itself.

Supporting men emotionally is not about forcing vulnerability or expecting everyone to suddenly become emotionally fluent overnight. Sometimes it begins much more simply than that. Creating spaces where men feel less judged. Less alone. More able to speak honestly without feeling weak, foolish, or like a burden.

Because when men feel emotionally safe, something often shifts.

Not perfectly.
Not instantly.
But gradually.

And perhaps that is the real work, helping create cultures, conversations, workplaces, and relationships where men no longer feel they have to carry everything silently on their own.