We talk a lot about misogyny—and rightly so. Discrimination and mistreatment against women deserve our collective attention and continued action. But there’s a growing problem we’re not acknowledging loudly enough: misandry—the growing contempt for and neglect of men.
Recently, I watched a video where a man calmly, methodically broke it down. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because what he said echoed everything I’ve seen firsthand—especially in my work as a mentor, school counselor, and veteran. I’ve walked into support groups and seen rooms full of men silently drowning—struggling with depression, shame, unemployment, isolation, and hopelessness. And you know what’s worse? Society often doesn’t see them. And if it does, it rarely cares.
Let’s be clear: less than 1% of Americans serve in the military. That means the men who put their lives on the line for this country are already a small, self-selecting group. Yet somehow, we still have homeless veterans. That reality alone should shock us. I’ve navigated the so-called support systems. It’s a maze of hotlines, voicemails, long waits, and well-meaning people offering “thoughts and prayers” but little actionable help. When you’re struggling, being handed a resource list with disconnected numbers feels like being thrown a life preserver full of holes.
Male-focused shelters? Limited. Mental health resources for men that acknowledge the unique way many of us were taught to suppress, bottle up, or “man up”? Almost nonexistent. Support groups with real funding and practical resources—not lectures or shame? Rare.
I remember reading about a man who died by suicide over $20,000 of debt. That’s the weight he was carrying—alone. Then I watched a GoFundMe for a social media influencer raise $28,000 in days for a birthday trip. And I thought: someone could’ve saved that man’s life for less.
Where’s the same urgency for men?
We’ve become desensitized to male pain. We treat male suffering as collateral damage in the battle for gender equity, as if there’s only so much empathy to go around. It’s not a competition. It’s a crisis. And it’s time we admit that misandry—social, structural, and emotional—is growing.
Look at how often men are mocked for expressing emotions. How often struggling fathers are painted as lazy rather than unsupported. How many young boys are punished for trauma before they’re ever given help. We’re not raising boys—we’re disciplining them into silence. We’re not supporting men—we’re shaming them into burnout.
And here’s the dangerous part: misandry doesn’t always look like hate. Sometimes it looks like neglect. Sometimes it sounds like “he should’ve just asked for help,” when the reality is—he did, and no one listened.
So what do we do?
We start with truth and empathy. We build spaces—real ones, funded ones—for men to speak, heal, and grow. We stop minimizing the emotional weight men carry. We fund male shelters. We challenge harmful narratives about manhood. We tell our boys it’s okay to cry and our brothers that it’s okay to need help.
And we stop assuming that being a man means having it all together. Because the truth is: many of us are barely holding it together.
We don’t need another viral tragedy to start caring. We need the courage to act before another man becomes a headline, a statistic, or a memory.
Let’s do better. For our brothers, sons, fathers, and friends.
Because when men hurt, society hurts too.
