Invisible Cracks in Masculinity: The Weight of Silent Suffering
Reading Time: 5min
I learned early that you can always tell when a man is breaking. You don't hear it in his words, but you see it in the tiny ways he disappears in plain sight.
My uncle was like that. A man whose laughter used to shake walls, whose presence filled entire rooms. But in his final months, he smiled less, lingered longer at the gate before walking in, and spoke in sentences that felt borrowed from some distant place. When we asked if he was okay, he would clear his throat, sit a little straighter, and say, “I’m fine, don’t worry yourself.”
We believed him.
We shouldn’t have.
We talk about women’s pain often, and rightly so. Their stories of loss, trauma, heartbreak, and survival fill our timelines and headlines. But there's another story running parallel, quieter, tucked into the corners of hushed conversations: the silent suffering of men.
In South Africa, nearly 75% of suicide deaths are men.
In Kenya, it’s even starker: eight out of every ten suicide victims are male.
These numbers stopped feeling abstract when they began to look like people I knew: colleagues who joked through exhaustion, friends who carried every burden but their own, men who were loved deeply yet felt utterly alone.
From boyhood, they’re taught to lock their softness away. “Man up.” “Stop crying.” “Be the strong one.” Vulnerability is smothered before it can form its own language. So men grow into adults who are fluent in silence, experts at emotional self-erasure, conditioned to believe that asking for help is an admission of failure.
But pain that is swallowed does not vanish. It ferments.
It turns inward, or outward. It settles into the bones of families, echoing in arguments, distance, or violence. Studies in South Africa even show that legal gun ownership, often tied to masculine identity, significantly increases suicide risk among men, especially those caught in the cycle of gender-based violence. When society ties manhood to control, losing control can feel like a death sentence.
Yet it doesn’t have to be this way.
The first act of healing is permission. Permission to feel, to speak, to unravel safely. We need homes where a man can say “I’m not okay” without the room stiffening. Communities where vulnerability is met with compassion, not mockery. A world where masculinity is defined not by stoic silence, but by the courage to admit fear, exhaustion, or a broken heart.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if someone had told my uncle that being human was allowed.
That breaking was not the same as failing.
That strength could look like a whispered, "I need help."
Silence has already cost too many lives.
It is time to loosen its grip—before it steals another man we love.
A Professional Commentary
The narrative you've just read is a heartbreakingly common one in my practice. The "invisible cracks" aren't just a metaphor; they are the silent fractures in a man's well-being that we, as a society, often fail to see until it's too late.
Here in Kenya, the numbers are a stark reflection of this silence. While talking about suicide is difficult, the data we have is alarming. Men account for the overwhelming majority of suicide deaths in our country and some reports indicate that as many as eight out of every ten lives lost to suicide are male. These aren't just statistics; they are our brothers, fathers, uncles, and friends.
The problem isn't that men feel pain less deeply, but that they are often taught from a very young age to bear it alone. Phrases like "be a man" and "boys don't cry" build a wall that makes it incredibly difficult to later say, "I am not okay." The stigma around mental health is real and powerful, and for many men, the fear of being seen as weak or a failure feels worse than enduring the pain in silence.
So, how do we change this?
First, we must change the conversation through public education. We need campaigns that actively reframe what strength means. True strength isn't about silent suffering; it's about having the courage to acknowledge when you're struggling. We need to normalize mental health check-ups just as we do physical ones.
Second, we need targeted advocacy that makes support accessible. This means integrating mental health into primary care clinics, training more community health workers to recognize the signs of crisis in men, and ensuring that workplace employee assistance programs are promoted and used without shame.
Finally, it's about fighting stigma at the grassroots level. We can all play a part. It starts in our homes, by giving the boys and men in our lives permission to feel the full range of human emotions. It continues in our communities, by listening without judgment when a friend says he's having a hard time.
The life we save by breaking this silence could be that of a man we love dearly.
Dr. Joseph N.,
A Nairobi-based Psychiatrist & Advocate at MindTheMap
Public Resources & Directories:
For immediate assistance, especially if someone is in immediate danger, please call the national emergency number 999 or 112.
The table below lists organizations that offer specialized crisis support and counseling.
💡 Tips for Reaching Out
You are not a burden: These helplines exist precisely for this reason. The volunteers and professionals are trained to listen without judgment and offer support
Try more than one service: If the first line you call is busy or doesn't feel like the right fit, please try another. Different organizations may have slightly different approaches, and it's important to find someone you feel comfortable with
For immediate danger: If you believe someone is in imminent danger of harming themselves, do not hesitate to call the national emergency services at 999 or 112
It takes courage to reach out, but it is the first and most important step toward healing. Please do not hesitate to call one of these numbers today; they are there for you.
