Why So Many Males Die by Suicide, And What We’re Still Not Talking About
We teach boys how to throw a punch, how to push through pain, how to ‘man up.’ What we don’t teach them? How to sit with emotions they were never taught to name.
What if I told you that the people most at risk of dying by suicide aren’t the ones we usually picture?
They’re not the ones who cry openly.
They’re not the ones who flood group chats with SOS messages.
They’re not the ones sitting across from a therapist’s couch, articulating their pain.
I still get messages from people telling me to stay strong. Ninety percent come from men. I don’t expect any person to walk up to a guy and say, “cry it out, man!”
More than 80% of people who die by suicide are male.
What a staggering number! One that doesn’t fit the stereotype of what we think depression looks like. We tend to imagine visible struggle: tears, vulnerability, asking for help. But for many men and boys, grief doesn’t present that way at all.
They’re grieving differently, and we’re missing it.
They might not cry.
They might not talk.
They might not even realize they’re grieving.
Instead, their pain shows up sideways:
Isolation
Irritability and bursts of anger
Retreating from friends and family
Numbing with distractions
“I’m fine” (even when they’re falling apart)
From an early age, boys are taught to “man up,” to fix, to stay strong. Vulnerability isn’t encouraged, it’s punished. And so when they lose something important, like a relationship, a sense of belonging, or failing their driving test,they often don’t have the tools or language to process it.
They push it down.
They power through.
They numb.
And slowly, that unspoken pain hardens into something more dangerous: hopelessness. That’s not a place you want to stay long.
It’s not that males don’t feel deeply. It’s that they haven’t been taught how to feel out loud. Guys don’t have the emotional outlets, or they choose to ignore them. This is coming from someone who cried more than most men in the last decade.
If we want to change the suicide rate among males, we need to change the conversation about grief, emotion, and connection. Therapy helps, but this also requires everyday spaces where boys feel seen, safe, and unjudged. Where they can try on the full range of emotions without being told they’re weak.
That’s where mentorship comes in. It’s also where EQ comes into play.
Mentorship isn’t about fixing. It’s about listening. It’s about offering language when someone has none. It’s about showing up in the mess and saying:
“You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there too. I’ve got you.”
That can mean the difference between silence and survival.
This is the work of The MentorWell. A place where boys don’t need to be “fine,” where they can build the confidence and resilience that our culture has so often denied them.
The numbers are grim. But the story isn’t finished.
We can rewrite it, one conversation, one mentor, one boy at a time.
