The strongest thing your father never taught you was how to cry.
That’s right. I said it. And it’s not because he didn’t love you. But no one taught him, either. Your emotional silence is inherited. It’s the family heirloom nobody wants but everyone keeps passing down. And it’s costing us everything — our relationships, our mental health, our physical wellbeing, and, most importantly, our connection to ourselves.
The Mask We Wear:
It’s in our language. “I’m good.” “I’m straight.” “I’m fine.” These are the most common lies Black men tell themselves. Not because we’re dishonest, but because we’ve been trained that anything else makes us weak, unreliable, or less than. During one ICBM session, we did an exercise: “Share the last time you actually told someone how you really felt.” The silence was heavy. Not because the men didn’t know — but because for many of them, it had been months. Years. Decades. One brother finally spoke: “I don’t think I even know how I feel anymore. I’ve been pushing it down so long, I don’t know what’s under there. I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop.
Where It Comes From:
Emotional toughness isn’t natural — it’s learned. And for Black men, the curriculum started early.
“Big boys don’t cry.” “Man up.” “Don’t be soft.” “You gotta be strong for your family.” These messages came from everywhere: fathers who learned it from their fathers, mothers trying to prepare sons for a harsh world, communities where vulnerability could be weaponized, and a society that punishes Black men for showing any emotion except anger — which is really frustration. The psychological term is “restrictive emotionality” — the learned suppression of all feelings except rage. But in our community, it’s deeper than that. It’s adaptive. Historically, showing pain, fear, or sadness could literally get you killed. Joy could sometimes be seen as disrespectful behavior. Imagine that. Grief had to be private because public mourning was dangerous. So we learned to bury it. To compartmentalize. To function while carrying weight we never process.
The Cost: Emotional silence isn’t strength — it’s slow-motion self-destruction.
In Your Body: Suppressed emotion doesn’t disappear. It manifests as high blood pressure, heart disease, chronic pain, insomnia, substance dependency. Your body WILL keep score even when you refuse to.
In Your Relationships: How do you build intimacy without vulnerability? Your partner asks how you’re doing, and you say “fine”— then wonder why the connection feels distant. Your kids watch you mask everything and learn that feelings aren’t safe to share. You lose friendships because you never let anyone past surface level.
At Work: You carry stress without processing it until you burn out. You can’t ask for help, so you struggle alone. You can’t advocate for yourself because that requires admitting you have needs.
In Your Mental Health: Depression looks different in men — especially Black men. It shows up as irritability, risk-taking, detachment. We don’t seek help because we’ve been taught that therapy is weakness and medication is failure. We suffer in silence until the silence becomes unbearably noisy.
The Humanity We Lose:
One of the most powerful moments in our workshops is when someone finally breaks. Not breaks down — breaks through. When the mask comes off and real emotion shows up. Not in a huge way, but enough to move the needle a bit. And you know what happens? The room doesn’t reject him. It holds him in his emotional strength, because every man in the session knows what it cost to keep everything inside. Every man there has driven home crying after work and dried his eyes before walking in the door. Every man there has felt like he was drowning but stayed in the mind-bending fight so no one would know.
The Unlearning: Unlearning toughness doesn’t mean becoming weak. It means becoming whole. It means:
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Naming what you feel: Not just “stressed” or “angry,” but the specific emotions underneath — disappointment, fear, grief, loneliness
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Sharing it with someone: Not therapy-dumping on everyone, but building trust with people who can hold your truth
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Processing, not performing: Letting yourself actually feel instead of just managing the appearance of everything being fine
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Asking for what you need: Support, space, help, time, understanding, water.
The Practice: Start with something small:
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Tell one person one true thing about how you’re actually doing. (I suggest you find a therapist for this. But I’m bias.)
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Name one emotion you felt today, even if just to yourself. Write it down in your journal.
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Cry if you need to — yes, really. Find a private place and let yourself feel what it’s like to feel. “Jesus wept” (John 11:35), so, how bad can it be?
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Admit you don’t have it all together, because nobody actually does. Nobody.
The Liberation: Here’s what we’re discovering:
Emotional silence doesn’t protect you — it isolates you. Vulnerability doesn’t make you weak — it makes you human. And being human is the only way to truly connect. Your grandfather couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. Your father didn’t know how. But you? You get to choose. Choose wisely. You get to decide that your sons (and daughters) will inherit your love, not just your pain. That your partner will know you, not just live with you. That your friends will see you, not just see through you. Unlearning toughness is hard. But you know what’s harder? Living your whole life behind a wall, a wall that you imprison yourself in and call it strength. The cost of emotional silence is too high. Haven’t you’ve already paid enough? Craft a better way.
Date posted: December 11, 2025
Author: Fredrick Bush