Man up… Whatever that means

“Man up.” “Be a man about it.”

“Stop acting like a girl.”

EDITOR: In many Caribbean societies, these phrases are often delivered casually, sometimes even jokingly.

Yet for many men, they are among the most damaging messages they will ever receive. To tell a man to “man up” is not encouragement; it is often an instruction to suppress emotion, deny vulnerability, and endure suffering in silence.

Masculinity is not defined by adulthood, nor is there any enduring standard by which it can be proven once and for all. Yet from a very young age, boys are taught rigid expectations about what it means to be a man. Boys are told not to cry. They are conditioned to believe that expressing emotions is a sign of weakness. When their behaviour does not align with society’s narrow definition of manhood, they are often punished, emotionally and sometimes physically.

This punishment can take many forms: name-calling, such as “sissy,” “weak,” or “soft.” In the Caribbean context, phrases like “you fighting like a girl” or “you is a soft man” are common.

For some boys, it goes further, such as bullying, aggression, or physical violence. Acts such as asking for help, showing compassion, or expressing vulnerability are undermined by social attitudes that devalue empathy and glorify the idea of the “alpha male.”

Asking for help, especially medical or mental health care, is therefore seen as a failure of masculinity.

For many Caribbean men, even visiting a doctor is a challenge. Seeking medical attention is delayed or avoided altogether because illness, emotional distress, or mental health struggles are perceived as signs of weakness. As a result, men often present late to healthcare services, when conditions have already worsened, physically and psychologically.

Yet society continues to expect men to have their lives together at all times.

When men experience pressure, they are told to “tough it out” or “hold strain.”

Breaking down is seen as weakness, and vulnerability is often labelled as effeminate. The emotional cost of this expectation is devastating.

Consider John Doe.

When John’s father died, he did not cry. When his girlfriend left him, he did not cry. When his mother died, he did not cry. John had learned well what it meant to “man up”.

So when John later took his own life, people asked in disbelief: Why didn’t anybody see the signs? Why didn’t he cry?

Men’s pain is often invisible because they have been taught to hide it. Their struggles are frequently ridiculed, dismissed, or ignored. When men do speak, they are told to “pray about it,” “drink a rum,” or “go clear yuh head”. Rarely are they told, “I hear you”, or “It’s okay not to be okay”.

Men’s mental health is not a weakness; it is a public health issue. In the Caribbean where male suicide rates remain high and men are less likely to access mental health services, we must confront the harmful narratives we continue to perpetuate. “Man up” cannot be the response to men’s mental health struggles.

We need to redefine masculinity, one that allows men to feel, to grieve, to seek help, and to access medical care without shame. Strength is not silence. Strength is knowing when to ask for support if we truly want healthier men, healthier families, and healthier Caribbean societies.

Shimano Bailey