Why Men Struggle to Name What They Feel — and What That Might Mean for Therapy

We often hear that men don't talk about their feelings.

But I wonder if that's really the whole story.

What if, for some men, the difficulty isn't that they don't have feelings to talk about, but that they haven't always had the opportunity to develop the language to recognise and describe them?

This is something that has particularly interested me since researching men's mental health for my dissertation. The more I explored masculinity, emotional expression and help-seeking, the more I realised that “men don't talk” is a much more complicated statement than it first appears.

Feeling something isn't the same as knowing what it is

A recent study published in Sex Roles explored this question in 740 men from the UK and US.

The researchers looked at a number of traditional masculine expectations, including emotional control, self-reliance and the importance placed on work. They found that these expectations were associated with greater difficulty identifying and describing emotions — something known as alexithymia.

Put simply, someone may know that something doesn't feel right without being able to say exactly what they're experiencing.

They might know:

“I'm tense.”

“I'm fed up.”

“I can't switch off.”

“I just want to be left alone.”

But recognising why they feel that way, or finding the words underneath the first reaction, can be much harder.

And I think that distinction matters.

Because there is a difference between not having feelings and not knowing how to recognise them.

What my research made me think about

When I began my own research into men's mental health, I was particularly interested in why some men can reach a point of significant distress before seeking professional support.

What became increasingly clear to me was that there isn't one simple explanation.

Expectations around being strong, independent, self-reliant and emotionally controlled can influence the way some men understand themselves and their difficulties.

These qualities aren't inherently negative. Being resilient, dependable and able to manage difficult situations can be strengths.

But when someone feels that they must always be the strong one, what happens to the feelings that don't fit that picture?

Where does fear go?

Sadness?

Shame?

Loneliness?

Uncertainty?

Sometimes they may come out in other ways.

Anger.

Irritability.

Withdrawal.

Overworking.

Keeping constantly busy.

Humour.

Avoidance.

Or simply carrying on.

Perhaps we're asking the wrong question

The usual message around men's mental health is that men need to talk.

Of course, talking can be incredibly important.

But perhaps we need to become more curious about what comes before talking.

If someone has spent years learning to control, minimise or push aside certain emotions, simply telling them to “open up” assumes they already have the tools to do that.

What if they don't?

What if the first step isn't talking about a feeling, but learning to notice it?

And what if that takes time?

So what does this mean for therapy?

This is where I find the person-centred approach particularly interesting.

As a counsellor, I don't need someone to arrive knowing exactly what they feel.

Sometimes a person might describe an experience without attaching an emotion to it at all.

They might tell me about an argument, a difficult day at work or something that has been happening in their relationship.

As the conversation develops, I might gently reflect something I am noticing:

“I wonder if there was some hurt underneath the anger?”

Or:

“It sounds as though you've been carrying a lot of responsibility. I wonder what that has been like for you?”

The purpose isn't to tell someone what they feel.

It's an invitation.

They might say, “Yes, that's exactly it.”

Or they might say, “No, that's not how it feels at all.”

Both are useful.

Because the person remains the expert on their own experience.

Perhaps this is one of the things I value most about person-centred counselling: there is no expectation that someone should arrive already fluent in their emotional world.

The relationship can become a place to become curious about it.

What I've taken from this

My research changed the way I think about the phrase “men don't talk.”

I no longer think it is helpful to see men's emotional expression simply as a matter of willingness.

For some people, the difficulty may begin much earlier — with what they have learnt about emotions, vulnerability and what it means to be strong.

And although men's mental health is an area I feel particularly passionate about advocating for, these questions aren't only relevant to men.

We can all lose touch with our emotions.

We can all become disconnected from what we need.

And we can all find ourselves experiencing something we don't quite have words for.

Perhaps the answer isn't to tell people what they should feel.

Perhaps it is to become curious about what is already there.

Sometimes, finding the right words doesn't happen before the conversation.

Sometimes, the conversation is where we begin to find them.