A June 2 conversation about Black men’s mental health opened in a manner reflecting the acute nature of the mental health crisis Black American men face daily. Instead of jumping right into the statistics, Word In Black’s event, “Safe Space, How to Support Black Men’s Mental Health,” set the tone with stillness.
Senbi Akau “Terence” Spruill, a meditation leader, rites-of-passage facilitator, and author of Superhero Syndrome: The Perfect Pressure, guided participants through a breathing exercise before the discussion began — a deliberate choice that set the tone for what followed.
“It is said that stress is the number one killer,” Spruill said. “So breathe and relax.”
In a forum about Black men and mental health, the act of collectively slowing down — of men giving themselves permission to simply breathe — was itself a form of resistance against a culture that frequently demands the opposite.
Defining the Crisis
Moderator Joseph Williams, head of content at Word in Black, made the nature of the crisis plain: suicide rates among Black men are climbing. So are deaths of despair — drug overdoses, alcohol abuse, and what some researchers are calling “suicide by cop.”
But for generations, he noted, Black men have been taught a clear and damaging set of rules: don’t talk about it and don’t admit sadness or anxiety because people will think you’re weak. That silence, Williams said, has roots in generational trauma, toxic masculinity, and a health care system that has ignored or harmed Black men.”
Brian Sims, a healthcare entrepreneur who curates mental wellness events for Black men in Baltimore, detailed how the crisis has become anything but an academic issue for him. He said he’s seen men in his family carry the pain of psychological wounds — from modern-day microaggressions to unresolved generational trauma dating to the Jim Crow era.
“Our fathers are passing, and with them are passing a lot of unanswered questions,” Sims said, “because they lived lives that weren’t always quite so full and so healed.”
Dr. Jason Phillips, a licensed therapist, life coach, and creator of the documentary “Man Enough to Heal: Black Men and Therapy,” said he is seeing a growing number of young male clients seek help, including adolescents — sometimes at their parents’ urging, but increasingly on their own.
“I’m seeing more teenagers, 13, 14, 15, and up, because their parents are seeing signs of anger and isolation,” Phillips said. “But I’m also seeing the child raise their hand and ask to talk to somebody, saying, ‘I’m feeling stressed, I have some anxiety, some things I want to work through.’”
An Issue with Deep Roots
The panelists identified several overlapping issues driving the crisis, including mass incarceration, systemic racism, rising use of social media combined with eroding community bonds. The stressors are occurring amid the stubbornly persistent mythology of the stoic, self-sufficient Black man who needs nothing and no one.
“A lot of these things — the stubbornness, the resistance to vulnerability — are survival tools,” Sims said. “They may not be serving us all the time, but we have to identify where they come from before we can address them.”
Spruill identified such tendencies as a sort of self-censorship.
“The root cause is the disconnection from self, not understanding who our true identity is beyond the personality, beyond the conditionings we’ve learned by growing up,” Spruill said. Engaging with that identity, he says, “ gives us more tools and options on how to respond to the challenges that could lead to a mental health crisis.”
Phillips pointed out how Black men wear several masks to navigate race and masculinity in the white world, such as a non-threatening persona for the workplace, and one as a protector and provider for a family. Switching between them can exacerbate loneliness and isolation.
The belief that men must keep their emotions in check, Phillips says, is so strong that some men in virtual sessions would rather go off camera than let him see them cry.
The Brotherhood Gap
One of the most resonant themes of the evening was the absence of structured rites of passage and male brotherhood in the lives of Black men and boys. Spruill said he believes that “every Black male … should be part of a brotherhood of some sort” committed to “cultivating masculinity and cultivating Black manhood.”
He also pushed back on the phrase “toxic masculinity”: the problem, he said, is not masculinity itself but how masculinity is defined and expressed.
Some men don’t know how to channel their fire and utilize their energy intelligently and compassionately,” he said. That’s solved, he says, “when we have strong brotherhoods” in which the elders teach the younger ones.
Sims, who grew up with several sisters and an emotionally distant father, said he found his brotherhood on the football field — and has spent years trying to rebuild it after hanging up his cleats.
“I realized that’s something I’ve been missing for a long time,” he said.
Phillips said youngsters who don’t like sports can build community around a passion, such as art or music, and find mentors through initiatives like Big Brothers Big Sisters.
While “not everybody’s going to seek out therapy,” he said, boys and young men “do need socialization with other men where they can be comfortable being themselves.”
Self-Love and the Weight We Carry
The panelists agreed on a gaping hole in the fabric of Black male wellbeing: self-love. It ranges, they said, from regular exercise and a healthy diet to stress management and positive self-talk.
“A lot of us men don’t even know that we struggle with self-love,” Phillips said. “By the time we acknowledge it, we may be three or four [therapy] sessions in — and they say, ‘Wow, I didn’t even realize that. I’ve been so focused on my kids, my parents, my partner. I don’t know how to love myself.’”
Sims agreed that many men believe they “are only as valuable as what they can do for others,” and self-care, he said, can feel indulgent — not essential. He described a recent shift he’s witnessed when he encourages brothers to reach out to each other and simply ask, “What can we do together this week?”
“I can’t tell you how many guys have either spontaneously started crying because you’ve unlocked something in them, or somebody has told me about another brother who cried about something that came up,” Sims said. “Those tears are often right behind our eyeballs. They’re just waiting to come out.”
Using his book as a framework, Spruill described three archetypes born from the pressure to perform: the “excessive one” who cheats to win at all costs, the “deficient one” — the hiding coward — who lies to himself to avoid competition and exposure, and the “authentic hero,” who acknowledges the desire to win but pursues it honorably and without shame.
“The life pressure is not going to lift up,” Spruill said. “It’s either going to burst a pipe or make a diamond. How the male responds is based on how well he’s prepared.”
Finding Trustworthy Help
For those seeking therapy, Phillips offered a practical guide: prioritize trust over credentials, ask a prospective therapist directly how they would help you with your specific concerns, and don’t be afraid to walk away if it isn’t working.
Phillips said the men he interviewed for his documentary were nearly unanimous in their view: Black men need Black male therapists.
“With a Black male therapist, you don’t have to explain certain things,” he said. “When you come to therapy, you can just get right to it — right to the work.”
A Call to Action
As the event closed, each panelist offered ways for attendees to stay connected and take next steps, reinforcing the theme of the conversation: healing for Black men is not a solo endeavor, and the silence society has demanded of them has come at a cost too high to keep paying.
“We are not meant to do this man thing alone,” Spruill said.
This discussion was hosted by Word in Black with sponsorship from the Knight Foundation, a nonpartisan and community-centered organization that promotes a healthy and engaged democracy.
