By Ayman Anika

There’s a kind of silence that follows men. Not the noble silence of calm minds, but something slower, heavier—like a room never entered. It lingers between friends who don’t call back, in group chats muted for months, in fathers who ask how your studies are but never how your heart is.

In many parts of the world, male loneliness is being talked about as a silent epidemic. But here, where masculinity is still often measured in volume—how much you earn, how much you bear, how little you feel—it’s not just silent. It’s invisible.

We’re a culture that celebrates endurance. But for many men, endurance has become isolation wearing a mask.

No One to Talk To, and No Words Even If They Could

“I have friends. We go out, play cards, talk about the World Cup. But if you ask me who I’d call when I’m falling apart—no one comes to mind.”

— Farhan, 34, private bank employee

It’s not that men don’t want to connect. They’ve just rarely been taught how. From a young age, boys learn which emotions are “acceptable.” Anger is fine, even expected. Laughter, if not too loud. But vulnerability? That’s where the leash tightens.

Friendships in male circles are often event-based, centred around activities such as cricket, tea, politics, business, and shared hobbies. They rarely touch the personal. There are no “how are you really doing?” checkpoints. And even if there were, few men have the vocabulary to respond.

So, the loneliness grows not from being physically alone, but from being emotionally unspoken.

Marriage is Not a Cure for Isolation

One of the most common assumptions is that marriage solves male loneliness. But it often just shifts the shape of it.

“After I got married, I thought I wouldn’t feel so alone. But I realised I had spent so long not talking about my feelings that now, I didn’t know how. My wife is kind, but I don’t want to burden her with things I’ve never even said out loud to myself.”

— Rahim, 41, small business owner

Many men rely entirely on their partners for emotional support—because they have no one else. But emotional weight is not meant to be carried by one person alone. Without male friendships built on trust and openness, even love can feel like a quiet place.

The Performance of Being “Fine”

The expectations on men—to provide, protect, stay composed—don’t just come from society. They come from within, passed down like heirlooms.

In social spaces, men rarely show sadness unless it’s wrapped in humour. They self-medicate with distraction—scrolling, working, drinking, exercising. Vulnerability is often feared more than failure.

“Once I tried to tell a friend I was feeling really low. He laughed and said I needed to get out more. I never brought it up again.”

— Imran, 28, freelance graphic designer

The result is emotional malnutrition—starving for connection but unable to ask for it.

Digital Ghosts and Real-Life Gaps

Social media has made it easier to pretend we’re connected. Likes, emoji reactions, birthday wishes—it’s all surface. A man can have 3,000 Facebook friends and still spend an entire week without a real conversation.

The digital age has also made male friendships more passive. A meme sent here, a reel liked there. But there’s a difference between interaction and intimacy.

The Cultural Cloak

In many parts of South Asia, emotional expression from men is still met with suspicion. A man crying is seen as weak. A man seeking therapy is viewed as “unstable.” A man talking about feeling lonely is assumed to be either depressed or defective.

This stigma doesn’t just prevent men from speaking up—it convinces them that the silence is their fault.

Small Acts of Reconnection

But not all hope is lost.

There are quiet shifts. Book clubs where men talk about fatherhood. Online support groups where strangers become lifelines. Gym buddies who start asking about sleep and stress, not just reps and gains.

And sometimes it starts with something as small as a question.

“One day a friend texted me: ‘You’ve been quiet. Are you okay?’ I wasn’t. But I was so grateful someone noticed.”

— Tanvir, 36, secondary school teacher

Loneliness doesn’t end with a grand gesture. It ends with a consistent one. A coffee invite. A shared walk. A conversation that makes space for the uncomfortable.

Unlearning the Silence

The first step toward healing male loneliness isn’t teaching men to talk—it’s giving them permission to. To feel without justification. To be held without shame. To be seen not just as fathers, husbands, earners, or achievers—but as full humans.

What we need is not a revolution, but a return to softness, to presence, to asking the men in our lives not just what they do, but how they’re really doing.

Because the real crisis isn’t that men are alone. It’s that they believe they’re not allowed to say so.

Disclaimer: Names in this article have been changed to protect the privacy and confidentiality of individuals interviewed or referenced.