You Don't Have to Carry It Alone: Lessons for Men in Medicine
Male physicians are among the least likely to ask for help - and often, the ones carrying the heaviest loads. This month's reflection explores what isolation in medicine really looks like for men, and what I witnessed when a small group of them gathered for the first time to be honest with each other. For any physician who has been carrying more than he lets on - I hope something here lands.
One by one, the men appeared on the Zoom screen.
Some arrived early and sat quietly, waiting. Others logged in at the last minute, adjusting cameras and microphones while trying to look more comfortable than they probably felt.
I wondered what was going through their minds.
What should I talk about?
Who else will be there?
What will they think of me?
Some were former coaching clients who knew me and trusted that I would create a safe space for honest conversation. Others had never met me before and responded to an email invitation. They came from different specialties, different parts of the country, and different stages of their careers.
What connected them was simple.
They were physicians.
And they were men.
This gathering marked the first meeting of a "Men in Medicine" group—a project I have been dreaming about for several years.
At first glance, it may seem unnecessary. Male physicians occupy a position of privilege in many respects. Why would a group like this be needed?
Yet the more I have worked with physicians over the years, the more I have come to appreciate a reality that often remains hidden in plain sight: many male physicians are suffering, and they are suffering alone.
Long before medical school, many boys absorb messages about what it means to be a man.
Don't cry.
Don't be weak.
Handle your problems yourself.
Don't burden others.
If you're struggling, work harder.
Then comes medical training, which often reinforces many of the same lessons.
Be tough.
Push through.
Don't make mistakes.
Always have the answer.
Put the needs of others before your own.
For many male physicians, these messages become deeply ingrained. What begins as resilience can gradually evolve into something more costly: isolation.
Over time, some men begin to believe that asking for help is a sign of failure. They feel pressure to appear competent, confident, and in control even when they are overwhelmed. They worry that admitting uncertainty or vulnerability will somehow diminish them in the eyes of colleagues, family members, or patients.
The result is often loneliness.
Not the loneliness of being physically alone, but the loneliness of carrying life's challenges without allowing anyone else to help shoulder the burden.
One of the things I admire about many female physicians is their willingness to seek support and create community when life becomes difficult. Male physicians might benefit from following their example. The ability to ask for help is not a weakness to overcome. It is a skill to cultivate.
As a physician coach, I frequently meet men who have waited far too long before seeking support.
Sometimes they are referred after an angry outburst at work. Sometimes communication problems have begun affecting relationships with colleagues or staff. Sometimes a spouse has delivered an ultimatum. Sometimes anxiety, depression, or burnout have become impossible to ignore.
Yet even in those moments, I view them with admiration.
Because despite everything they have learned about self-reliance and stoicism, they took a courageous step. They asked for help.
That is not weakness.
That is strength.
As the Men in Medicine group began sharing their stories, something remarkable happened.
Heads nodded.
Faces softened.
People smiled in recognition.
Again and again, one man's story sounded surprisingly familiar to everyone else in the room.
The details were different, but the underlying experiences were often the same: pressure, self-doubt, loneliness, fear of disappointing others, and a longing to feel understood.
Perhaps most importantly, each participant discovered that he was not the only one.
The challenges they carried did not disappear that evening. But something changed.
The burden became lighter because it was no longer being carried alone.
Community has a way of doing that.
If you are a physician who feels exhausted from trying to meet everyone's expectations—including your own—I encourage you not to wait until things become unbearable.
Reach out.
Talk with a trusted friend, therapist, coach, colleague, or support group.
You don't have to earn the right to ask for help.
You don't have to wait for a crisis.
And you don't have to carry the weight alone.
If you or someone you know could benefit from coaching or group support, I invite you to contact me for a complimentary consultation. Together, we can explore ways to transform challenges into opportunities for growth, connection, and a more fulfilling life in medicine.
Be kind to yourself.
Dr. Joe