THE BLACK EXPERIENCE: Black men, mental health and the weight we carry

Every June, we shine a light on men’s mental health, but for many Black men it still feels like we’re having a conversation we were never really invited to join. We carry so much. Expectations, Trauma, Pride. The craziest thing is we’ve been taught to do it all in silence.

Growing up I was made to believe I had to be “hard” by default. Showing any type of emotion meant I was weak. That’s something I wrestle with personally till this day. Recently, I asked myself, “Why is it that the young Black man’s default state must be ‘tough’?” We don’t always make space for each other to be different, to be vulnerable, or even just to be human. In too many of our communities, if you don’t fit a certain mold, you’re labeled as “less than,” “weird,” or an “outcast.”

I noticed you rarely see that kind of rigidity in other communities. A white male can be a surfer and still be fully embraced. Another can be a quirky architect type and still get love and support. But for us? Being different often means being ostracized even by the people with whom we grew up.

That kind of isolation can be dangerous.

I was fortunate enough to have a strong church foundation teaching me the difference between right and wrong. I didn’t always do right, but I had people who cared and kept me on the right path even when I was heading in the wrong direction. I know not everyone has that. And for those who don’t, it’s even harder to navigate the mental weight piling up when you feel like you’re going through life alone.

We don’t talk enough about the consequences of that kind of emotional homelessness. Too many Black men don’t have community, don’t have safe spaces, don’t have affirmation for simply being who they are. That’s what eats away at your mental health. Not just trauma but loneliness. Not just stress but the feeling that you’re not allowed to talk about it.

So what’s the answer? I’m not claiming to have it all figured out but here’s what I know.

First, we need community. One of the biggest sources of healing I’ve found is being around like-minded people. People sharing your values, wanting to grow and genuinely wanting the best for you. Whether it’s friends, family, church, or a group chat full of the bros holding each other accountable, we need people in our lives who “get it.” As stated earlier, the cure for some of these mental instabilities starts with finding a sense of community.

Second, we need safe spaces to be vulnerable. Not every Black man has access to therapy. If that’s not an option for you, find people with whom you can be vulnerable. Don’t be afraid to open your mouth. Try to find somebody who understands. Talking is healing. Expression is freedom. You don’t have to shout it to the world but find someone with whom you can be real. This may be a family member, a significant other, or a close friend. 

Third, we must normalize emotional diversity. Every Black man doesn’t move and react to things the same and that’s okay. You might not be into sports. You might be a poet, or a gamer, or a dad who just wants to keep his peace. You don’t have to perform masculinity a certain way to earn your place in the world. You already belong. We belong.

Lastly, we have to do the work. We should work toward understanding, evolving, and growth. That means looking at our lives honestly. It means acknowledging our pain, facing it, and figuring out how to move forward in a way honoring our full humanity. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being whole.

For me, my faith, my family, and the special people I’ve selected as friends/community are my anchors. People who notice when I am struggling, even if we don’t talk every day. They care and that level of support and care has kept me from crashing out completely. Their concern reminds me that I matter, that my life has value even in the moments when I didn’t feel like it was true.

To every man out there, white, Black or other, carrying heavy things, you don’t have to carry them alone. You are not weak for feeling. You are not broken for needing help. And you are not less of a man for wanting peace.

This Men’s Mental Health Month, I want to challenge us to not just talk about it, but to live differently. To listen when another man opens up. To create spaces where we can be vulnerable without shame. To check in with each other and mean it.

Healing is possible. Connection is necessary.