Guest blog by Param Singh Sahni
There’s a quiet crisis unfolding in our communities. It isn’t always loud or visible—but it’s real. Men, especially those raised in cultures where emotional silence was seen as strength, are struggling. Beneath the surface of daily life, many wrestle with anxiety, shame, grief, and a wordless pressure to “man up” when what they really need is to slow down, speak out, and soften.
From an early age, boys are often handed toxic messages: “Big boys don’t cry.” Or worse: “If you cry, I’ll give you something to cry about.” These aren’t just throwaway lines—they’re early lessons in emotional suppression. They shape men who equate vulnerability with weakness and emotional expression with shame.
The fallout is devastating. The suicide rate among men in England and Wales rose to 17.4 deaths per 100,000 in 2023, according to the Office for National Statistics. Behind each number is a brother, father, son, or partner—often someone who never learned how to express his internal world.
What if emotional regulation isn’t a luxury or a “soft skill,” but a survival tool?
To regulate emotions doesn’t mean to suppress them—it means to understand them, express them safely, and respond rather than react. But many men were never taught how. At a recent 10-day Vipassana retreat—10 days of complete silence—there was a striking moment when the vow lifted. The women began connecting instantly: laughing, chatting, bonding. The men? Many remained quiet, uncertain, almost paralysed by the social discomfort of sharing. Even in silence, conditioning speaks volumes.
Our society rewards men for performance, not presence. Productivity trumps peace. Success is praised while softness is sidelined. One friend put it this way: “A man’s worth is in what he can provide.” But what happens when he can’t? When the work stops? When illness or age forces a pause? Many are left with a life they built—but never learned how to live.
Masculinity, when reduced to utility, is a kind of emotional exile. And eventually, that exile can turn into despair.
Therapy offers a counter-narrative. A space where men can name what they feel, often for the first time. Where silence can be broken without fear of judgment. But the hardest part is getting through the door. Many men don’t reach out—because doing so requires admitting something is wrong. And if something is wrong, that might mean slowing down, reflecting, or—worst of all—asking for help. For some, that threatens their very sense of identity.
For men from racialised backgrounds, this struggle is compounded. In many Black communities, vulnerability is seen as dangerous. Centuries of systemic pressure have created a survival-based stoicism—an unspoken rule that pain must be carried, not spoken. Admitting to fear or sadness can feel like betrayal.
In South Asian communities, it’s often the whisper of collective shame that keeps men silent. The question “What will people say?” echoes through homes and histories. Struggles are swept under the carpet to preserve family honour. Mental health is often taboo—hidden behind perfectionism, ambition, or religious platitudes.
For many second- and third-generation men, the pressure is even more layered. They grow up as third culture children—navigating the values and expectations of their parents’ culture, the dominant British culture, and the unique identity they craft between the two. That blending can be enriching, but it also brings complexity and internal tension. Who am I allowed to be? Which parts of myself are acceptable—and to whom? This constant cultural negotiation can make emotional expression feel unsafe, even shameful.
The result is a dangerous intersection: cultural silence, masculine pride, and a healthcare system that doesn’t always feel safe or relevant. It leaves many men carrying pain they’ve never been given permission to name.
This is where culturally sensitive, trauma-informed therapy can be life-changing. It’s not about rejecting culture—it’s about finding safety within it. It’s about saying: “You can honour your roots and honour yourself.”
When we invite men to feel, we aren’t weakening them—we’re freeing them. We’re reminding them that strength and softness can co-exist. That being a gentle man isn’t an oxymoron—it’s a revolution.
Param Singh Sahni is a psychotherapist and co-founder of The Work, a platform supporting men’s mental health through vulnerability, connection, and culturally sensitive care.
If you would like to talk to anyone about the issues raised in this blog click here to find a therapist in Chiswick at The Greenhouse Therapy Rooms
Further Resources & Contact
For upcoming men’s workshops and community support, visit www.the-work-uk.com or follow @theworkuk2024 on Instagram.
To explore reflections on masculinity, culture, and emotional wellbeing, follow @thesikhtherapist on Instagram.