Man Up? Bullshit. The Brutal Truth About Man Up Culture Mental Health
Right, let’s get straight to it. “Man up.” Two simple words, right? Two words that have probably fucked up more blokes than any bloody war I ever saw. I’m Ian Callaghan, and for 57 years, I heard that shit, lived by that shit, and nearly died because of that shit. I served over 12 years in the British Army, and believe me, I know what real ‘manning up’ looks like. It ain’t about shutting your gob and pretending you’re fine when you’re crumbling inside. That’s not strength, that’s a bloody recipe for disaster. This whole man up culture mental health crisis we’re facing? It’s a direct consequence of decades, centuries even, of being told to suppress, to hide, to deny anything that remotely resembles a chink in the armour.
Eight months ago, I quit drinking after 45 brutal years. That journey, that absolute rewire of my mind and body, taught me more about genuine resilience and mental fortitude than any drill sergeant ever could. And it exposed the lie at the heart of the ‘man up’ culture. This isn’t some soft-touch, touchy-feely bollocks. This is about survival. This is about waking up in your mid-thirties, forties, or fifties, looking at your life, and realising the old rules aren’t just unhelpful; they’re actively killing us. It’s time we talked about man up culture mental health with some fucking honesty.
The Lie We Were Fed: “Man Up” and Shut Your Gob
I grew up in an era where emotions were for women, or for blokes who clearly hadn’t been to enough football matches. You scraped your knee, but you didn’t cry. You got picked on, you either fought or you took it. You felt down, so you went to the pub. Simple. Or so we thought.
When I joined the Army, that mindset was hammered home. And for certain situations, it’s vital. When rounds are flying and lives are on the line, you don’t stop for a group hug and a therapy session. You focus, you act, you suppress the fear to get the job done. That’s discipline. That’s training. And it saves lives. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything; it forged a discipline in me that I rely on every single day. It taught me how to push past perceived limits, how to operate under immense pressure, and how to be utterly reliable.
But here’s the kicker: the skills that make you a formidable soldier, a stoic provider, a rock for your family, can also become your worst enemy when turned inwards without an outlet. The ‘man up’ mantra, when applied to your inner world, teaches you to compartmentalise, to bury, to ignore. Any hint of vulnerability, of doubt, of fear, was weakness. And weakness? That was the ultimate failure for a man.
So, we learned to put on a show. The brave face, the stiff upper lip, the casual shrug. Inside? A bloody maelstrom. A quiet desperation. That illusion of strength became a cage. It wasn’t about being strong; it was about appearing strong. And the more you pretended, the deeper the real you got buried. That’s the insidious poison of the man-up culture when it comes to mental health.
My Own Descent into the Darkness: Booze, Shame, and the Silence
For 45 years, I drank. Not just a casual pint, but seriously, consistently, almost ritually. Why? Because it was the socially acceptable, culturally endorsed way for a ‘man’ to deal with… well, everything. Stress? Drink. Celebration? Drink. Boredom? Drink. Grief? Drink. The underlying anxieties, the quiet despair, the constant hum of dissatisfaction? Drown it. The ‘man up’ philosophy meant I never, ever considered talking about any of that shit. That would have been a weakness. An admission of failure.
I’d seen blokes in the Army, even in civilian life, who talked about their feelings. They were often quietly, sometimes not so quietly, judged. Labelled ‘soft’, ‘a bit of a complainer’, or worse. So I bottled it. And the bottle I chose was full of booze.
The mental toll was immense, though I probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the time. The hangovers became a daily penance. The anxiety, a constant companion. The self-loathing, a whisper that grew louder with every passing year. I was isolated, even when surrounded by people. My relationships suffered. My potential, well, that was buried under a mountain of empty promises and regret. I was performing the role of ‘man’, but inside, I was a crumbling mess.
When I finally decided to quit 8 months ago, it wasn’t some gentle awakening. It was a fucking war. A brutal, grinding battle against decades of conditioning, against a mind and body that had been rewired to crave the poison. Every fibre of my being screamed for that familiar comfort, that numbing oblivion. But I fought. And that fight, that absolute dismantling and rebuilding of my identity, taught me more about real strength than all the ‘man up’ advice in the world. It showed me the profound, devastating impact that man up culture mental health issues have on men’s.
It taught me that the biggest battle isn’t against an enemy, or even a bottle; it’s against the lies you’ve told yourself, the stories you’ve inherited about what it means to be a man. It taught me that vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s the raw, honest foundation upon which true strength is built. You can read more about that specific journey here: The Sobering Clarity: How Quitting Alcohol at 57 Unlocked My True Potential.
The Battlefield of the Mind: Why We’re Losing the War on Men’s Mental Health
Look around you. We’re living through a quiet crisis. Men are struggling, often in silence. Suicide rates among men are disproportionately high. Substance abuse is rampant. Depression, anxiety, chronic stress – it’s all there, bubbling under the surface of the ‘fine, thanks’ facade.
Why? Because society, reinforced by this ‘man up’ bullshit, tells us a man must be:
- The Provider: Always strong, always earning, never failing.
- The Protector: Fearless, capable, unflappable.
- The Stoic: Unemotional, rational, never showing weakness.
- The Independent: Never needing help, always self-sufficient.
These are huge, suffocating expectations. And when we inevitably fall short, when life punches us in the gut – as it bloody well does – we have no toolkit to deal with it. We’ve been taught to bottle it up, to soldier on, to pretend it’s not happening. And that, my friends, is why we’re losing this invisible war.
The cost isn’t just to us; it’s to our families, our partners, our children. Our physical health suffers. Our relationships become strained or simply vanish. Our careers stagnate. We become shells of the men we could be, all because we bought into the lie that to admit a struggle is to be less of a man. This isn’t just about feeling a bit sad; this is about a profound societal problem stemming from the deep roots of man’s cultural mental health stigmas.
Bullshit Stoicism vs. Real Resilience: Learning to Fight Differently
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating for a world where everyone wallows in their feelings or constantly airs their grievances. There’s a fine line between processing emotions and becoming a whiny victim. And there is value in stoicism – the true stoicism, that is.
True stoicism isn’t about suppressing emotion; it’s about controlling your reaction to emotion. It’s about recognising what’s within your control and what isn’t. It’s about maintaining equanimity in the face of adversity. It’s not about pretending you don’t feel fear, anger, or sadness. It’s about acknowledging those feelings and then choosing how you respond, rather than being enslaved by them.
For years, I mistook emotional suppression for stoicism. I thought I was being a man by not feeling. The reality? I was just postponing the inevitable breakdown, building a pressure cooker inside my own head. My journey, especially in sobriety, has been about learning the difference. It’s about understanding that admitting you’re struggling, seeking help, or simply talking about what’s going on, isn’t weakness. It’s the ultimate act of courage. It’s vulnerability, and vulnerability is a superpower.
When you’re truly vulnerable, you’re open to real connection. You’re open to real solutions. You’re not hiding. You’re showing up, scars and all. That’s real strength. That’s real resilience. It’s the ability to feel the punch, acknowledge the pain, and then get back up, knowing you don’t have to do it alone. This is critical for addressing the man-up culture mental health crisis.
Rewiring the Mind and Body: Your Midlife Call to Arms
So, if the old ways are bollocks, what’s the answer? It’s not complicated, but it’s not easy either. It requires discipline, honesty, and a willingness to actually do the work. This is your midlife call to arms, not a request. Here’s how you start to dismantle the ‘man up’ lie and build real, lasting resilience:
Step 1: Speak the Unspeakable
This is the hardest bit. But you’ve got to find a way to articulate what’s going on in your head and your heart. It’s not whining; it’s processing. It might be a trusted partner, a close mate, or a family member. Or it might be a professional coach, a therapist, or a support group. The point is, get it out of your head. Give it air. Don’t let it fester in the dark corners. Find your tribe. Talk openly, honestly, and without judgment. This is why I built the Midlife Reset community on Skool – a place for blokes like us to cut the crap and get real.
Step 2: Fuel Your Fucking Machine Right
Your mental health is inextricably linked to your physical health. You can’t expect a Ferrari engine to run on cheap petrol and then wonder why it’s sputtering. My nutritional philosophy is simple, brutal, and effective: ancestral, paleo, nose-to-tail. Eat real food. Meat, organs, eggs, healthy fats, a shitload of vegetables and some fruit. Ditch the processed crap, the sugar, and for God’s sake, ditch the soy (unless it’s fermented and in tiny quantities). Soy, especially, can mess with your hormones – and if you think that doesn’t impact your mood, your energy, and your overall mental state, you’re deluded. Never eat tofu. Proper nutrition isn’t just for your body; it’s fundamental for your brain chemistry, your mood, and your energy. You want to fight this man in a cultural mental health battle? Start with what you put in your gob. Seriously, check out Unlocking Your Ancestral Edge: Why the Modern Diet Is Making You Weak and How to Fight Back.
Step 3: Move Your Arse
Sitting around lamenting your fate isn’t going to change a damn thing. Your body was built to move. And I’m not talking about some half-arsed gym routine you do for a month. I’m talking about consistent, disciplined movement. Lift heavy things, run, walk, and get outside. The military taught me that physical exertion isn’t just about strength; it’s about mental fortitude. It clears your head, burns off stress, and floods your body with feel-good chemicals. It’s not about motivation; it’s about discipline. Get up, get out, get moving. Every single day. Even when you don’t feel like it. Especially then. You want to beat the mental health demons? Make your body a weapon against them. This isn’t fluffy self-help; this is hard science and hard-won experience. Read more on why Discipline Eats Motivation for Breakfast.
Step 4: Master Your Mind (It’s Not Woo-Woo)
I know what some of you are thinking: meditation, hypnotherapy – that’s all a bit soft, a bit airy-fairy. Let me tell you, when you’re 8 months sober after 45 years of drinking, and your mind is trying to play every trick in the book, you learn to use every tool at your disposal. This isn’t about sitting cross-legged, chanting ‘om’. It’s about practical, actionable techniques to take control of your internal world.
- Breathwork: Simple, powerful. Learning to control your breath gives you immediate access to your nervous system. Panic attack? Slow your breath. Overwhelmed? Slow your breath. It’s a fundamental military technique, stripped of the spiritual jargon.
- Meditation: Not about clearing your mind, but observing it. Training your focus. Building mental resilience like a muscle. Start with 5 minutes a day, just paying attention to your breath.
- Hypnotherapy/NLP: These aren’t magic. They’re tools for rewiring your subconscious, for breaking old patterns and installing new, empowering beliefs. I’m a qualified coach in this stuff, and I use it because it bloody works. It helped me dismantle the decades of ‘man up’ programming that kept me trapped.
Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it properly. These tools are about taking back control of your mind, the ultimate battleground in the man-up culture mental health fight.
Step 5: Ditch the Poison
For me, it was alcohol. For you, it might be something else: excessive social media, endless porn, gambling, chronic complaining, or a toxic relationship. Identify the things that are genuinely poisoning your life, numbing you, keeping you stuck in that cycle of quiet desperation. And then, with discipline and courage, cut them out. It will be hard. It will be brutal. But the clarity, the energy, the sheer capacity for life that emerges on the other side? It’s worth every single moment of struggle. My 8 months of sobriety are living proof of that. The freedom from the chains of a habit you once thought defined you is immense.
It’s Not a Crisis, It’s a Choice: Your Opportunity to Reset
We hear the term ‘midlife crisis’ bandied about. Bullshit. It’s not a crisis; it’s a bloody call to arms. It’s your biology, your spirit, your very soul screaming at you to wake up. To stop living by outdated rules. To stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. This isn’t a problem to be endured; it’s an opportunity to rebuild, stronger, wiser, and more authentically you than ever before. This is your chance to really engage with why Your Midlife Isn’t a Crisis – It’s a Call to Arms.
The ‘man up’ culture, as we’ve known it, has failed us. It’s left generations of men isolated, emotionally stunted, and often, tragically, broken. But you don’t have to be another statistic. You have the power to choose a different path. A path of brutal honesty, real strength, and genuine connection. A path where you learn to navigate the complexities of modern life without losing your bloody mind.
Stop ‘manning up’ in the old way. Start fighting smart. Start building the life you deserve, the man you were meant to be. It’s not about whining; it’s about winning. And it starts now.
Want to talk about it? Join the conversation in my community: Midlife Reset community on Skool.
