By Adam Ratner, LCSW, MBA | Co-Founder, Grow Sport Psychology & Performance Improvement
June is Men's Mental Health Month. Every year when it comes around, I find myself thinking about the same thing: how many men, and how many athletes, are carrying something heavy right now while telling themselves they'll deal with it later.
I get it. I really do.
I grew up playing soccer, baseball, tennis, and running track in Dallas. Sports were everything to me. They shaped my identity, my social world, and gave me an outlet. When I was 16, I fractured my knee playing soccer and never returned to the game the way I had played it before. Suddenly, I had to figure out who I was without that version of myself. I didn't have anyone helping me navigate that process. I simply pushed through because that's what athletes are taught to do.
That experience is a big reason I do what I do today. Over the years, I've learned that pushing through without support isn't strength. It often means carrying more weight than necessary for far longer than you need to.
The data surrounding men's mental health is worth paying attention to.
Nearly 20% of adult men in the United States, about 24.6 million people, experience a mental health condition in a given year. Among men ages 30 to 34, that number rises to nearly 32%. Yet only about 17% of men saw a mental health professional last year, compared to more than 28% of women. The gap between need and action is significant.
Among athletes, the picture may be even more concerning. Only about 10% of athletes who acknowledge they're struggling actually seek professional help. Forty percent worry that opening up could affect their playing time. One in five elite athletes meets clinical thresholds for anxiety or depression. Despite growing awareness, many locker rooms still send the message that mental struggles should be hidden, managed privately, or simply pushed through.
Men account for nearly 80% of suicides in the United States, and the suicide rate among men is roughly four times higher than it is for women. Loneliness, another major contributor to mental health challenges, continues to rise. One in four males between the ages of 15 and 34 reports feeling lonely for a significant part of the day. The percentage of men with no close friends has increased from 3% in 1990 to 15% today.
These aren't just statistics. They're teammates, coaches, friends, sons, fathers, and sometimes ourselves.
In my work with athletes, I see the same themes emerge over and over again.
Athletes are conditioned from a young age to push past discomfort. Pain is something you play through. Doubt is something you silence. Anything that resembles weakness gets buried, especially if there's concern about how coaches, teammates, or competitors might view it. Ironically, the same mental toughness that helps someone compete at a high level can make it incredibly difficult to admit when they're struggling.
Then there's identity.
For many athletes, sport isn't simply something they do. It's who they are. When injuries happen, performance declines, or careers come to an end, that identity can suddenly feel unstable. I experienced a version of that at 16, and I've worked with athletes navigating the same challenge at 22, 35, 45, and beyond.
Transitions can be especially difficult. Whether it's the final game of a high school career or retirement from professional competition, athletes often lose structure, purpose, community, and a daily outlet all at once. Research shows that athletes who delay seeking support during these transitions often experience a gradual downward spiral where stress compounds over time, affecting relationships, physical health, and overall well-being.
The conversation around athlete mental health has changed dramatically over the last decade, largely because some highly visible athletes chose to speak openly about their experiences.
Michael Phelps, the most decorated Olympian of all time, has shared his struggles with anxiety and depression throughout much of his career. After the 2012 Olympics, he described periods when he didn't want to leave his room or talk to anyone for days. He has openly acknowledged that he hid his struggles during competition and that accepting support ultimately changed his life.
Kevin Love wrote an essay in 2018 that I've recommended to more clients than I can count. He described experiencing a panic attack during a game against the Atlanta Hawks and shared the fear and shame that followed. The essay was titled Everyone Is Going Through Something. That message resonated because it reminded people that even those at the highest levels of performance face challenges that aren't visible from the outside.
DeMar DeRozan added his voice around the same time when he spoke publicly about depression. What stood out to me most was his honesty about the internal stigma. Often the biggest obstacle isn't what others might think. It's the voice in your own head telling you that you shouldn't need help, that you're supposed to be tougher than this.
What these athletes offered wasn't just awareness. They gave people permission. Permission to acknowledge their struggles and take their mental health seriously.
One of the conversations I have frequently with clients is about the cost of delaying care.
Many people think waiting isn't really a decision. They tell themselves they'll get help when things become serious enough, when life slows down, or when the timing feels right. But waiting is a decision, and it comes with consequences.
Mental health challenges rarely stay contained. Anxiety that starts in sport begins showing up in relationships. Depression that feels manageable during quieter periods can become overwhelming when pressure increases. Substance use, which many men turn to as a coping strategy, often creates additional problems over time.
While cost is commonly cited as a barrier to therapy, the financial, relational, and physical costs of untreated mental health concerns are often far greater than seeking support early.
For athletes, the connection to performance is clear. Focus, decision-making, reaction time, recovery, sleep quality, and composure under pressure are all affected by mental health. Coaches have long understood that the mental side of performance matters. Research continues to reinforce that reality.
I've worked with athletes who spent years convincing themselves their struggles weren't serious enough to address. By the time they sought support, the challenges had become much more complicated than they would have been earlier. I don't say that to create fear. I say it because reaching out early is often one of the smartest investments a person can make in both performance and overall well-being.
As the father of three boys, I think about this from another perspective too. What am I modeling for them? What are we teaching young men about how to respond when life gets difficult?
The culture is changing. More athletes are speaking openly. More teams are investing in mental health resources. More men are beginning to recognize that acknowledging struggles and asking for help are signs of strength, not weakness.
At the same time, cultural change happens slowly. People are struggling right now, and they deserve support right now.
If you're an athlete, current or former, and you're carrying something you've been trying to push through on your own, consider a different perspective. Seeking support isn't abandoning toughness. It's developing another skill set. It's no different than working with a strength coach, a nutritionist, or a film analyst. You don't pursue those resources because you're weak. You pursue them because they help you perform and live at a higher level.
And if someone you care about is struggling, whether it's a teammate, son, friend, or colleague, don't underestimate the impact of simply reaching out.
"I've noticed you seem like you're carrying something heavy. I'm here if you want to talk."
It doesn't have to be more complicated than that. A simple conversation can change the direction of someone's life.
Men's Mental Health Month isn't about making a public statement or performing wellness. It's about giving yourself, and the men around you, permission to be human. That's where meaningful growth begins.
Adam Ratner, LCSW, MBA, is the Co-Founder of Grow Wellness Group and Grow Sport Psychology & Performance Improvement in Naperville, Illinois. He works with athletes, teams, and individuals navigating performance challenges and life transitions.
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