November is Men’s Mental Health Month, and November 19—International Men’s Day—carries a special resonance in my family. It was founded by my brother, Dr Jerome Teelucksingh, right here in Trinidad and Tobago, in honour of our father’s birthday. What began as a small, sincere gesture of gratitude has grown into a global movement—celebrated in more than 90 countries—a day to recognise positive male role models, to promote gender equality and to remind the world that men’s health —physical, emotional and spiritual— is worth protecting.
And yet, for all our progress, the statistics tell a sobering truth: men die younger than women, live sicker lives and are far less likely to seek help.
Men are taught to endure—to “man up,” to swallow pain, to never cry. That conditioning has created an epidemic of silence.
A man will ignore the chest pain until it becomes a heart attack, dismiss the blood in his urine as “a mild infection,” and laugh off fatigue as “just stress.”
He’ll spend hours in a car dealership but avoid a 15-minute clinic visit.
Men’s health is not just about cholesterol, prostates or blood sugar— it’s about mindset.
Globally, men are three times more likely to die by suicide. Depression hides behind jokes, alcohol and workaholism. It’s the colleague who becomes irritable and withdrawn, the father who quietly stops eating dinner with the family, the young man numbing himself in silence. We live in a society that applauds men for being providers but rarely checks if they’re okay. We celebrate strength but overlook suffering.
Our father taught us that manhood isn’t measured by muscle or money, but by mercy—by the strength to be kind when the world is cruel, to protect without pride, to serve without applause. Jerome honoured that legacy by giving men across the world a voice and a mirror.
When men finally come to the clinic, it’s often because “the wife make me.” That phrase, both amusing and tragic, is echoed in clinics across Trinidad and Tobago.
By then, blood pressure has quietly climbed, cholesterol has hardened arteries, and blood sugar has ravaged eyes, nerves and kidneys. Men are more likely to smoke, drink excessively and skip check-ups.
Erectile dysfunction—a symptom many men whisper about only when cornered—can be an early sign of heart disease or diabetes. Yet rather than seeing it as a wake-up call, many treat it as a source of shame.
Our bodies are barometers
of our habits.
A good start?
Know your numbers: blood pressure, cholesterol, blood sugar, BMI, waist circumference, PSA.
Move: at least 150 minutes of moderate activity a week — walking, swimming, dancing, yardwork, anything that gets the heart rate up.
Fuel right: the plate should look like a carnival of colour — greens, beans, fruits and lean proteins.
Rest: sleep is medicine. So is laughter.
We often talk about testosterone as the fuel of manhood—the hormone that powers muscles, libido, and vitality. But rarely do we speak of its partner—tenderness.
Masculinity has been hijacked by caricatures: the loud, unflinching, emotionally detached alpha male. Yet the men who inspire most aren’t those who dominate, but those who listen, forgive and lift others up.
Science shows that men who nurture others—fathers, teachers, coaches, mentors—live longer and report greater happiness. Oxytocin, the so-called “love hormone,” doesn’t just belong to women. When men hug their children, care for a patient, or comfort a friend, their own biology rewards them.
Men often carry invisible weights: financial stress, expectations, grief and loneliness.
During the pandemic, I saw men cry for the first time not from physical pain, but from helplessness. The factory worker who lost his job, the father who couldn’t pay rent, the teacher who missed his students and the young father who couldn’t see his wife before she died in the ICU.
Men are allowed to feel
You can lift weights and your child. You can pray and cry. You can fix a roof and admit that you’re scared.
True masculinity is not the absence of emotion, it’s the mastery of empathy.
Imagine if every barbershop in Trinidad offered a two-minute blood pressure screening —how many strokes we could prevent!
Community engagement must be our frontline defence.
Illness humbles us. It strips away the illusion of control.
I’ve seen big, strong men tremble when hearing the word “cancer.”
Prostate cancer remains one of the most common killers of men in the Caribbean. Yet screening—a simple blood test and examination—is still met with hesitation and jokes.
Gentlemen, the test doesn’t threaten your masculinity; ignoring it does.
So, what does a healthier future for men look like?
It begins with conversation: honest, open, judgement-free.
It continues with education, teaching boys that strength and sensitivity can coexist.
And it matures into transformation where men take charge of their health not because they fear death, but because they value life.
Governments must also play their part. Affordable screening, accessible mental-health services and strong community programmes should be non-negotiable.
Prevention is cheaper—and kinder—than cure.
To the men reading this—the fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, teachers, policemen, farmers, doctors, drivers—this month is for you.
Take the test. Make the call. Drink the water. Go for the walk. Talk to your children. Hug your mother. Apologise if you must. Forgive where you can.
And if you fall, stand again.
For the women reading — thank you. For noticing, reminding, nudging, loving, and holding our hands through the storms we often pretend don’t exist.
So here’s to all men: imperfect, evolving, human.
Let this November not just be a month of awareness, but a season of awakening.
A healthier man means a stronger family, a safer community and a brighter nation.
