Why Is It So Quiet for Men’s Mental Health Month?

It’s June 8th. And while I’ve been showing up across platforms—posting, sharing, creating daily TikToks, prepping to drop a full YouTube breakdown once I beat this sinus infection—I can’t help but notice something that’s been quietly eating away at me:

Where is everyone?

Where’s the support?
Where’s the awareness?
Where are the timelines, the infographics, the outpouring of stories and solidarity?

Because let me tell you, if this were a women’s health month—any women’s health month—timelines would be flooded. I say that not with resentment, but with observation. Because I see it every year.

And yet here we are… in Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month… and it’s quiet. Uncomfortably, eerily quiet.

Sure, I’ve seen a couple of those trendy posts. A girl sitting with the caption “a moment of silence for men’s mental health.” And hey—no hate. But if that’s the bar, that feels like the digital equivalent of “thoughts and prayers.”

No call to action.
No support resources.
No real representation.

Just silence. Ironically.

And when I bring this up? When I question why there’s so little real energy behind a month that should be saving lives, I’m the bad guy. I’m “making it about me.” I’m “missing the point.”

But here’s the thing: I’m not speaking from bitterness.
I’m speaking from perspective.

I’ve got deep ties to the LGBTQ+ community. I’ve been the house DJ of a lesbian bar. I was there during the peak—when marriage equality passed and Pride was electric. I’ve watched the shift from packed, shoulder-to-shoulder nights filled with joyful resistance to more casual, subdued celebrations. I’ve bartended. I’ve partied. I’ve protected that space.

So when I say that Pride has evolved—I say it with love, not critique.
When I notice the shift, it’s not to diminish—it’s to understand.

And in all of that experience, here’s what I’ve learned:
Visibility matters.
Community matters.
Momentum matters.

That’s why this silence around Men’s Mental Health Month hurts more than I expected. Because it reinforces what so many of us already feel daily:

Unseen. Unheard. Unvalued.

And before someone says, “Well men already dominate everything”—let’s talk mental health.

Men make up 75% of suicide deaths.
Men are least likely to seek help.
Most men don’t know how to open up because we were never taught to.
And when we do, we’re often told we’re doing it wrong.

So yeah, I get tired.
I get frustrated.
I feel that glass box—the one where I can see everyone celebrating, everyone sharing, and I’m just standing there, trying not to drown in my own overthinking while pretending I’m fine.

But I keep showing up. Because I know there’s someone else out there—maybe a lot of someone elses—who are a little more tired, a little more broken, and waiting for any sign that someone sees them.

So here it is:

I see you.
I hear you.
You are not alone.

You may not be flooded with support this month.
You may not see yourself trending or spotlighted.
But your struggle is real, your pain is valid, and your story is not over.

Keep moving forward.
Not because it’s easy. But because eventually, that storm you’re in?
It passes. And you emerge stronger than you ever thought possible.

Even if it’s quiet right now.
Even if the world forgot this was your month.
You didn’t.

And neither did I.

🖤