The one thing that could change men’s mental health

I usually find out once the dust has already settled. When the marriage is over. When the business has gone under. When the friends quietly mention that he hasn’t been the same lately. Sometimes, heartbreakingly, when it’s already too late.

Then come the questions: “Did you know?”; “Did he ever say anything?”; and “Was there a sign?” And behind those questions is a quiet grief – the heartbreak of hindsight, when words unspoken echo loudest.

Most times, the answer is no. Not because he didn’t suffer. But because he never said a word.

In public, he was charming. Polite. Positive. The quintessential South African guy – friendly at the shul door, polite at the braai, asking how you are, never hinting that his world was cracking underneath. And then, one day, you find out it had all come apart – silently.

Here’s what I’ve learned as a rabbi, and here’s what I need every man reading this to know: saying, “I need help” can be life changing. It can be life saving.

I’m not talking about dramatic confessions. I’m talking about looking someone you trust in the eye and saying, “I’m not coping. Help me.” Not to fish for pity. Not to collapse in blame. But to take the first step toward getting your life back.

That’s not weakness. That’s integrity. It’s strength of the highest order. And if more men did it, our communities – and our statistics – would look very different.

The truth is, most men don’t reach out. They don’t call. They don’t come in. They don’t raise their hand. They suffer in silence. They wait until it’s unsalvageable, until the damage has been done. And when it finally comes out – if it comes out – it’s because a friend pieced things together, or a wife begged him to open up, or the family sat shiva and tried to make sense of what happened.

It’s not because they’re bad. It’s because they were taught to be strong. To handle it. To “man up”. To keep going. And slowly, that strength becomes a prison. The price? Their joy. Their marriage. Sometimes their life.

But here’s a truth most men never hear: bravery isn’t always a stiff upper lip. Sometimes bravery is walking into a room and saying, “I can’t do this alone.” Not with tears and hashtags. Just real. Just honest.

And let’s be clear, we’re not asking anyone to be soft. Heaven forbid. No-one’s telling a South African man to sit in a circle and cry. We’re saying: be honest. Because honesty isn’t just about business deals. Honesty isn’t just not lying to others. It’s not lying to yourself.

If you’re taking strain, stop pretending you’re not. The Torah says not to lie. That includes to your own reflection in the mirror.

If more men said five words: “I need help. Help me,” we’d change lives. We’d save lives.

And it’s not about broadcasting your pain. It’s about choosing one person. A rabbi. A friend. A mentor. Someone you can say it to. And mean it. With honesty. With the intent to work. To heal. To grow.

You don’t need to be a philosopher. You don’t need the perfect words. Just the courage to be real for one minute. To let someone in before it all crashes. To admit that being human means needing others.

There’s a quote from Ethics of Our Fathers that should be tattooed into the emotional framework of every man: “Aseh lecha rav, u’kneh lecha chaver.” (Make for yourself a mentor. Acquire for yourself a friend.) Not wait for one. Not hope someone shows up. Make one. Acquire one.

It’s a spiritual obligation not to do life alone. Not because you’re weak, but because you’re wise.

Not all friendships are created equal. I often say there are two kinds of friends: There’s the “comma” friend. That’s the friend you text, “I’m really struggling … but it’s fine. I’ll be okay.” There’s always a follow-up clause. “Don’t worry about me.” “It’s nothing.” “Anyway, enough about me.”

It’s not a real opening, it’s a half-confession with a built-in escape route. A comma at the end of a sentence.

Then there’s the other kind – the full stop. The period. The friend you speak to and say, “I’m not okay.” Full stop. “I need help.” Full stop. No sugar-coating. No disclaimers. No, “But I’m managing.” That’s where real conversations begin. That’s where change begins.

Find your full stop friend. Or be that friend. The one who doesn’t flinch when things get real. The one who knows how to sit in the silence and simply say, “I’m here.” That’s where the work starts.

If we can normalise that, if we can teach our sons and our friends that real strength includes asking for help, that being a husband, a father, a colleague, or a friend doesn’t mean you must be unbreakable, then maybe fewer men will fall apart in silence.

And if you’re reading this and something inside you is saying, “This might be me,” pick up the phone. Today. Book the coffee. Say the sentence. Because silence isn’t strength. It’s risk. And too many good men have gone to the grave with their pain still sealed behind polite smiles and unfinished sentences. We tell boys to be honest. We preach character, courage, and faith. But how many men grow up thinking that honesty applies only to how you do your taxes, not how you face your inner world?

Let’s speak less about pretending to cope, and more about finding the courage to ask for help, before it’s too late. And let’s start by creating the kind of community where those conversations can happen. Where a man at shul doesn’t always need to be “on”. Where a catch-up over coffee can go deeper than headlines and humour.

Because we’re not meant to carry it all. And we were never meant to carry it alone.

• Rabbi Levi Avtzon is the rabbi at Linksfield Shul.