The moment the pickup truck pulled into the gravel lot of the community centre in Smithers, BC, I knew we were witnessing something rare. Twelve men – loggers, miners, and mill workers – filed into the small building on a Tuesday evening, removing their work boots at the door. These weren’t the typical faces you’d expect at a mental health support group, especially in northern resource communities where stoicism has long been the unwritten code.
“First time I came, I sat in my truck for 45 minutes trying to work up the courage to walk through that door,” confides James Harrington, a 52-year-old former sawmill supervisor who lost three fingers in a workplace accident four years ago. “Men like us, we’re supposed to handle things ourselves.”
This reluctance isn’t unique to rural British Columbia. Across Canada, men are systematically avoiding mental health support, even as rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide remain alarmingly high among male populations. According to a recent report from Movember Canada, two-thirds of Canadian men never seek help for mental health challenges, creating what experts describe as a “silent crisis” hiding in plain sight.
The statistics paint a concerning picture. Men account for 75% of suicides in Canada, with approximately 3,300 Canadian men taking their lives annually, according to Statistics Canada. Yet a national survey by the Mental Health Commission of Canada found that men are 27% less likely than women to have consulted a mental health professional in the past year.
Dr. Corey Keyes, professor at the University of British Columbia’s School of Population and Public Health, explains this disconnect. “What we’re seeing isn’t just reluctance – it’s a complex intersection of socialized masculinity, systemic barriers, and genuine fear of appearing vulnerable,” says Keyes. “Many Canadian men have internalized harmful ideas about strength that make seeking help feel like failure.”
This reluctance carries devastating consequences. The Canadian Men’s Health Foundation reports that untreated mental health conditions cost the Canadian economy approximately $1.9 billion annually through lost productivity, absenteeism, and disability claims – and that’s before calculating the immeasurable human cost to families and communities.
Back in Smithers, facilitator Mark Thompson knows these barriers intimately. A former forestry worker who battled depression for nearly a decade before seeking help, he now leads what he deliberately doesn’t call a “support group.”
“We call it ‘Tools and Talk,’ because the men here aren’t comfortable with therapy language,” Thompson explains as the evening’s session begins. “We focus on practical strategies, not just feelings. Men respond to approaches that feel action-oriented and solution-focused.”
The group exemplifies emerging best practices for engaging men in mental health support. Research from the University of Calgary’s masculinities studies program suggests that male-focused mental health initiatives are most effective when they emphasize problem-solving, use straightforward language, and create environments where vulnerability is normalized without being highlighted.
Dr. John Oliffe, founder of the Men’s Health Research program at the University of British Columbia, has documented how traditional mental health services often unintentionally create barriers for men. “Many clinical settings are designed around communication styles that women typically find more comfortable,” Oliffe notes. “Men often prefer side-by-side activities, indirect communication about emotions, and practical framing of psychological concepts.”
Innovative approaches are emerging across Canada. In Toronto, Buddy Up brings men together through recreational activities that gradually incorporate mental wellness discussions. In Halifax, the Men’s Health Clinic offers integrated physical and mental health services, recognizing that men often find it easier to address physical concerns first. Indigenous-led initiatives like the Dude’s Club in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside use cultural practices and community connections to support men’s wellness.
Digital options are also expanding. Headstrong, a new online platform developed by the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, provides anonymous support specifically designed for working-age men, with 24/7 text-based counseling and practical resources for managing stress, anger, and relationship challenges.
For James Harrington in Smithers, finding the right approach made all the difference. “After my accident, I lost my identity as a provider, as someone useful,” he tells me after the meeting. “I started drinking, pushing everyone away. My wife was ready to leave when my doctor connected me with this group.”
Three months in, Harrington says the most valuable thing he’s gained isn’t coping strategies, but perspective. “Hearing other guys – guys I respect – talk openly about struggling… it changed something fundamental for me. If they can admit needing help sometimes, maybe I can too.”
This shift in perspective represents the cultural transformation many experts believe is necessary to address Canada’s men’s mental health crisis. Bell Let’s Talk reports that 42% of Canadian men say they would be embarrassed to seek formal care for depression, demonstrating how deeply stigma remains entrenched.
“We need to redefine strength for boys and men,” argues Dr. Michael Kehler, Research Professor in Masculinities Studies at the University of Calgary. “True resilience isn’t about never needing help – it’s about knowing when to reach out and having the courage to do so.”
For communities dependent on traditional male-dominated industries, this cultural shift has economic implications as well. WorkSafeBC estimates that mental health issues account for approximately 30% of disability claims and absences in resource sectors, costing employers millions while devastating families and communities.
As darkness falls outside the Smithers community centre, the men finish their session with a ritual that would have been unimaginable for many of them a year ago: a round of appreciation, where each person acknowledges something they value about the man next to them.
“It’s not therapy language, but it is therapeutic,” Thompson tells me later. “These men are learning that connection and vulnerability can be sources of strength, not weakness.”
As I watch Harrington drive away, work boots back on and heading home to his family, I’m reminded that Canada’s path forward on men’s mental health requires both systematic changes in how services are delivered and deeper cultural shifts in how we define masculinity itself.
The challenge ahead remains significant, but in community centres, workplaces, and digital spaces across the country, the conversation is finally beginning to change.
