By Evan Sakrison
One December morning in 2015, I sank into the living room couch at my parents’ house, rotting and sobbing uncontrollably. I had just dropped out of graduate school, moved into my brother’s basement, and felt like my life was falling apart. I had always feared death, but in that moment, I prayed for it.
My dad, sitting nearby with the television blaring, noticed my pain. He came over, firmly gripped my hand, and said, “It’s okay, son. I’m here.”
“No, it’s not,” I replied. “I just wish I could be the man that you and mom and everyone else wants me to be.”
My dad: my inspiration, my role model, my everything.
Like most men, my parents raised me to be strong and resilient. But in this moment, I was weak and vulnerable—the opposite of what I thought it meant to be a man.
Even today, what it means to be man is hotly debated. For many, it’s showing unequivocal strength, our supposed true selves, while repressing our emotions. It’s heartbreaking how many men can’t speak their truth for fear of repercussions.
From one man to another, I feel your pain and frustration, and want to help you own your feelings, your mental health, and your whole self. Here are four ways to own it:
In second grade, I couldn’t read or write well. I often fell behind on assignments and was frequently held back from recess to catch up. My teacher, Ms. Leo, told my parents I may have a learning disability. Her mounting frustration and a classmate calling me “retard” torpedoed my self-worth. I thought internalizing my feelings would make me stronger and more resilient, but it laid the bricks for a life-long struggle with depression, anxiety, OCD, and ADHD.
This experience made me second-guess everything: “Maybe I am a ‘retard.”
As a preteen second-guessing turned into self-gaslighting: “Stop being a wimp. Be strong like dad.”
By high school self-gaslighting became self-blame: “You are worthless. It’s all your fault. You don’t deserve better.”
Men like me often believe these self-destructive behaviors build strength and resilience. But really, we’re just molding and cementing negative beliefs. We tend to blame ourselves for how we feel because it gives us some semblance of control. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that nobody has control over their genetics or their environment. But we do have control over how we talk to ourselves.
From one man to another: Recognize your feelings, accept them, and reframe your internal dialogue: “I didn’t cause this. Nor does it define me. This is something I live with, and that’s okay.” Check out additional tips for reframing and developing positive self-talk from The Wellness Society.
The late comedian Mitch Hedberg once joked, “Alcoholism is a disease, but it’s the only one you can get yelled at for having.” Believe it or not, I’ve have been yelled at for my mental health.
“Man up” and “get over it” weren’t uncommon. In fact, my crippling anxiety over a family member’s suicide attempt once cost me a promotion despite glowing feedback the whole year. “Silence is success,” I told myself, but living in silence is exhausting, dehumanizing, and lonely.
That all changed at a small bar in Austin, Texas, thanks to a young man named Jason and his worn acoustic guitar. His smooth, bluesy tunes captivated me enough to buy him a beer. During his break, Jason came over to thank me, and I asked him how long he’d been playing. Gentle music banter unexpectedly evolved into a much-needed heart-to-heart:
“Playing music makes me feel safe.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Safe being me. When I’m on stage, I don’t feel the need to hide my depression.”
Jason’s candor made me feel comfortable sharing my own experiences. Not once did I feel judged or under attack – it was just an honest conversation between two men, two complete strangers. We shared a hug, and then he returned to the stage to finish his set.
This situation was particularly empowering because, growing up, I had far more female friends. I could openly talk about mental health with them, but not with my male friends. Our collective silence set the tone for our relationship. It wasn’t that we couldn’t talk about it; we just never did.
In hindsight, maybe my male friends wanted to express their concerns but didn’t know how. I didn’t either until I met Jason. His vulnerability was the open invitation I needed to speak up and share my story. Since then, I’ve extended the same invitation, so to speak, for countless friends and family. Almost all of them expressed the same sentiment: “I don’t think I would have shared if you hadn’t.”
Not everyone will be as open, compassionate, and understanding as Jason, but that doesn’t mean you should live in silence. Neither should the man standing next to you.
From one man to another: Share your story no matter who’s listening. You never know, a man you care about might be waiting to hear your voice first to help unleash his. The National Alliance on Mental Illness confirms sharing our stories fosters connection, reduces stigma, and creates change.
If you know me, you know I love Halloween and making my own costumes. However, spooky season wasn’t just about my love for horror; it was theater – an excuse to be anyone but me.
Like Jason with his music, I feel safe during Halloween. Donning gory homemade masks helped me forget about everything I hated about myself– especially my poor mental health. Better yet I could dance the night away without burdening others with my inner battles. The post-Halloween blues always hit me hard because it meant that the curtains closed, and it was time to be the Evan I hated again.
I never wanted to have the loudest voice in the room, I just wanted to be seen and heard. Being your authentic self, without apology, is a surefire way of accomplishing both. That means openly accepting your thoughts, emotions, needs, wants, wishes, and health – and expressing them without apology.
Nowadays I no longer treat Halloween like self-hatred theater; it’s a celebration of unabashed joy. The real Evan can dance like nobody’s watching: he accepts his good days and bad days, his thoughts and feelings, his wants and needs, and his physical and mental health. He doesn’t hide it, either; he shows up as he is no matter who’s watching. Some may not like it, but the real Evan dances the night away anyway.
From one man to another: You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Be proud of who you are and show it off, whatever that looks like to you (See the 'before and after' to your right for inspiration). Want to learn more? The Mayo Clinic offers additional steps for feeling better about yourself.
Myself, Melissa Astuto, and Lana Weiss;
two of evolvedMD's Behavioral Health Managers
Cultural upbringings, societal stigma, and traditional gender roles deter many men from seeking help. Instead, they play the waiting game, hoping symptoms will resolve with time. I’m guilty of this, too. I avoided seeking help until I couldn’t bear the weight of my anxiety anymore.
I remember waltzing into the counseling center at my alma mater during my junior year of college. “This is hopeless,” I thought. “Nobody can help me.” Imagine my reaction when they assigned a master’s student as my therapist.
Within minutes, during our first appointment, he said, “I know you don’t want to be here, but I promise you’re doing the right thing.” I didn’t believe him until he introduced exposure therapy, a technique that changed my life forever.
His compassionate approach and clear guidance had a profound impact on my mental health. He also challenged me to visit the health services center and see a primary care provider, who prescribed me Zoloft. Together with biweekly therapy, I learned to embrace all the things that provoked intense anxiety. To this day people don’t recognize me: “Who are you and what have you done with Evan?” Thanks to him, I still see a primary care provider and a mental health therapist, and proudly tell all the men in my life to do the same.
His influence doesn’t stop there, though; I credit him with helping me pursue a career in mental health. Joining evolvedMD has given me the opportunity to help men like me get the help they need. If you aren’t familiar, we integrate behavioral health in primary care so people can keep their physical and mental health in check in one place. The data is compelling – it’s more effective than traditional care, and I certainly wish I had access to something similar growing up. But now, millions of men like me have access to life-changing care right at their doctor’s office.
From one man to another: Ask for help. Talk to your doctor, therapist, or psychiatrist. If your doctor’s office happens to integrate behavioral health you can start therapy right there and then. If not, share this blog with them.
From one man to another, each day you choose to own your mental health is a powerful statement of strength and resilience. You’re doing much better than you think, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.
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