Why So Many Men Feel Alone.

Recently, I wrote an article about how loneliness affects many gay men.

After I shared it online, one person wrote, “You might want to take a look at the loneliness of heterosexual men, too.”

Not long after, I came across a post on social media declaring, “Male loneliness is an epidemic.”

It caught my attention because my original article was inspired by themes I see all the time in the work I do with men. In fact, if you do a quick Google search on male loneliness, you’ll find countless articles, Reddit posts, and headlines describing it as a “male loneliness epidemic” and even “front-page news.”

Loneliness is one of the most common issues that comes up in the work I do with men. Regardless of age, it’s a topic that comes up repeatedly in therapy.

Men’s loneliness is rarely about being alone though. More often, it’s about carrying thoughts, feelings, or experiences we do not feel safe to share.

Carl Jung said, “Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.”

For many men, we’re socialized not to be “weak” by showing emotions. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone say “man up,” often in an effort to dissuade someone from expressing feelings.

Men aren’t socialized to express—or even to acknowledge—their emotions. But to be human is to have feelings.

The more we suppress or repress emotions like fear, sadness, or grief, the more they can morph into outward anger and rage. And anger is often a secondary emotion; underneath it lies an enormous amount of pain, pain so great that it can feel almost impossible to resolve.

For that reason, far too many of us turn to alcohol, drugs, video games, or sex to escape the pain and keep ourselves disconnected from what we’re really feeling on the inside.

What’s more, men are taught to be “tough,” and so it can be especially difficult to be vulnerable or to share core aspects of ourselves. A lifetime, or even a childhood, can pass without the chance to talk about feelings or without ever having those feelings mirrored or reflected back.

Loneliness often manifests subtly, even for those of us who appear confident. Some respond to years of not feeling seen by withdrawing, keeping relationships at a surface level, or overcompensating to fit perceived “masculine” expectations.

Others feel an internal tension, a sense that no one could fully understand their experience, which can affect self-esteem and create hesitancy around intimacy.

Part of what makes male loneliness so persistent is the mismatch between internal reality and external expression. The cost of protection in adulthood is a chronic sense of isolation.

Over the years, many men learn to keep parts of themselves hidden, even from the people closest to us. Every time we do, we leave a piece behind—a sort of self-abandonment that can turn into chronic feelings of loneliness.

Part of the challenge comes from cultural and familial messages about what it means to be a man. From childhood, we’re taught to be strong, self-reliant, and in control of our emotions. Vulnerability is often seen as weakness, and sensitivity can feel like a liability. These messages, whether implicit or explicit, shape how we relate to ourselves and others, often leading us to mask or suppress emotions that feel too risky to express.

For some men, loneliness shows up as pulling back from relationships or avoiding situations where they might feel too exposed. Others cover up the uncertainty they feel by acting confident, in control, or “together.” Some stay on guard all the time, careful about what they reveal, worried about judgment or criticism. These ways of protecting ourselves make sense, but over time they can leave us feeling even more separate—from ourselves and from the people around us, like being in a room full of people but still feeling alone.

Healing begins with discovering all that we’ve carried in silence. It starts by recognizing the areas of our lives where we hold back, whether out of fear or shame.

The goal is not to perform vulnerability for approval but to allow ourselves to exist fully and to test, even in small and incremental ways, what it feels like to be understood and really seen.

Most importantly, healing requires turning inward, which is counter to what we’re often told societally. Nothing “out there” will resolve an inner sense of loneliness.

The journey inward is both practical and reflective—practical in noticing patterns and making choices to engage differently, reflective in observing the parts of ourselves that have been hidden and gradually integrating them into our lives.

The good news is that we can start small—saying what matters to us with people we trust, even if it feels awkward or uncomfortable at first. Noticing how it feels when someone truly hears us, or when we hear ourselves out loud for the first time.

Ultimately, the path through loneliness is about learning to speak what matters most so we are no longer alone with it. This is the work of letting ourselves be seen and known for the fullness of who we really are.

Healing from male loneliness asks for courage, self-compassion, and patience, but it also allows us to feel a sense of belonging that isn’t dependent on anyone else—only on our willingness to inhabit our own lives fully.

Featured on:

Elephant Journal

Chris Tompkins is a gay male therapist in West Hollywood (Los Angeles) who specializes in working with adult gay men, individuals and couples. He supports clients navigating identity, relationships, religious trauma, addiction, and self-esteem. To learn more, explore therapeutic services or schedule a free consultation.