Why Men Are So Lonely?

A Reflection on Societal Expectations, Masculinity, and Connection

Not long ago, I had an incredibly bad night. I woke up from a nasty dream I can’t even remember, but what stuck was this overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Let me be clear—this isn’t about my husband. He’s incredible, and I’d be so much worse off—if not a sobbing puddle of loneliness—without him. But a spouse is different from a companion or a non-romantic friend. It’s a different kind of connection, like the difference between a warm hug and a high-five after someone laughs at your terrible joke. Last night, it hit me that I’ve been missing that high-five dynamic. And because life loves bad timing, this epiphany kept me awake all night before my first day back at work after a two-and-a-half-week staycation. Thanks, brain, for making my reentry into reality a little extra crispy.

That restless night got me reflecting on something I’ve been thinking about a lot: why so many men feel lonely. And it’s not because we all suck at texting back (although, let’s be real, some of us do). It’s because men today are trapped in a maze of impossible societal expectations, and instead of breadcrumbs, we’re given contradictory advice that leads straight to existential quicksand. It’s like trying to win a game where the rules keep changing, and you don’t even know what the prize is.

The Maze of Expectations

On one side, certain radical feminists treat men like the final boss of humanity’s problems. I get that it comes from centuries of systemic oppression, but blaming me for something my great-great-grandfather might’ve done feels a bit like suing me because his horse broke your fence. Then there’s moderate feminism, which is much more constructive but still has this impossible “Perfect Man Checklist.” Be sensitive but not too sensitive, strong but never intimidating, confident but humble, ambitious but selfless. It’s like being asked to assemble IKEA furniture without the manual while someone critiques your progress. "No, no, the Allen wrench isn’t vulnerable enough."

Now swing to the evangelical right, where men are placed on pedestals so high you can see your own self-doubt from orbit. In these spaces, men do get guidance, but it’s often based on specific interpretations of scripture—whether those interpretations are accurate or not. Frequently, these interpretations conflate stereotypes with spiritual teachings, reinforcing preconceived notions of what men should be. These notions frequently emphasize an idealized or romanticized version of masculinity that’s more fantasy than reality. This advice prioritizes rigid, outdated roles over genuine emotional health. Men are taught to lead their families, communities, and faith with authority, but what happens when the real world doesn’t follow that tidy plan? That rigidity—paired with the belief that strength means silence and leadership means control—can do more harm than good. It’s a framework that assumes men must succeed without ever admitting doubt or asking for help, and the fallout when they fail can be devastating.

Then there’s the rise of “alpha male” influencers like Andrew Tate, who peddle a hollow, cosplay version of masculinity. Fast cars, flashy wealth, dominance—it’s basically the human equivalent of a 12-year-old playing “dress-up” with their dad’s credit card. It’s shallow, performative, and leaves men even more disconnected from what real strength actually looks like. Spoiler alert: flexing so hard you pull a muscle in your soul is not a sustainable life strategy.

It’s Not Just Straight Guys

And this isn’t just about straight guys, either. Gay, straight, bi, it doesn’t matter. Society dumps impossible expectations on all of us. But the loneliness hits differently depending on where you stand.

For gay men, societal pressures come with their own set of contradictions. Straight guys might expect you to conform to their assumptions, or worse, assume you’re into them (spoiler: most gay guys aren’t particularly interested in straight men, contrary to popular belief). Sometimes, you just want to be friends, but that can be harder to communicate when stereotypes cloud the dynamic.

On the flip side, if you act too straight, you risk alienating parts of the gay community, where people might think you’re putting on a facade or hiding your true self—even when you are being your true self. I remember when I was a musician, a well-meaning but misinformed woman once told me I didn’t need to “put on the facade” of being in a band with all this “masculine energy.” She thought she was encouraging me to drop an act, but the reality was, there was no act to drop. That “masculine energy” was just me being myself. Her comment felt like a punch to the face after years of struggling to figure out who I was and finally feeling secure in my own identity. Suddenly, someone else had a problem with it.

I’d spent so much of my life being told I wasn’t “right” in one way or another, whether it was by the evangelical world or the broader social expectations. Finally, I was at peace with myself, and now someone else was coming along to tell me I needed to change again? No, thank you.

Loneliness isn’t just about physical isolation or lack of connection. It’s about navigating a world that constantly tells you you’re doing it wrong, even when you’ve finally figured out how to be comfortable in your own skin. Sometimes it feels like the universe is playing a cosmic game of "Guess Who?" with your identity, and everyone but you gets to flip the tiles.

What Men Actually Need

The truth is, men don’t need more platitudes like “man up” or “believe in yourself.” We need spaces where we can talk about what we’re going through without being judged—or offered a protein shake and a brochure for a $5,000 alpha-male seminar. We need role models who show us how to be real, not just perform masculinity for applause.

The pressure men feel to hold everything together until they inevitably break is crushing. Worse, when men do break, there’s this romanticized ideal of a man’s breakdown—that it’s some noble, movie-worthy moment of catharsis, complete with swelling music and newfound strength. In reality, most men who break under the pressure don’t get applause or resolution. They’re often met with silence, judgment, or even the same useless platitudes that failed them before. And the truth is, breaking isn’t an endpoint; it’s a signal that the support men needed never came.

There’s this idea baked into our culture that struggling in silence is the hallmark of true strength—that pushing yourself to the brink is admirable, even if it destroys you. But men don’t need to break to prove their worth. They need to be allowed to bend without judgment, to admit weakness without fear, and to seek help without stigma. Vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s human. And it might just save a few of us from cracking under the weight of expectations we never signed up for. Honestly, the bravest thing most of us could do is admit we’re tired of carrying the entire emotional universe on our backs and maybe pass the baton to someone who’s better at asking for directions.

So What’s Next?

How do we fix this? How do we help men—gay, straight, bi, whoever—find their voice and their place in this chaotic, changing world? Because until we do, we’ll keep stumbling in the dark, pretending we’re fine, and wondering why we feel so alone.

Going this long without resolution doesn’t just isolate men further—it builds frustration. And that frustration doesn’t disappear; it festers. Left unchecked, it can transform into unhealthy aggression or destructive behaviors. When society teaches men to suppress their emotions instead of processing them, those emotions don’t vanish—they explode in ways that hurt both the individual and those around them.

The world loves to romanticize the “strong, silent type” until the silence breaks. We need to unlearn the myth that struggling quietly and shouldering impossible burdens is noble. Real strength isn’t about breaking under pressure; it’s about having the courage to ask for help before it gets to that point. Men need spaces to share their struggles openly and honestly without fear of judgment or ridicule. They need tools—not stereotypes—to help them navigate life’s complexities and form meaningful, supportive connections.

This isn’t just about fixing what’s broken; it’s about creating something new. A world where men don’t have to choose between isolation and the impossible standards of masculinity. A world where vulnerability is seen as bravery, not weakness. A world where connection isn’t a luxury—it’s the default.

Let’s talk about it. And no, I’m still not ending this with “man up.”