A few years ago, I met Nick (not his real name). He was 20, a carpentry apprentice that loved touch football and being with his mates. He had an impressive mullet that was somehow also stylish and tasteful, and he struck me as the sort of bloke who could recite Bunnings opening hours by heart.
Nick seemed like a classic laidback Aussie guy. But not long before I met him, Nick’s girlfriend had broken up with him and things began to spiral.
He was devastated. He pulled away from friends, started smoking weed most days and withdrew into video games and pornography.
Then came an ingrown toenail.
Normally a minor issue, but he let it fester until it became so infected he couldn’t walk or work. That’s what finally brought him to the GP. Thankfully, the doctor saw something deeper going on and referred him to headspace, where I work as a psychologist.
When we first sat down, Nick said,
“I’m just pissed off. Angry with my ex and frustrated with my friends and my job.”
But pissed off was just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath was grief, jealousy and shame. Normal emotions after a breakup, but ones he had never been taught how to recognise, let alone process or manage.
Nick’s story isn’t unusual because he was struggling.
It’s unusual because he actually got help.
I hear variations of Nick’s story every day. Young men want to do well and contribute, but when life knocks them down, many don’t know how to get back up. Often, they retreat into isolation, resentment, or risky behaviours. Not because they don’t care, but because they’ve never been given the tools to make sense of their emotions or seek support.
The statistics are confronting. Young men experience high rates of psychological distress and suicide yet have the lowest rates of professional help-seeking for mental health. This extends into physical healthcare. Australian men, live nearly five fewer years of ‘healthy life’ than women and face higher rates of mortality from preventable diseases. A contributor to this is a trend of disengagement from health services for men that often begins during adolescence.
This is why I chose to research young men’s help-seeking. After looking at the data and talking with young men from across Australia, I have three key takeaways.
Clarity Matters
Often, young men are unsure:
When is something serious enough to warrant seeking help?
Where do I go?
Why is it worth doing?
We can provide clarity here with a simple framework that says: “Hey, if this is happening, it’s a good idea to reach out and here’s what the process will look like.”
We also need to help young men understand the benefits of seeking help. If they can see that there is no strength without vulnerability, help-seeking becomes an act of courage rather than weakness, and that changes everything.
Connection Matters
Loneliness makes help-seeking even harder. Research shows that people aged 18 to 25 are the loneliest group in our community. For young men, feeling disconnected makes it easy to turn inward and stay silent. To start thinking, there’s something wrong with me or maybe I deserve this.
A gentle nudge from a friend, or hearing someone say, “I’ve been there too,” can break through that isolation.
One of the most powerful enablers is hearing authentic stories from other men who’ve sought support. Stories that show struggle and also courage and growth. These narratives make help-seeking feel less like a personal failure, and more like a shared human experience.
Compassion Matters
“I don’t think men who seek help are weak. But I’d feel weak if I did.”
I heard this line repeatedly in interviews. Young men can reject the stigma intellectually but still fear they will be met with suspicion and judgement.
Many young men already carry a heavy load: uncertainty, loneliness, shame. On top of that, they face a unique challenge in reaching out. However, rather than meeting that challenge with patience and care, we often inadvertently rely on messaging that pathologises masculinity or blames men for being resistant to help-seeking.
We say they’re too stubborn, too scared to be vulnerable, too trapped by masculine ideals as though their difficulty asking for help is a personal flaw. This kind of messaging can reinforce the very shame we’re trying to dissolve.
Conclusion
There’s another way forward. The principles of clarity, connection, and compassion offer a practical guide for how we speak to and about young men, and how we create environments that support them.
Nick’s story shows what’s possible when the right support reaches the right person at the right time. He wasn’t broken. He was stuck, and with the right care he was able to move forward. These days the toenail is fine, the mullet is thriving, and so is Nick.
