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Dear Black Man: There’s Nothing Wrong with Being Strong

Published August 28, 2026 at 10:00 AM EDT


A man who endures hardship without collapsing isn't necessarily “suppressing trauma.”


CHICAGO, IL —Something strange has happened to the public conversation about Black men and mental health. Traits once associated with maturity and masculine strength—stoicism, self-reliance, emotional control, toughness and perseverance—are increasingly discussed as though they are symptoms requiring treatment.


Black men are told they need to become more vulnerable, talk about their feelings, go to therapy, unpack their trauma and “heal.” Refuse, and somebody inevitably suggests that masculinity itself may be the problem.


There is an important conversation to have about depression, suicide and mental illness among Black men. But concern can become condescension when an entire demographic is repeatedly portrayed as psychologically wounded men who simply don't realize how badly they need fixing.


Jonathan Majors, pictured in a deliberately soft EBONY editorial portrait, before experiencing one of the fastest career collapses in recent Hollywood history.
Jonathan Majors, pictured in a deliberately soft EBONY editorial portrait, before experiencing one of the fastest career collapses in recent Hollywood history.

Consider how the American Psychological Association discusses the issue. Its coverage acknowledges that Black men experience genuine barriers to mental-health care, but it also identifies traditional masculine ideals—including toughness, control and restrained emotional expression—as factors potentially discouraging therapy.


A 2024 study went even further. Researchers examining 68 eligible African American male participants found that stronger identification with masculinity correlated with less favorable attitudes toward seeking mental-health treatment. The authors concluded that masculine norms warrant attention in Black men's mental-health discourse.


But perhaps we're asking the wrong question.



Why must willingness to participate in psychotherapy be the measuring stick for whether Black men are emotionally healthy?


Research involving injured Black men in Philadelphia found that some men who declined professional psychological help believed they didn't need it and considered their existing social-support networks sufficient. Others reported practical barriers including cost and limited access to services.


That's considerably more complicated than “Black men won't get therapy because masculinity tells them to be tough.”


Toughness, and its relationship to Black masculinity, has become too closely associated with thug and street culture, both inside and outside the Black community. The public image of the “strong Black man” is too often reduced to tattoos, aggression, profanity, criminality, sexual conquest and an ability to survive violence. That is not traditional masculinity; it is a narrow subculture masquerading as the whole. Black masculine strength has also historically meant discipline, restraint, competence, courage, responsibility, fatherhood, craftsmanship, leadership and the ability to provide and protect.


When street culture becomes the dominant representation of Black manhood, it creates a false choice: Black men can either embrace the thug persona or reject masculinity altogether in favor of a therapeutic model that treats toughness and stoicism with suspicion. Both constructions are limiting. A Black man should be able to be strong without being threatening, emotionally controlled without being emotionally damaged, and masculine without performing somebody else's stereotype of what Black masculinity is supposed to look like.



Another study of 458 African American men makes the problem with simplistic explanations even clearer. Researchers found that everyday racial discrimination, diminished sense of control and depressive symptoms interacted with masculine norms in predicting barriers to seeking help. The researchers explicitly warned that focusing heavily on changing masculinity while failing to account for race-related experiences could produce misguided interventions.


Even the APA has increasingly recognized the limitations of deficit-based messaging. In 2024, its coverage of Black male well-being called for shifting attention from Black men's supposed deficiencies toward their accomplishments and discussed using “mental strength” as a more productive framework.


That is an important distinction.


There is nothing inherently unhealthy about a man controlling his emotions instead of publicly displaying them. There is nothing pathological about solving your own problems when you can. A man who endures hardship without collapsing isn't necessarily “suppressing trauma.”


He may simply be resilient.


And Black men should be particularly suspicious whenever outsiders (i.e. white liberals and black women) begin defining which parts of their masculinity need to be dismantled.


Therapy can help people. So can fathers, brothers, friends, pastors, coaches, barbers and communities. Sometimes a man needs professional treatment. Sometimes he needs somebody he trusts. And sometimes he really is okay.


Mental health should expand a man's ability to function, love, provide, endure and live—not require him to perform vulnerability to demonstrate enlightenment.


Dear Black man: If you're hurting, get help. But if you're strong, don't let anyone convince you that your strength is the disease.


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