“I’m Fine”, And Other Lies Men Tell About Mental Health

There’s a phrase men use more than any other when it comes to their mental health.

“I’m fine.”

Two tiny words. A few letters each. And nine times out of ten, completely untrue.

Pretending You’re Fine (And Hoping No One Notices)

Men get weird about feelings. We’ll walk into work on three hours’ sleep, visibly shaking, with the emotional resilience of a paper straw, and still say “yeah, all good mate” when someone asks how we are.

Partly because we don’t want to “burden” anyone. Partly because we’ve spent years being told to “man up,” “keep calm and carry on,” and “stop being dramatic, it’s just a bit of stress.”

But mostly because admitting we’re not fine feels like breaking some unwritten rule. We’ll talk about football, car problems, even our bowel movements before we admit we’re anxious.

I know this because I’ve done it. Not dramatically, not even on purpose. Just quietly convincing myself that being tired, on edge and overwhelmed is normal. Until someone asks, and out comes the lie: “I’m fine.”

The Quiet Burden No One Sees

Here’s the thing: a lot of men carry quiet burdens. Pressure to earn. Pressure to be reliable. Pressure to hold everything together so no one else worries.

Sometimes it’s tiny stuff, like bills, work deadlines, fixing that weird noise the car makes. Sometimes it’s big stuff: family struggles, relationship worries, that nagging feeling you’re somehow behind in life.

We laugh it off. We deflect. We joke about being “a bit dead inside.” But underneath, we’re knackered. And when we finally break, it’s usually in private — alone in the car, or at 2 a.m. staring at the ceiling wondering what went wrong.

Why Asking For Help Feels Impossible

You’d think asking for help would be simple. Spoiler: it’s not.

There’s this fear that saying “I’m struggling” will change how people see you. That they’ll think you’re weak, dramatic, broken. Even when logic tells you that’s rubbish, the feeling sticks.

So you drop hints. You make jokes. You say you’re “a bit stressed” instead of “I feel like I’m drowning.” And if you do finally open up, it’s usually in a pub, after two pints, muttering “I’m alright, just tired” while secretly hoping someone says “are you sure?”

The Funny Side (Because There Is One)

And yet, sometimes the only way to survive it is to laugh.

Laugh at how we’ll spend two hours Googling symptoms instead of calling the doctor. Laugh at how we’ll drive 40 minutes to help a mate move a sofa but won’t drive 10 minutes to therapy. Laugh at how we can explain the offside rule in microscopic detail but can’t explain why we’re sad.

Humour doesn’t fix it, but it takes the edge off. It opens the door a crack. And sometimes, that’s enough to start talking.

So, What’s The Point?

If you’re a bloke reading this and thinking “yeah, but I don’t want to be a burden” — trust me, you’re not. The people who love you would rather hear your messy truth than stand at your funeral wondering why you never said anything.

If you’re someone who loves a bloke, ask twice. When he says “I’m fine,” check again. Look for the stuff unsaid.

Because men do struggle. Quietly, awkwardly, often invisibly. But we don’t have to keep doing it alone.