Voices: Utah men are slipping through the cracks. We need mental health support, and we need it now.

Men in Utah look steady on the surface. We work. We keep families afloat. We take on pressure without complaint.

We are struggling far more than anyone realizes.

Utah has some of the most troubling numbers in the country. According to Utah Department of Health data, middle-aged men in Utah die by suicide at more than three times the rate of women the same age. Nationally, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention reports that men die by suicide nearly four times as often as women.

These numbers are not abstract. They show up in daily life. A man goes through a job loss, a health problem or a financial blow. Sometimes several of these hit at once. We tells people we are fine because we think we have no other choice. We feel we have no place to talk openly about the pressure or the fear we carry. Men often wait until we break before we reach out.

I lived this pattern myself. Years ago, I spiraled into alcoholism that came from anxiety, family pressure and a lifelong belief that I was not allowed to admit weakness. I ended up losing my driver license, cycling through the legal system and completing a New York state military style rehabilitation program. I walked out feeling ashamed and convinced I had nothing left to offer. Since then, I have spent five years in therapy and am five years sober, rebuilding my life piece-by-piece. What changed me was simple: I finally told the truth.

Men should not have to reach that breaking point before we are allowed to speak.

Utah’s culture rewards self-reliance, and that is a strength. It can also be a trap. The men who need help the most are often the men who stay silent.

Our systems do not match the reality men live in. Most of our support structures were built with families and children at the center. School counselors focus on students. Many community programs are designed for parents and kids. Crisis services often only activate when someone is already in immediate danger. Men usually show up in these systems as fathers, partners or people to stabilize, not as individuals who might need sustained support themselves. So the middle aged man who is slowly wearing down does not fit anywhere. He is not in a clear crisis category, and he is not seen as the primary person these systems were built to help.

Isolation is one of the biggest drivers of male mental decline. One national study from the Survey Center on American Life found that 15% of men say they have no close friends at all, a fivefold increase since 1990.

Loneliness does not look dramatic. It looks quiet. A man stops returning calls. He works longer hours because he does not know what else to do. He avoids social situations because he does not want to reveal how overwhelmed he feels. People assume he wants space. In reality, he wants connection but has forgotten how to ask for it.

Utah can change this with simple moves.

Workplaces can build real mental health check-ins. Not corporate training videos. Actual conversations once a month where men can talk about stress without feeling judged.

Universities can teach young men what to do when life becomes too heavy. Not through a single lecture, but through regular contact with mentors who understand burnout in men.

Cities and counties can host weekly open groups in neutral public spaces. Libraries. Community rooms. Parks and recreation buildings. Places where men can show up without feeling like they are signing up for therapy.

Faith communities can help, too. There are men who sit next to each other every week but never talk about anything real. Small group conversations led by someone who understands the pressure men carry can open doors that have been closed for years.

None of these steps require large budgets. They require an understanding that men need room to speak before they reach a breaking point.

Men are not asking for special treatment. We are asking for what everyone wants. A chance to say the truth without feeling ashamed. A chance to feel seen. A chance to feel connected to the communities we already belong to.

Utah can lead the country in how it responds to men who are struggling. It starts with acknowledging what is in front of us. When men are allowed to tell the truth about what they feel, they will. When they are not, they slip through the cracks until the damage cannot be undone.

Jay Werther writes about mental health, modern loneliness and the systems that make ordinary people feel invisible. He lives in Park City.

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