From barbershop silence to a bipolar disorder diagnosis, one man’s story shows why vulnerability is not weakness.
In the rural town where I grew up in Bertie County, North Carolina, the local barber shop was the one place where a group of men could come together and discuss anything: politics, sports, work, women — real-life stuff. Men’s stuff.
The Unspoken Rule: Suppressing Emotions
Of course, one conversation was always off-limits: our emotions or any inner anxieties. The risk of ridicule or being seen as “soft” was too real. It still is.
For many of us, the belief that we must be physically and mentally unbreakable, always holding back our emotions, is instilled from an early age. We’re rarely given the tools to openly and confidently express, let alone manage, our feelings.
Living Up to Masculine Expectations
The men in my life and what they taught me about “being a man” didn’t include dealing with feelings. I was led to believe that men don’t feel emotions, don’t get hurt, don’t cry, and don’t experience pain — or if we do, we keep it to ourselves. We wear a mask.
When I headed to college on an academic scholarship with a spot on the football and track teams, I felt strong and unstoppable. My entire community also believed I would do great things with my life.
Losing My Identity After Injury
But when I was sidelined from a knee injury, my identity as a rugged athlete crumbled. Confined to my dorm room, I watched life move on without me. Reaching out for help never crossed my mind — it wasn’t how I was raised, and it certainly wasn’t something society encouraged.
Alone and confused, I felt like no one could understand or care about what I was going through. I bottled everything up, pushing myself through weeks of sleepless nights, barely eating or showering. I lost nearly 25 pounds in a month. Thankfully, my family noticed the cracks in my “I’m fine” facade and took me to the hospital.
Finding Strength in a Bipolar Diagnosis
Like so many, I was ashamed when I received the bipolar 1 diagnosis at the hospital that day in 2006. I saw it as a weakness.
Men carry strong egos, and that ego can block the path to help, insisting, “You don’t need anyone.” But well-being often comes from being open to new perspectives and shifts that bring more stability and peace into your life.
It took time, but I learned to quiet my ego and finally accept the help I truly needed. I came to understand that mental health challenges affect millions of people, and it didn’t make me weak. In fact, it takes strength and courage to show vulnerability.
Breaking the Silence to Help Others
As I got better, I started to look at the world in an entirely different way. I would notice that friends were struggling the same way I had, but weren’t talking about their symptoms — or their fears. But I could clearly see the signs.
I get that asking for help is tough to do, especially when it involves facing emotions that might feel overwhelming or confusing. Sorting through anger, depression, or the devastation of a breakup can feel like an insurmountable task.
Yet, I realized that by sharing my story, I could help others feel less alone and inspire hope for managing bipolar’s extreme moods. It’s one of the reasons I became a psychotherapist — to show that change is possible.
Those of us who’ve lived with bipolar disorder or any other mental health challenge have the chance to pay it forward. Men helping other men, by being real with each other, brings true relief.
A New Kind of Barbershop Talk
Imagine barbershop conversations about mental health being as common as last night’s game. Taking off the mask isn’t about weakness or strength — it’s about embracing the freedom to be real, just as you are.
UPDATED: Printed as “Real Stuff: Unmasking Men’s Mental Health,” Winter 2022