Men's Mental Health Month draws to a close on Monday, 30 June. In an opinion piece for the Cape Argus, Mandisa Mashaba from the Division of Health Systems and Public Health writes that South Africa is facing a mental health crisis, and men are at the centre of it. She says society can better support men's mental health by creating space for them to feel, break, and rebuild—without shame, and with support.
Mandisa Mashaba*
Suicide rates are often used to show how serious mental health challenges are in a country. In 2019, the World Health Organization reported that South Africa was among the 10 countries with the highest suicide rates globally, with 23.5 suicides per 100,000 people. In that same year, South Africa was ranked the third highest in Africa—recording 13,774 suicide deaths, the majority of which were men (10,861 compared to 2,913 women).
More recently, suicide rates in the country rose by 18% in 2021, showing that the problem is getting worse, especially for men. According to World Population Review, South Africa continues to rank high in global suicide statistics. These numbers tell us something serious: South Africa is facing a mental health crisis, and men are at the centre of it. Yet we rarely ask: what does mental illness look like in men? Or more urgently: what keeps them from seeking help before it's too late? These are important questions to consider as Men's Mental Health Month draws to a close on Monday, 30 June.
My interest in men's mental health started at home. Growing up as a Black girl in a traditional Christian household, I noticed how emotions were treated differently based on gender. My brothers were taught to be tough, never cry, and always "man up." In contrast, I was allowed to show my feelings, cry when needed, and speak when overwhelmed. This double standard influenced how we each dealt with pain. It became even more personal when a cousin, a quiet and bright young boy in Grade 11, took his own life. Instead of understanding what he was going through, many believed he was possessed or that it was due to witchcraft. We were told not to talk about it again, but I wanted to learn more.
Years later, while doing my Master's degree, I analysed stories submitted by South African men to Men's Health South Africa. These weren't research reports—they were real-life stories. Men talked about experiencing mental health challenges such as depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, eating disorders, and more.
What stood out was not just what they said, but how they said it. Many described using humour, work, sports, isolation, or drinking as ways to cope. Most only sought help after a suicide attempt or hitting rock bottom.
One man wrote, “I thought depression happened to people who were mentally weak. Not to young men like myself who are in the prime of their life and career." That mindset—one that equates mental illness with weakness—was common across the stories.
What kept many of these men in the stories I read from getting help? It came down to how society defines masculinity. We teach boys from a young age to be strong, to never cry, and to hide their pain. This becomes a script they follow into adulthood, even when it harms them. But strength doesn't mean silence. In fact, silence is part of the problem.
Men's mental health issues don't always present as sadness. Frequently, they manifest as emotional withdrawal, working excessively or engaging in risky behaviours, sudden outbursts of anger or numbness, or reliance on alcohol or drugs to cope. These behaviours are not accidental; they reflect what men believe they are permitted to feel.
But here's the good news: some men are changing that narrative. In the stories I read, a few men openly sought therapy, spoke to loved ones, or found healing through fitness, spirituality, or the support of friends. They showed that healing is possible when vulnerability is allowed.
So, what can we do as a society to better support men's mental health?
We need to meet men where they are. That means offering support in ways that feel safe. Workplaces can provide private mental health check-ins. Communities can use gyms, barbershops, or churches to start conversations.
We must teach boys that feeling emotions is not a weakness from a young age; therefore, schools should include emotional literacy in their curriculum. We also need to show that seeking help is a form of strength. If men can be heroes at work and in their families, they can also be brave enough to ask for help.
Finally, not all men are the same. Men—regardless of their identities, backgrounds, or life experiences—deserve support that recognises and responds to their individual needs.
In South Africa, some organisations are already doing this work. For example, the South African Depression and Anxiety Group (SADAG) offers, 24/7 free mental health support at 0800 567 567.
If we want men to thrive, not just survive, we must create space for them to feel, break, and rebuild—without shame, and with support. Let's not wait for another tragic loss. Let's do more than raise awareness. Let's act by starting to listen, talk, and show up for the men in our lives.
*Mandisa Mashaba is a research assistant in the Co-CREATE Health Hub (Co-Creative Research for Equity and Transdisciplinary Knowledge Exchange), within the Division of Health Systems and Public Health at the Faculty of Medicine and Health Sciences at Stellenbosch University.
