It Is Okay for Men Not to Be Okay

A Reflection for Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month

June is Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month, and this conversation sits heavy on my heart.

I write this not only as a retired Army veteran, leader, advocate, and woman who has walked through her own mental health struggles, but also as a daughter to a father watching down from heaven, who always reminded us to be strong and never let anyone tear us down.

I write this as a mother raising an adult son, a grandmother to my grandson, a sister to three amazing brothers, a former spouse who has witnessed the weight men carry in silence, and an aunt to amazing nephews who are growing into the kind of men this world desperately needs.

I have spent a large part of my life surrounded by men who were taught to be strong.

Strong in uniform.Strong as fathers.Strong as husbands.Strong as sons.Strong as brothers.Strong as leaders.Strong even when they were breaking inside.

But somewhere along the way, too many men were taught that strength meant silence.

Too many men were taught that strength meant silence. It does not.

They were taught to push through pain, swallow emotion, carry the weight, and keep moving. They were told, directly or indirectly, that asking for help was weakness. That crying made them less of a man. That speaking about anxiety, depression, grief, trauma, fear, exhaustion, loneliness, or uncertainty was something they had to hide.

I want the men in my life to know this clearly:

You are not weak because you are struggling. You are not less of a man because you feel deeply. You are not a burden because you need support. You are human.

As someone who has navigated PTSD, anxiety, depression, trauma, identity loss, divorce, reinvention, and healing, I know what it feels like to carry pain behind a smile. I know what it feels like to show up for everyone else while quietly wondering if anyone sees what you are carrying. I know what it feels like to be strong because you had no other choice.

And that is exactly why I share my story.

Not because it is easy. Not because I have it all figured out.But because silence almost took too much from me.

You do not have to suffer in silence to prove your strength.

I share because I want my son to know that he can use his voice. I want my grandson to grow up in a world where boys are not taught to hide their pain. I want my brothers to know that they do not always have to be the strong ones without support. I want my nephews to know that emotions do not make them weak. I want the male veterans, fathers, husbands, brothers, sons, leaders, and friends in my life to know they do not have to wait until they are falling apart to say, “I need help.”

As a daughter, I carry the lessons of my father with me. Though he is watching down from heaven, his voice still echoes in my heart, reminding me to be strong and to never let anyone tear me down. He taught me resilience in his own way, and that strength has carried me through seasons I was not sure I would survive.

But as I have grown, healed, and walked through my own mental health journey, I have also learned that being strong does not mean we never struggle. It does not mean we never cry, ask for help, or admit when life feels heavy.

True strength is not about pretending we are untouched by pain.

True strength is learning how to keep going while still allowing ourselves to be human.

Strength is not the absence of emotion. Strength is being honest enough to say, “I am not okay today.”

As a mother, I never want my son to believe he has to carry everything alone. I want him to know that he can be tough and tender. Brave and emotional. Strong and vulnerable. Protective of others while still taking care of himself.

As a grandmother, I now see this conversation through another generation. I look at my grandson and think about the kind of world I want him to grow up in. I want him to know that he can be brave and still have feelings. He can be strong and still ask for help.

He can lead, love, cry, rest, speak up, and still be every bit of who he was created to be.

I do not want him to inherit a world that teaches boys to hide their pain. I want him to inherit a world that teaches them how to name it, talk about it, and heal from it.

As a sister, I think about my three brothers and the different seasons of life they have walked through. I think about the pressure men carry quietly, sometimes without ever saying the words out loud. I think about how many times the men we love are expected to be steady, dependable, and strong, while rarely being asked who is holding them up.

My brothers matter to me. My son matters to me. My grandson matters to me. My nephews matter to me. The men in my life matter to me. And because they matter, I want them to know they do not have to suffer in silence to prove their strength.

I want the men in my life to live fully, not silently.

As an aunt, I want my nephews to grow up knowing that being a man does not mean hiding their hearts. It means learning how to speak from it.

As a former spouse, I have seen how much pressure men carry behind closed doors. The pressure to provide. To lead. To perform. To fix. To not fall apart. To keep everyone else steady while they quietly unravel. Every story is different, but I believe we must make room for honest conversations about the emotional weight men carry in families, relationships, careers, service, and life.

As a leader, especially one who served in the military, I understand how deeply the culture of “keep going” can be ingrained in us.

Mission first.Emotions later.Push through.Get it done.

But healing has taught me something powerful: leadership is not just about standing tall in front of others. Sometimes leadership is being brave enough to say, “I am not okay today.”

That kind of honesty can save lives.

We have to do better at teaching our boys and men that strength is not the absence of emotion.

Strength is being honest.Strength is asking for help.Strength is going to therapy.Strength is admitting you are tired.Strength is having the hard conversation. Strength is choosing to stay.Strength is letting someone love you through the darkness.

Using your voice does not make you weak. It makes you human.

Men’s mental health is not just a men’s issue. It is a family issue. A community issue. A leadership issue. A human issue.

When men suffer in silence, families feel it. Children feel it. Marriages feel it.

Workplaces feel it. Communities feel it. But when men are given safe spaces to speak, heal, and be fully human, everyone benefits.

We need to stop telling men to “man up” and start asking, “How are you really doing?”

We need to stop praising silence and start honoring honesty.

We need to stop assuming the strong ones are okay.

Because sometimes the strongest person in the room is the one who is barely holding it together.

To the men reading this: You matter. Your voice matters. Your pain matters. Your healing matters. You do not have to earn the right to be cared for. You do not have to reach a breaking point before you ask for help.

You are allowed to talk. You are allowed to cry. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to heal.

And to the women, mothers, grandmothers, spouses, former spouses, sisters, daughters, friends, and leaders who love them: let’s help create spaces where men feel safe enough to be honest.

Let’s listen without trying to fix everything. Let’s remind them they are not alone. Let’s raise our sons differently. Let’s teach our daughters that emotional honesty in men is not weakness, but courage. Let’s raise the next generation of boys to understand that their feelings are not something to bury, but something to understand.

I share my story because I want the men in my life to live fully, not silently.

I want my son and nephews to know that being strong does not mean pretending pain does not exist.

I want my grandson to grow up knowing that his voice matters.

I want my brothers to know they are loved beyond what they carry.

I want the men who have served, led, protected, provided, and pushed through to know they are still worthy of being held, heard, and supported.

It is okay to not be okay.

But you do not have to stay there alone.

This June, and every month after, may we remind the men in our lives that using their voice does not make them weak.

It makes them human.

And being human is one of the strongest things they will ever be.

Being human is one of the strongest things you will ever be.