Why do men struggle to open up to their friends?
4.37am is anxiety hour in this house.
The time, somewhere in between darkest night and the first light of morning, when my brain does its most catastrophic thinking.
Tonight’s subject? Whether my boyfriend is miserable.
Earlier that day, we’d had a fraught discussion about our living situation (a small flat rapidly closing in on us now we have a six-month-old son) and where we should move to next. I want to stay in north London. It’s where I grew up, where my support network is. He’s from the countryside and has lived all over the UK and, indeed, the world. He’s here because he loves us, but it’s by no means his first choice. He did London in his 20s. Deep down, I suspect he’s over it and longs for a calmer, quieter life outside a city.
The fight — sorry — ‘fraught discussion’ — was actually pretty mundane. We both knew we’d end up staying here, and he, as an emotionally intelligent and kind man, has managed to put mine and our son’s needs before his own. But the bit that’s troubling me now, hours later in the dead of night, is one thing he said almost as an aside. ‘I think you forget how many friends you have here. I don’t really have that. Not here. Not any more. I just have you.’
My 4.37am brain knows that he’s right. This move has taken him much further away from his brother and his best friend; he’s also naturally more introverted than me, and, ya know — we’ve been busy trying to keep this new human alive — so while he’s made some acquaintances, those relationships are still very much in their infancy. Is he lonely? If he was, would I know? And if I knew... what should I do about it? Is it even my job to fix it?
This is, of course, not a uniquely ‘us’ problem. Studies consistently show that while loneliness is a problem for both sexes post-pandemic, when it comes to friendship, men tend to have fewer friends as they get older and are less likely to rely on their friends for emotional support or share personal feelings with them*. In the UK, research has found that 27% of men said they had no close friends at all.
While the world is fighting to close the gender pay gap (as we should), the narrative around this friendship gap is much newer, and potentially rife with conflict. Whether someone is paid more or not is a fact, pure and simple. But it’s not the same with social issues, such as friendship and loneliness. Not all men lose friends as they age. Not all women are more sociable or have a core group of friends they share everything with. Those who are non-binary may feel completely lost within the discussion. Introversion and extroversion play a part, as does where you live in the country (in a big city or a more rural environment) and there are outliers for both sexes. I’m not in the business of making sweeping generalisations, but we can’t ignore that some stereotypes exist for a reason, and that age-old and dated notion of men being ‘strong, silent and stoic’ can stop them from opening up. This, in turn, can lead to a lack of the nurturing friendships that we all need for stronger mental (and, it turns out, physical) health.
“Put simply, your psychological health and your physical health — even how long you’re going to live — is best predicted by the number and quality of close friendships you have,” says Robin Dunbar, professor of evolutionary psychology at the University of Oxford. “Friendship triggers the endorphin system, and endorphins trigger our immune system’s natural killer cells that target diseases and viruses.” Time and time again, he says, studies show that having fewer or no close friendships leaves you vulnerable to not just psychological conditions, such as depression, but weakens the body’s ability to fight off health conditions.
This is also bad news for women. When men do open up, it’s women they often turn to; research by Self Space discovered that 74% of men are more likely to talk about their mental health with women (if they discuss it at all). And, when they suffer with health conditions — mental or physical — again, it’s us who shoulder the load. A new report by global men’s health charity Movember has revealed the impact of men’s poor health not only to themselves, but also on the mental, physical, and financial health of their informal caregivers – many of whom are women. The report found that in the UK, more than 4.9m people provide informal care, with the act of caring for men falling disproportionately on women – be it daughters, partners, mothers, sisters, or friends. Because of this, 60% of women report feelings of anxiety, 45% of having depression, and 49% with feeling overwhelmed.
This feeling of anxiety and overwhelm isn’t surprising. Feeling like you’re the only person someone can turn to is a lot of pressure. My 4.37am worrying isn’t just to do with concern for my partner’s feelings, but for my own: I’m a new mum, grappling with my identity at this exciting, yet daunting, new stage of my life.
I don’t want my partner to be lonely or get sick or depressed because of it. I love him too much for that. But, at the same time, I see women taking on more and more emotional labour, because the men in their lives can’t or won’t seek help or friendship anywhere else. Therapy isn’t widely accessible, or for everyone, so the solution could well be men nurturing their friendships. The wider question is perhaps: what needs to change in society, and in their interpersonal dynamics, for them to feel able to do so?
If not me, who?
It didn’t take much. All I had to do was ask around a few people, enquiring gently about what they thought of the strength of the friendships the men in their lives held, and the stories — from far and wide — came flooding in. “We lost our mum five years ago now,” says Molly*, 29, of her and her brother Stephen. “He’s two years older than me and we’ve always been close. But I think the only people he really speaks to are me and our dad. He used to have a big group of friends, but, as he’s got older, he talks about them less.” Molly’s female friends, she says, check in on her for her mum’s anniversary. They make sure she’s okay during hard days, such as Mother’s Day or Christmas. She doesn’t have to go to them: they come to her. But it’s not the same for her brother. “He says he’s fine, he socialises with work people, and chats on a football forum most days. But it doesn’t feel the same. He lives alone, not even with flatmates, like he did when she died. I’d feel much better knowing he had just one or two mates to confide in.”
Erica*, 35, has been both worried and (let’s be honest) despairing about her husband Tom*, and his refusal to talk to anyone about the struggles they’ve had since the birth of their second child.
“He would offload about how tough things were and how much he was struggling with our new family dynamic,” she says. “From the outside, he looks successful, sociable, and he does go out to see friends. But he doesn’t have any healthy coping mechanisms. He picks his hands until they bleed when he’s stressed and he doom scrolls on his phone late into the night.” Being the only person Tom confides in is almost a poisoned chalice for Erica — she wants him to open up, she knows how vital it is that he does, but, at the same time, it’s a huge amount for her to take on alone. “What he’s saying is about how stressful he’s finding our family life — well, that’s my life, too,” she says. “I don’t always have the bandwidth to cope with it, but he won’t talk to anyone else.”
She goes on to say, “I’ve had therapy, so he doesn’t have to”, taking a lot of what is said in her sessions home to him to help them find a new dynamic together. It has, though, led to moments of true revelation between them. “At one point, he said that he knows he doesn’t have the emotional closeness in his life that I have, and that sometimes it makes him sad. That was a huge moment. It took a lot for him to admit that.” So, why is it that Erica is the only person Tom feels able to open up to? He has a wide circle of friends, but none of them are even aware that he’s struggling.
The problem, says Dunbar, is that even when men do socialise, they often don’t talk about deeper feelings, or even really talk that much at all. “The two social worlds are very different. [Growing up and historically] a girl’s social world is based on conversation and active interaction. Whereas when you look at a bunch of boys (and then men) socialising, they’re often not saying much. The point of talking is to make the group laugh, which creates calmness and trust. But the consequence is that no one can really remember the actual content of the conversation, if there was one.”
Men’s friendships tend, he says, to be based around shared activities and the individuals — the friends themselves — can be interchangeable. For example, if a man and his friend are both into hiking, they will do that together and if one of them moves or leaves the country, the place will be taken by another person who also likes hiking. That person may well be a romantic partner. Or the place will remain vacant. Women, he says, are more likely to identify best friends for life, while men’s friendships can be more situational and interchangeable. “This male social world is more superficial in a way, but it’s also deeper, in the sense that it’s based more on raw feel,” explains Dunbar. “That feeling you have intuitively about the nature of this relationship and whether you like and get on with them. Even if that can’t be put into words.”
This certainly feels true for Chris*, 38. “I’ve felt lonely, at times, in my life, mainly when romantic relationships have broken down and I feel alone in my heartbreak. But what’s always got me through is team sports. I’ve always played something, with different groups wherever I’ve lived around the country. Having that routine, structure, and the camaraderie to return to has got me through some of my darkest moments.”
Chris has unwittingly hit upon perhaps what is one of the most important points I’ve come across when researching this article: the difference in the way that men and women view and define their own friendships. I draw a real distinction between friends and close friends. It’s not about the length of time I’ve known someone. One of my closest friends is someone I only really started opening up to five years ago and I put her in the same bracket as someone I’ve known since I was four. These close friends get the full version of me, whether they want it or not. But for (some) guys, as both Chris and Dunbar reiterate, friendships can be very situational and ‘activity’ based. It doesn’t make them any less valid. They’re just different definitions of the same thing, which could, in turn, lead to conflict between the two sexes.
Firstly, if men’s friendships decline as they age and they’re not always deep enough, that has a negative impact on their mental and physical health. And secondly, the women in their lives may not understand that their partner, brother, or friend is isolated, because that man discusses ‘seeing his friends’ regularly. It could be that it’s only when presented with the differences between their friendships, and the woman’s friendships, that the man gently realises what he is missing, and some sort of dissonance occurs. That could be the man wanting that level of friendship intimacy, but not knowing how to get it (like Tom, Erica’s husband). Or not wanting it at all for fear it may not be reciprocated, or that society will somehow judge them for needing it in the first place.
Put more professionally than me by a therapist who treats many male clients, “even in the situation where a man has multiple friends, they can be left feeling isolated — feeling lonely in the company of others”, says Samantha Adams, co-founder of Abode therapy. “As men may become more self-aware and more able to recognise their emotional needs [as they get older], they may also develop more insight into any lack of richness in their friendships, further perpetuating the increased loneliness that we are witnessing,” she continues.
Group mentality
At one of my first jobs, I met a funny and charismatic digital journalist called Paul*. We weren’t ever close, but we were part of the same social work circle that went to the pub every week and talked rubbish till the small hours. He went from success to success, ending up with quite a senior position, a wife, and what looked like a great life. He was always open about his battles with depression and taking medication for it, but I’m not sure many people knew how bad things had become. He took his own life aged just 33.
After his funeral, we all stood around telling stories about him, but the thing no one could escape from, particularly my male friends who knew him better, was the thought that they didn’t know. They were consumed by the idea that they hadn’t checked in deeply enough. They wished they had.
Of course, his death wasn’t on them. It’s not on anyone. It was a tragedy that everyone wishes had not happened. But it does bring the idea that someone can look like they have friends and still feel desperate into quite sharp focus.
Stories such as these also highlight how vital it is that when tackling loneliness and the male mental health crisis, there’s a societal approach, rather than it being (or feeling like) the responsibility of the individual themselves, or their closest network, to ‘solve’. Groups, such as Andy’s Man Club, named after Andrew Roberts, who took his own life at 23 years old, exist to provide men with a safe, stable, and welcoming space to talk and meet other men. “Andy’s close circle had no idea that he was struggling,” says Lucas Whitehead, head of marketing and partnerships at Andy’s Man Club. “What started as one talking group in Halifax in 2016 has now blossomed into around 200 talking groups across the UK. We are encouraging men of all backgrounds to open up before they reach boiling point and take drastic measures.”
“My dad died of Covid in 2020,’ Luke*, 38, from Oldham, tells me. “I’ve been brought up to shut up, get on with it, crack on. I didn’t tell anyone about my dad. Didn’t put anything on Facebook or talk to anyone about it. Two weeks after the funeral, a friend I’ve known since I was a kid rang me up. He said, ‘Mate, I’ve just been told your dad died, why didn’t you tell me?’ I brushed it off. Even when he reached out to me, I didn’t talk about it.”
He identifies with what Dunbar describes as the ‘clubiness’ of male friendship. “I have a friend I’ve known for 34 years. We haven’t seen each other for a while but even when we do, we talk about our kids, the gym, what’s on TV. We don’t go into detail. There was another mate who was going to be my best man, but he pulled out at the last minute and we never discussed why. Turns out his girlfriend didn’t like me, but I never asked and he never told me. We only reconnected recently and I found out. It’s just not something we discussed back then.”
Going to Andy’s Man’s Club, he says, provided a lifeline of support when he needed it the most. Now he works for them, hosting groups and giving presentations, which has led to him to going to counselling for the first time, something he’s so grateful for, particularly as he doesn’t want to talk to his wife about this stuff. “She’ll try to find a solution straight away, sometimes before I’m even finished explaining what’s actually on my mind. Sometimes, all I want to do is just talk. I think that’s why counselling and Andy’s Man Club have been so good for me.”
Which brings me full circle to my 4.37am thought: if I suspect the man in my life is sad, lonely even, what, if anything, should I do about it? Erica contacted one of her husband Tom’s friends urging him to check in with him. “I knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about this stuff with just anyone, but this friend is very emotionally intelligent. I knew he would really ask Tom how he was.” She told Tom she was doing it, and why. “At least this way I knew he’d have someone who would ask him the questions that needed to be asked. I knew he needed to talk, but at that moment I was so physically and emotionally drained by early newborn life, I also knew it couldn’t be left to me.”
It was an approach that worked for her, but, ultimately, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Jumping in with suggestions for how to ‘fix’ things may not prove to be helpful when, actually, what we all need (irrespective of gender) is simply to be able to speak up when we’re struggling and have someone to listen and validate our concerns. For some lucky ones, they may have a core group of friends they can do this with. For others, it may just be one or two people to confide in, or an external group, such as Andy’s. It’s the act of unburdening that’s important.
But, even more, we all need a better understanding of how society shapes our social world. Women so often feel that it is our responsibility to look after everyone else in our lives: expectations that have been so tightly wound into our identities it’s hard to put in boundaries, even when we’re struggling ourselves. Equally, men need to get better at nurturing friendships — for their sakes and for ours — and we all need to help foster an environment in which that feels safe and possible. That means banishing a culture in which men view emotional vulnerability with other men as a weakness.
Decades of conditioning can’t be solved overnight (or at 4.37am), but one thing is for certain: prioritising friendships won’t just save your relationship. It might just save a life.
*Names have been changed
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