The Weight of His Silence: The Conversations Men Avoid—and the Quiet Damage It Causes

He doesn’t talk. Or when he does, it’s short. Safe. Surface. He says he’s “just private,” but over time, that silence becomes its own kind of wound. You don’t know how he’s feeling. You don’t know what’s on his mind. And if you ask, the answers are brief—“I’m fine.” “It’s nothing.” “I’m good.” But emotional silence in relationships can feel like distance. Like you’re trying to love someone through a wall.

And the thing is—he probably wasn’t taught how to talk. Especially if he grew up in a home where emotions were mocked, ignored, or punished. Where he was told to “man up” anytime he got too tender. Where his tears were labeled dramatic. Where softness was shamed out of him. And for many men, that silence started not just with their fathers but with their mothers, too. Some grew up with mothers who were harsh, abrasive, or emotionally unavailable—where love felt more like survival than safety. In those homes, being “good” meant staying quiet to avoid conflict. So they learned to suppress, to compartmentalize, to say less. That silence became protection. But eventually, it also became the barrier.

I’ve sat with women in session who are married, partnered, in long-term relationships—and still feel starved for conversation. Not just the everyday stuff, but the emotional truth. The vulnerability. The fear. The reflection. They’re doing all the emotional labor—initiating the hard talks, asking the deep questions, trying to carry both hearts at once. And they’re exhausted. Because connection doesn’t live in “okay.” It lives in shared experience, in mutual openness. And when one person refuses to open, the relationship can only go so far.

But this doesn’t just show up in romantic relationships. It shows up in how men show up with each other, too. I’ve always found it wild how men can spend hours together—watching sports, working out, hanging out—and still not ask each other real questions. Someone could be going through a divorce or just lost a parent, and when you ask his friend, “How’s he doing?” the answer is usually, “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about that.” And they’re not lying. They really didn’t talk about it. They talked around it. Or avoided it completely.

There are men who have been best friends for decades and don’t know each other at all. Not really. Not deeply. And it’s not because they don’t care—it’s because no one ever modeled emotional intimacy for them outside of romance. They were taught that feelings are for women, and friendship is for fun or function—not depth. And so, when life gets heavy, they don’t reach out. They disappear. They numb. They isolate. They survive in silence. And often, the only person expected to emotionally carry them is their partner—who’s already carrying so much.

And that silence—if it’s never addressed—becomes generational. Because if a man can’t speak his truth, he won’t know how to help his children speak theirs. He may love his kids deeply, but he doesn’t ask them real questions. He doesn’t open the door to conversation. He doesn’t model what it means to feel, reflect, or emotionally show up. And what gets passed down isn’t just quiet—it’s emotional illiteracy. The inability to name or navigate what’s happening inside. That’s not just a personal struggle. It becomes a legacy.

I say this not to judge, but to name what so many people feel but can’t quite articulate. To the men who are reading: being private is not the problem. The problem is building walls so high that no one can reach you—even when they’re trying. The problem is not letting anyone know what you need. The problem is disappearing into silence and calling it strength.

You don’t have to pour out every detail to everyone. But someone should know you. You deserve to be known—not just for what you do, but for who you are. You deserve friendship that holds space for your grief and your growth. You deserve relationships where you don’t have to perform strength, or provide to feel worthy of love.

And if something in this is hitting, if it sounds too familiar, let me say this plainly: you may not call it anxiety or depression—but the symptoms are there. The overthinking. The irritability. The sleep that won’t come, or the sleep you use to escape. The overworking. The drinking. The smoking. The feeling like a failure. The emotional numbness. The ruminating thoughts. The excessive worrying. The compartmentalizing. The tightness in your chest or the tension in your jaw. That is not normal. That is pain. And it deserves your attention.

Therapy is one option. It’s not about fixing you. It’s about facing you. About learning how to name what’s happening inside. As a therapist, I am a mirror—but so are the women in your life. Your mother, your girlfriend, your wife, your sister. The question is: do you have the courage to look? To see yourself clearly—not just for the pain, but for the possibility? 

Because something has to change. Not just so you can be more present in your relationships. Not just so your partner doesn’t have to keep carrying what you won’t acknowledge, but so you can finally feel peace. So your children have a father who knows how to talk about what hurts. So the next generation of men grows up fluent in their own humanity.

You don’t have to keep holding it in. You don’t have to keep going through it alone. You can want love and actually be available for it. You can want connection and learn how to achieve that outside of sexual intimacy.  You deserve peace. You just have to choose to face yourself to get there.

If you’re ready to take a step toward healing, here are a few places to start:

• Therapy resources: PsychologyToday.com – You can search for a therapist based on your location, identity, and insurance. TherapyForBlackMen.org – A directory dedicated to helping Black men find culturally competent therapists.

• Crisis support: If you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts or need immediate support, you can call or text 988, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline—available 24/7.

• Books to begin with: The Will to Change by bell hooks Unmasking Masculinity by David Lee I Don’t Want to Talk About It by Terrence Real

You’re not weak for needing help—or for simply wanting to grow, go deeper, and finally live your fullest life. You’re human. And it’s okay to start here.