Why Many Men Don’t “Open Up” — and Why That’s Not the Problem
“He won’t open up.”
I hear this phrase often. Sometimes it’s spoken with concern, sometimes with frustration, sometimes with resignation. It’s usually framed as a problem to be solved—an emotional deficit, a resistance, a failure to engage. The assumption underneath it is clear: if he cared enough, if he were healthy enough, if he were evolved or emotionally mature enough, he would talk more about how he feels.
But what if that assumption is incomplete?
What if many men are expressing their emotional life—just not in the ways we’ve been taught to recognize?
What “Opening Up” Has Come to Mean
In contemporary culture, “opening up” is often defined as verbal disclosure: naming feelings, narrating inner states, processing experiences out loud, often in real time and in company.
For many women and femme-socialized people—and for people trained through therapy culture or “talk-to-connect” relationships—this is a genuine and effective way to build closeness. It’s how misunderstandings get addressed and care is exchanged.
But it is not the only valid way emotional life can be lived or communicated.
Action as Emotional Language
Many men—particularly those shaped by responsibility-heavy roles, skilled labor, or environments that value reliability—often express care, loyalty, and emotional commitment through action and continuity rather than words.
They show up.
They keep things running.
They invest time, effort, resources, and focused attention.
Their emotional language is embedded in what they do, and in how consistently they do it.
This difference is easy to miss because it doesn’t announce itself or ask for acknowledgment.
So what does this look like in real life?
Taking care of a task you didn’t ask them to do, because they noticed it needed doing
Quietly handling logistics so others can rest (repairs, planning, safety checks)
Consistently showing up for family, friends, neighbors, or crews without needing applause
Teaching or explaining something so you’re better equipped
Choosing steadiness over speech when the situation calls for stability
(And yes—this connects to a companion post I’ll link separately: Why Mansplaining Can Be a Form of Care (When You Know How to Receive It).)
Paying attention is the currency of care.
Stoicism Is Cultural Training, Not Emotional Absence
Men have been trained into stoicism—culturally, socially, within families, schools, teams, and peer spaces across their lifespan. Western culture has long rewarded men for being composed, directional, and emotionally contained, especially under pressure. In moments of duress, this can be a real strength: the ability to stay focused under intensity.
At the same time, boys are routinely shamed—explicitly or implicitly—when they express uncertainty, fear, or vulnerability that disrupts expectations of confidence and control. Over time, many men learn that verbalizing internal states is unsafe, even with people they love.
This becomes a self-perpetuating cycle: emotional disclosure remains unfamiliar terrain, and men never get the chance to develop the language or skills for it, even when the desire is there.
Stoicism does not erase feeling. It reorganizes how and where emotions are embodied and processed.
What I observe in many men is not emotional absence, but emotional containment. Feeling is present, paced, and often private. Meaning emerges through reliability rather than revelation—through duty, continuity, and doing what needs to be done.
A man may not verbally tell you he cares—but he will maintain your car without being asked.
He may not articulate fear—but he will quietly ensure others are protected from risk.
He may not narrate devotion—but he will tend the same task, place, or person for years.
This is not a lack of emotional life. It is an embodied expression of it.
Silence Is Not the Same as Disengagement
Silence is often misread. Quiet becomes avoidance. Internal processing becomes emotional unavailability.
But for many men, emotional work happens internally and over time. It is integrated into movement, repetition, and responsibility. Conversation may come later—or not at all.
That does not mean emotions haven’t been processed or growth hasn’t occurred. Men can feel closer, more trusting, and more committed through internal resolution, and then communicate that shift through action rather than words.
Emotional containment can also be stabilizing. In many relationships, a man’s ability to remain steady and solution-oriented allows partners, children, and dependents to express their own emotions while trusting that someone is holding the line. This steadiness often goes unnoticed when attention is paid only to what is spoken rather than what is held.
If we are in relationship with a man who does not emote verbally, it becomes our task to observe with patience—to learn what he tells us through action over time.
When Difference Gets Pathologized
Problems arise when a natural, socialized variation in expression is interpreted as deficiency.
When men are repeatedly told that the way they express care doesn’t count, pressure builds to perform inauthentically. They are asked to translate themselves into a language that feels foreign or unsafe, often without time, context, or skill.
Attempts at disclosure can become double binds: if a man speaks imperfectly or hesitantly, he may be corrected, rushed, spoken over, or subtly shamed. This happens to boys, partners, and seasoned men alike.
In response, many men withdraw—not because they don’t care, but because they feel unseen or disrespected. That withdrawal is then taken as proof of the original assumption, creating a loop of misunderstanding on all sides.
A Third Way: Witnessed Disclosure Without Demand
There is another way.
Some men are resourced enough to process internally and arrive at clarity on their own. This is not a deficit; it is a capacity.
At the same time, there are moments—especially in complex or high-stakes situations—when even contained men benefit from being witnessed. Not fixed. Not analyzed. Not interrupted.
Sometimes disclosure is simply a request for the load of expectation to be reduced—to let others know something is being carried.
Creating this third way requires effort on both sides: men stretching toward selective disclosure when needed, and others stretching their capacity to witness without steering, solving, or silencing.
A Note to Men
If you were trained into stoicism, “opening up” can feel risky. Start smaller.
Name the category, not the whole story.
Make a clear request for witnessing or space.
Ask for time if needed.
And then—this matters—come back and close the loop. Let people know you’re okay or that something has resolved. You don’t need details. Just don’t leave people on pause indefinitely.
This protects your dignity and the relationship.
A Note to Partners
If action is someone’s emotional language, treat it like language: notice it, name it, confirm it.
“I saw you handle that. I felt cared for.”
If you want words, invite them with curiosity rather than pressure:
“When you did X, were you trying to communicate Y?”
Give room for imperfect attempts. Don’t punish the effort.
A Note to Clinicians and Helpers
Emotional containment is not emotional absence.
Look for continuity, responsibility, repair behaviors, and the ways care is organized through work, time, and presence. Support verbal fluency as an added tool—not as the primary measure of health or engagement.
Recalibrating the Frame
This perspective does not excuse harm or avoidance. Growth is possible and valuable.
But if men are asked to stretch, others must stretch too—their perceptivity, patience, and capacity to witness without control.
Many men are not closed. They are well contained.
Many are not emotionally absent. They are expressing care in ways that have not been culturally valued or well understood.
Recognizing this doesn’t lower the bar for connection.
It recalibrates it.
Upcoming: How Economic Change Shapes Masculinity: Why Working-Class Men Are Losing Their Sense of Purpose