This article was summarized from a video by Suzanne O’Brien, Founder of The International Doulagivers Institute, and guest Adam Daviau.

From an early age, many men are taught how to be strong in ways that leave little room for tenderness. “Don’t cry.” “Keep it together.” “Handle it on your own.” These messages are often offered with care, yet over time they can narrow the emotional world a man is allowed to inhabit.

When grief arrives—and it always does—many men have never been given permission to meet it openly. Losses accumulate quietly: friends, coworkers, brothers, neighbours, fellow veterans. Life moves on, and so are they expected to. But grief does not disappear when it is unspoken. It settles into the body, into habits, into silence.

Over the years, unexpressed grief may show itself as anger, addiction, withdrawal, numbing behaviours, depression, or physical illness. And at the end of life, when the usual distractions fall away, these long-held emotions often rise to the surface. Not as something to be fixed, but as something asking to be witnessed. This is where men showing up for one another can matter deeply.

A man sitting at the bedside of a longtime friend. A neighbour dropping by regularly, not to “do” anything, but simply to be there. A brother, cousin, or community member willing to stay present when the conversation grows quiet or heavy. When men offer this kind of companionship to one another, something softens. The unspoken becomes easier to speak.

Many men find it simpler to open up in the company of other men—especially those who share similar life experiences, work, or cultural backgrounds. In these moments, vulnerability often arises without effort. Stories surface. Old griefs are named. Laughter and sorrow can coexist. There is relief in not having to explain or justify what is being felt.

What men often need at the end of life is not advice, reassurance, or solutions. They need to be met as they are. To have their fears, regrets, humour, and tenderness received without judgment. To know that strength does not have to be performed anymore—that simply being human is enough.

When men show up for one another in this way, they are offering more than companionship. They are quietly giving permission: permission to feel, to remember, to grieve, and to rest. This kind of presence does not require special training or the right words—only willingness, honesty, and care.

In standing alongside one another at the end of life, men have the opportunity to reshape what strength can look like. Not as silence or endurance, but as presence, courage, and shared humanity—right to the very end.