Toxic Masculinity: The Pressure on Men to be Strong

DAMARIS ADHIAMBO

Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student,  Chuka University 

At 27, Kevin (not his real name) looked like everything society expects a man to be. Tall,
composed, and hardworking, he rarely complained. He provided for his family, rarely missed work, and always responded with the same phrase whenever someone asked how he was doing: "I'm fine." But Kevin was not fine.

Behind the calm face was a man drowning in debt, family pressure, and silent depression. He had lost his job during the economic downturn but pretended each morning to go to work. He spent his days wandering town, afraid to tell his wife the truth. "A man is supposed to provide," he says
quietly. "If I told her I had failed, what kind of man would I be?"

Kevin's story is not unique. Across communities, men are raised with a simple but dangerous lesson: be strong, do not cry, do not complain, and never show weakness. From childhood, boys hear phrases like "boys don't cry" or "be a man." Over time, these messages shape how they process pain.

James, a university student, remembers the day he lost his father. "At the funeral, my mother and sisters were crying. I wanted to cry too," he recalls. "But relatives kept telling me, 'You are the man of the house now. Be strong.' So I swallowed my tears." Years later, that unexpressed grief turned into anger and isolation.

Experts warn that suppressing emotions does not eliminate them—it buries them alive. Many men channel pain into alcohol, silence, or aggression. Others simply withdraw. According to global health organizations, men are less likely to seek mental health support, even when experiencing severe distress.

In many African societies, masculinity is tied to financial success and emotional control. When jobs disappear, when relationships fail, or when illness strikes, men often interpret these challenges as personal failures. The weight of expectation becomes unbearable.

"I used to think talking about my struggles made me weak," says Brian, a father of two. "But keeping everything inside nearly destroyed my marriage. My wife thought I didn't care. The truth is, I was just afraid of being seen as weak."

This fear has consequences. Broken communication leads to broken relationships. Emotional distance becomes normal. Children grow up watching fathers who love deeply but struggle to express it.

Yet change is slowly emerging. Community groups, churches, and universities are beginning to create safe spaces where men can speak openly. Young fathers are choosing to hug their sons and tell them it is okay to cry. Friends are checking in on each other with more than just a casual 'Are
you okay?'

Kevin eventually told his wife the truth. He expected anger and disappointment. Instead, she held his hand. "We will figure this out together," she told him. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to cry.

That moment did not solve his financial problems overnight, but it lifted a heavier burden—the burden of silence.

True strength is not the absence of emotion. It is the courage to confront it. It is asking for help when overwhelmed. It is choosing vulnerability over isolation. As society redefines masculinity, perhaps the next generation of boys will grow up hearing different words: "You are strong—and you are allowed to feel."

Because when men are free to be human, families grow healthier, relationships grow deeper, and communities grow stronger. And in that freedom, there is hope.