Men's Mental Health Awareness Week: Reflections from Our Team

1. What do you find supports your mental health, and is there anything specific you do to take care of it?

I’ve come to see mental health as something we live with every day — not just something we notice when it goes wrong. What supports me most is connection: to people I trust, to reflective practices, and to space where I can be honest about how I’m feeling. That might be slowing down when I notice I'm running on empty, or letting myself feel something without rushing to problem-solve it.

Mental health, for me, also includes how I respond to stress — not just whether I feel ‘low’ but how quickly I snap at something, whether I’m becoming short with people, or shutting down emotionally. It’s about whether I’m able to stay present, listen, and act with care — not just for others, but for myself.

I’ve realised over time that my mental health isn’t something I manage in isolation — it’s shaped by the quality of my relationships, the spaces I move through, and whether I feel able to show up as myself. Healing, for me, happens in connection: in moments of trust, of being seen, and of not having to perform being fine.

Working in a youth mental health service, even in a non-clinical role, has changed how I think about strength — not as ‘pushing through’ or staying silent, but as the ability to reflect, connect, and allow yourself to be supported. I used to think mental health was about crisis or clinical diagnosis. Now I see it as something relational — part of how we speak to ourselves, how we move through stress, how we allow ourselves to receive care.

2. What do you think can get in the way of men accessing mental health support?

There’s still a strong narrative — often unspoken — that to be a man is to cope alone. That pressure to be self-sufficient, functional, in control… it gets in the way of men even recognising their emotional needs, let alone speaking them out loud. Often the barrier isn’t the support itself, but the idea that you have to be ‘in crisis’ to deserve it, or that talking about how you feel makes you less of a man.

I also think that the language of “mental health” doesn’t always land. A lot of men are living with emotional strain — anxiety, burnout, shame, grief — but might not call it mental health. It might show up as irritability, anger, overworking, or withdrawal. Just because it doesn’t fit the stereotype of being “really down” doesn’t mean it isn’t valid or in need of care. We need to broaden the way we invite people into these conversations.

The world still sends men a message — directly or indirectly — that being open about your emotions is a risk. Many people grow up feeling like they’ll be judged or misunderstood for showing vulnerability. So if we want more men to engage with support, we need to make sure those spaces genuinely feel safe, welcoming, and relevant — not just open in theory, but actively designed to meet people where they are. It’s about building a culture where being reflective and asking for support is recognised as a strength, not an exception.

3. What would you like other men that are struggling with their mental health to know?

You don’t have to carry this alone. And struggling doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you — it just means you’re human. The feelings you’re having are valid, even if you’ve never said them out loud. You don’t have to find all the words right away. You don’t have to fix everything before you talk to someone. You just have to know that support exists, and you’re allowed to access it.

Mental health isn’t just about sadness or crisis — it’s also about how you relate to the world. If you’re constantly feeling on edge, snapping at people you care about, feeling disconnected or numb — that matters too. Those are signs that something needs care, not judgment.

Mental health support isn’t just for other people. You don’t need a diagnosis or a rock-bottom moment to deserve help. What you’re feeling makes sense in the context of your life. And while vulnerability might feel risky, it’s also the beginning of real connection.

I’d want any man struggling to know that choosing to speak up, or reach out, or even just to pause and feel something — that’s not weakness. That’s a radical act of care. And you’re worthy of that care.

4. The importance of having spaces where men feel they can speak about their mental health experiences — and how we can make them more accessible

Men need spaces where they can be emotionally honest without being shamed, judged, or turned into a stereotype. That means environments built on real trust — where people feel safe enough to be open, and where there’s no pressure to present a version of yourself that’s always fine or in control.

Part of that is redefining what mental health looks like. It’s not always visible distress. Sometimes it’s carrying anger that no one ever helped you understand. Sometimes it’s feeling distant from people you care about, or realising that your default is to shut down instead of speak up. We need to make space for that kind of honesty too.

As a manager, I’ve learned that emotional safety isn’t just a clinical responsibility — it’s a cultural one. Every meeting, every team dynamic, every silence or welcome — they all shape whether someone feels they can speak. And for men, especially, we need to move beyond the idea that checking in is a tick-box, and start thinking about how we build cultures where emotional honesty feels normal, not exceptional.

I’ve had the privilege of working alongside practitioners who bring deep skill, warmth, and enthusiasm to this work — people who are constantly thinking about how to reach young people in ways that feel authentic and accessible. They don’t wait for someone to arrive in crisis; they reach out, meet people where they are, and build trust. That kind of practice inspires me. It reminds me that care isn’t abstract — it’s active, relational, and deeply human.

We need to dismantle the idea that care is weakness, or that you have to “deserve” support. Men shouldn’t have to perform collapse to be taken seriously. We all need space to be human — not perfect, but learning, healing, and moving forward.