Male Loneliness Isn’t a Crisis—It’s a Mirror

Men are waking up to pain women have been naming all along.

When I sat down with Scott Galloway on my new podcast Boy Problems, we weren’t supposed to talk about loneliness. But like most conversations about men in 2025, it found us anyway. A clip from our interview is going viral when Scott said we often tell men to ‘fix their problems,’ something we’d never say to a Black person or a woman. And while I understood the nuance he was trying to express, I had to push back. I loved our conversation and hope you can listen to it in full and make up your own mind about it, but here’s where I stand…

The reason why women expect men to do something about their problems is that they’re not powerless. In fact, now more than ever, they are in charge. Men built the system, they are the architects of patriarchy, its stewards, and its most consistent beneficiaries. They wrote the rules. They enforced them. They handed themselves the keys and locked the rest of us out.

That doesn’t mean we should lack empathy for their pain, or patience for their learning. But the tacit request that women now solve this problem for them, as we’ve been asked to solve so many others, is not just unproductive. It’s offensive. It’s a continuation of the very system that treats women as emotional infrastructure, expected to carry men’s pain while still healing from the damage it caused.

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Because patriarchy isn’t some abstract cloud that descended on humanity. It’s a structure. A series of choices that men have made. A long, historical project upheld by institutions where men still dominate: government, religion, media, medicine, tech, finance. This isn’t about blame, it’s about responsibility. The same way we expect those with power to act in any other crisis, we expect men to do something here. Not because women can’t. But because we already did—and we were ignored.

And here’s where it gets personal. Women haven’t just asked men to help. We’ve begged. We’ve organized. We’ve explained. We wrote books. We started podcasts. We’ve softened the truth to make it palatable. We’ve screamed it raw. And in return? At best, silence. At worst, retaliation. Mockery. Threats. And now a second Trump administration, a political movement powered by sexist men, many of whom are known abusers or alleged sexual predators. A movement whose goal is to reinforce the very patriarchal structure that’s hurting men and violently punishing women for daring to challenge it. Yes, some women voted for it. But let’s be honest: it wouldn’t exist without men. The current system was built by men, sold by men, and sustained by men.

So when men say, “We’re hurting,” the response isn’t, “Too bad.” It’s, “Welcome. Now grab a shovel.” Because while the pain may feel new to you, the fire has been burning for generations. And many of us have been here for years, digging through the wreckage with blistered hands, trying to build something safer from the ash.

This isn’t about shaming men. It’s about holding a mirror to power. If men want to dismantle the system, that’s a beautiful thing. But don’t forget, you’re not just hurt by it. You were handed the blueprints. You’re holding the tools. And you’re not alone. So if you’re here now, truly ready to help: welcome. But understand this: the work is sacred. And it started long before you picked up a tool.

And while we’re on the topic, something that’s irked me with some of the most prominent positive masculinity voices out there, is their lack of credit to the women that paved the way for them to do this work. What’s frustrating, frankly, is watching men finally wake up to these realities, often repeating the exact frameworks women (especially Black women) have been shouting into the void for years… without citing them. Without honoring them. Without even noticing them.

The frameworks men are now using to “deconstruct masculinity” or “reimagine power” didn’t come from nowhere. They came from bell hooks. From Audre Lorde. From Angela Davis. From Black feminist scholars, artists, organizers, and everyday women who risked safety, reputation, and livelihood to name the thing before the thing had a hashtag. The tools at men’s disposal to have conversations about masculinity were made by women who were ridiculed, dismissed, or erased for creating them. If you’re finally ready to join the fight, welcome. We need you. But know you are standing on the shoulders of women who were once standing alone.

So when a man gets a standing ovation for saying patriarchy is bad, or when a bestselling author goes viral for explaining that men need emotional connection, it’s not jealousy women feel. It’s exhaustion. We built the scaffolding. We wrote the language. We held the emotional weight for centuries. And now that men are showing up to the work, we’re expected to applaud without mention of whose blueprint they’re reading from.

To be clear: I want men to join the conversation. I wrote For the Love of Men as an invitation to do just that. I could have spent those four years interviewing women, my peers, my friends, the ones doing this work alongside me, but I chose to focus on men. I did that because I believe in what’s possible for you. I believe you’re capable of more. And I believe you’re needed.

But if you’re just arriving now, don’t mistake the warmth of the welcome for authorship. You didn’t set the table or cook the meal, but you’re here because women, especially Black women, opened the door. They lit the fire. They kept the conversation alive when it was lonely, risky, and far from trending.

And without women having a voice in those conversations, what often gets left out of the narrative is that we are just as lonely as men. According to Pew Research, 16% of adults, both men and women, report feeling lonely or isolated all or most of the time.  I brought this up with Scott Galloway on the Man Enough podcast two years ago. The difference isn’t who feels pain, it’s what we’re taught to do with it. Women are encouraged to seek connection, to talk, to process. Men are taught to suppress it, deny it, or worse, outsource it onto the women around them. As I’ve asked before, it’s worth asking why we celebrate single women while we worry about single men.

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So yes, men are hurting. But that doesn’t make their pain exceptional, it makes it human. And if anything, it’s proof that you belong here, in the deep end with the rest of us, learning how to feel, connect, and heal.

To the men who are reading this, thank you. You’re not late. You’re just arriving. And the good news is that we’ve been building the path. All you have to do now is walk it with us.

The mirror isn’t here to punish you. It’s here to show you what’s been there all along. And if you can stand in front of it, honestly, humbly, fully, then you’re already doing something most men were never taught to do.

Keep looking. We’re right here with you.

What do you think? Do you agree that male loneliness is a mirror, not just a crisis? What part resonated the most with you? Let’s keep this conversation going in the comments and listen and hear each other.