Men — it’s time again to grow a mustache for your fellow man’s health: Movember 2024 has arrived!

City Dads Group and Fathering Together are joining forces with two other fatherhood organizations in November 2024 to form a “No Dad Alone” team to participate in Movember, a fund- and awareness-raising campaign to spark conversations about men’s physical and mental health issues.

Movember challenges dudes every November to grow a mustache that will serve as a living awareness ribbon and talking point for the cause. The funds raised during the campaign go for research into and public education on issues such as testicular cancer, prostate cancer, mental health and suicide.

The event is annually run by The Movember Foundation, a leading global organization that brings awareness to serious health concerns for men. It has raised hundreds of millions of dollars since its founding in 2003 to help fund hundreds of health projects globally, according to its website. The organization’s work hopes to counter some of these frightening statistics regarding men’s health:

• Testicular cancer is the most common cancer diagnosed in men ages 18 to 39.
• Men, on average, die five years earlier than women in the United States.
• One in eight men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer during their lives.
• Four of every five suicides are men.

* Join our Movember 2024 #NoDadsAlone team! *

Movember 2024 finds City Dads and its partner, Fathering Together, teaming with The National At-Home Dad Network and Fathers Eve. In June, the groups agreed to join forces as part of a “No Dad Alone” campaign to amplify each other’s messages to help fathers recognize they have help and support in their parenting work.

City Dads has teamed with fatherhood organizations for Movember since 2011, helping to raise more than $135,000 for the cause.

You can help our Movember 2024 team and the cause in several ways:

• Join our Movember City Dads/Fathering Together team. Sign up at our fundraising page. You’ll get a personal fundraising page to link others to.
• Grow a mustache. Shave your face on Oct. 31 and then don’t cut the fuzz off your upper lip for 31 days. Show it off to all, in person and on social media, and tell them why you are growing it. Don’t forget to ask for a donation to help the cause and link to your fundraising page.
• Move rather than mo. Sometimes you can’t grow a mustache. Maybe it’s genetics, maybe it’s because it would jeopardize your marriage. You can still help by committing to walk or run 60 miles in November — one mile for each of the 60 men lost worldwide every hour to suicide. Again, use your personal Movember Dads page for fundraising.
• Host a Mo-ment. Get with your Movember supporters — in person or virtually — for a game night, a sporting event or maybe an initial “shave off” to get the ball rolling and draw attention to the cause.
• Donate. At the least, you can always simply give to the cause. Donate to an individual or our Movember #NoDadsAlone team as a whole.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This article about male depression and suicide comes from 2013.

Men shouldn’t need help.

This is part of an unwritten code and a shameful hypocrisy of our culture.

We lie to ourselves and say we are “fine” when we are not because we have been told since childhood that men must be strong and stoic. Crying, let alone asking, for help is not masculine. So we tell ourselves and each other: “Man up!”

However, when men suffer in private and take their own lives, they – like anyone else – leave loved ones behind to mourn. They harm more than themselves; they hurt those who love them the most.

My male clients usually end up in my office only after they realize they have hit rock bottom. These are the truly fortunate ones whose inner voices yelled loud and long enough to enable them to go against the code; breaking the rule. This realization shows real strength.

Male depression, like any depression, is a state of mind where we feel we are failing. We blame ourselves for our failure, and we believe what we think. As a result, we find ourselves constantly following negative thoughts, repeating our negative mantras like an internal iTunes playlist. We ignore our friends’ and/or family’s warnings or pleas; blind to the exaggeration inherent in our negative thoughts. We now become angry.

Anger can be deafening. It oppresses and creates an isolation that leads us to crave an escape route. Some seek this getaway from our internal negative chatter through various regimens of immersion: in the Internet, the news, the latest reality show/situation comedy, alcohol, drugs, etc.

The relief, though, is often false and fleeting.

Know the signs of male depression

Each time these negative thoughts return, they intensify. Yet we continue to tell anyone who asks that we are ‘fine’ when we feel ‘like shit’ because that has been drilled into our concept of “manliness” since we were young. If we continue to walk down this negative and self-critical path, our destination will be intensively negative and self-critical. We arrive at blackness, at nowhere. This is when we will believe that we have nothing to live for.

When someone takes his life, it is because he has a plan, the means, and the energy. Most attempts that fail are cries for help. You will know that you are approaching or have reached this breaking point; the point where you need to ask for help, when you experience any combination of the following:

• helplessness
• hopelessness
• sleep problems
• poor appetite
• poor self-care habitats
• inability to communicate with the people you love
• any pattern of substance abuse

This is not an exhaustive list, but a list of indicators that you have reached the limit of your private suffering. Remember that suffering is always temporary but only alleviated by transforming it into a path of self-acceptance.

There is no shame in surviving male depression, and only through connection can we survive. If you are becoming concerned – about yourself or someone else – take stock, reach out, speak out, and make that life-saving connection.

Editor’s Note: If you are having a mental health crisis, feel suicidal, or believe a loved one is, call or text 988 to get in touch with the National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

About the author

Alex Stadler is a licensed clinical social worker, a mindfulness-based cognitive behavioral therapist in private practice, and a mental health consultant to numerous NYC human services agencies.

Male depression photo: © Monkey Business / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: If you are having a mental health crisis, call or text 988 to get in touch with the National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

I’m a big fan of the 2000s TV show Gilmore Girls, a show about as manly as the title suggests. It follows a single mother and her daughter living in a small Connecticut town. In this town, there is a diner owner named Luke, a surly guy who seems angry about everything and annoyed by everyone. We eventually learn he is a big softy. His gruff outer demeanor is a façade to protect himself from a world constantly threatening to hurt him. Basically, he’s my spirit animal.

In the Gilmore Girls episode, “But Not as Cute as Pushkin” (season 5, episode 10), Luke has a “dark day.” Once a year, Luke disappears. He flees town. He is cryptic as to why he behaves this way. No one knows where he goes, but everyone in town knows about Luke’s Dark Day (except his girlfriend, which is ridiculous, but never mind). This is an accepted part of Luke’s existence. Without dropping any spoilers (18 years later), Luke uses this day to go off and feel his feelings.

Recently, without me being fully aware of what was happening, my well-managed (or ignored?) feelings had begun to break free from my toxically masculine bulwark of denial. The week prior, I had slowly become a bit of an asshole. Everything made me grumpy. I was short with everyone. I had no patience for my children, and as a stay-at-home dad, I let my daily chores slip. The house was a mess, our diet was garbage, and everything was off.

All because I was resisting my own Dark Day.

Death, aging leads to depression

I know the main source of my emotional descent. About a year ago, my brother died. My relationship with him was complicated. His passing, while not shocking, hit me far harder than I had anticipated. As the anniversary of his death approached, those feelings came back. All the good. All the bad. I thought I was finished with the pain and trauma, but grief is an insatiable ambush predator.

A few months before the anniversary of my brother’s passing, I visited my parents. They both have serious health issues and live in a nursing home several states away. My dad’s mind is slipping away. Talking with him was tricky, and the view of his diminished body was particularly traumatic. My mom’s mind remains sharp, but she can no longer walk and has lost use of most of her limbs. The nursing home, while seemingly filled with nice people, is gloomy and old. The environment is sad, and so is seeing my parents in that place, but with their increasingly complicated medical requirements, there’s not much else we can do.

After I had spent the day with my parents, my wife asked how I was doing.

I replied earnestly and honestly, “I can’t really deal with it right now. I’ll feel my feelings when we get home.” We were in the middle of a family vacation, and I couldn’t really afford an emotional breakdown. I genuinely had every intention of dealing with the feelings when I got home. I’d cry it out in the shower. That’s what we all do, right?

I could list all the things that happened when we got home. All the excuses to keep avoiding my feelings. I promise I had some good ones. In fact, I deleted a very self-indulgent list from my rough draft. But the reasons don’t matter. I have mine. Other dads will have theirs. There’s always an excuse. Instead, I let my depression and darkness seep out slowly and cloud our home for weeks.

Healthy, right?

When the fire passes, healing begins

Look, I’m not here as a writer because I have all the answers. I’m here because I’m willing to admit I’ve screwed up.

I should have gone from my parents’ place back to the hotel and told my wife I needed 20 minutes. Then, I could have collapsed on the shower floor and had a good cry. I would’ve felt better (secretly I don’t feel I deserve to feel better, but that’s a whole other story). I would’ve saved myself weeks of inner turmoil and spared my family weeks of torture.

It’s true most men want to be seen as strong. Emotions make us feel weak, but it’s weak to pretend to be strong when you’re not. It’s weak to hide from your feelings. If you need your Dark Day, go off and have a Dark Day. Have the strength to face your emotions. Let the emotional fires consume you, knowing that when the fire passes, healing begins.

Everyone reading this has something they aren’t dealing with. I’m the hypocrite typing this with a truckload of my own baggage, but I’ve been making a very real effort to feel the feelings when I need to feel them. I’d encourage you to do the same. Yeah, it sucks, but you’ll feel better, and it’s a really great way to justify an excessively long, hot shower.

Feel the feelings photo: © altanaka / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: Mental health issues are among the many things most people, men in particular, are reluctant to discuss. Former Boston Dads Group co-organizer James Mahaffey has no such fear. In this 2013 post from our archives, he writes frankly about the male postpartum depression he experienced following the birth of his daughter.

Once, possibly twice, during my first three months of parenthood, I found myself huddled in my home office, secretly and somewhat reluctantly shedding a tear in the dark. A very dignified and manly tear, that is. The kind that wells up and glosses over just the bottom half of the eye before stoically leaping like a cliff diver descending in a super quick, unquestionably deliberate, straight line down the cheek, never to be seen again.

This tear was brought on by a combination of things.

My newborn’s constant piercing screams.

The unexpected disagreements with her mother on what to do during those times.

My guilt for the occasional “bad” thought many parents have felt at some time but rarely admit.

I remember wondering if I was “depressed a little.” I had been feeling this way for longer than I cared to admit. It was a feeling I couldn’t seem to shake.

And, as a man, I didn’t necessarily know what to do except secretly cry in the dark.

It wasn’t until we were at the first post-birth checkup that I even thought about my manly tear incident again. Typically at this appointment, women fill out the Edinburgh Depression Scale to find out if they are experiencing “signs or symptoms associated with postpartum depression.” After reading the questions I started uncomfortably laughing. I began to feel like someone should be asking me the same questions.

I didn’t carry or give birth to a 7-pound human being. However, I have been there from day one and every day since our daughter was born. It’s not like the shrieks and cries of an inconsolable baby or the physically and emotionally draining late nights and resulting sleep deprivation were her mother’s to experience alone. I was up with her, helping out (and suffering just the same) as much as I could through all of those early tests of parenthood.

But maybe it wasn’t male postpartum depression I was experiencing. Maybe something else was going on inside of me. The first three months are one of those stages where I do believe certain mothers are better equipped than fathers to withstand the irritability of their newborn. CJ didn’t seem to be as emotionally affected as I was.

So when CJ was filling out the form, I made a column for myself next to her’s so I could also answer the questions. We went in and I, of course, made light of my little “cry for help” that manifested itself in the form of a drawn-in column on a post-partum questionnaire. She laughed a little, too. In fact, we all laughed and then we got back to focusing on CJ.

But should we have?

The issue is real. A 2010 study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that about 10 percent of fathers become depressed before or just after their baby is born. This is more than double the rate of depression in the general male population.

Men’s mental health is rarely discussed and is almost taboo in some scenarios. This is another reason why I grew a mustache in November to raise awareness and funds for the Movember movement. For two decades, the movement has raised funds and awareness to combat prostate and testicular cancer make people. In more recent years, Movember has added a special focus on mental health.

Please help others worse off than me. Raise awareness of paternal depression and keep an eye on your father friends, especially those with newborns. No dad needs to suffer in silence anymore.

About the author

After nearly being “shhh-ed” to death while his daughter napped, filmmaker James Mahaffey decided to vlog about his journey at “Becoming a Ninja: Freedom to Fatherhood,” where a version of this post originally appeared.

Male postpartum depression photo: © pololia / Adobe Stock.

If you have suicidal thoughts, emotional distress, or a substance-use issue, help is now only a three-digit number away: call or text 988.

The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, introduced nationally in mid-July, replaces the 11-digit National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number. Authorities hope the easy-to-remember shortcut — similar to using 911 for medical or public safety emergencies — helps more people reach trained counselors in a moment of need.

More than 1.2 million people attempted to kill themselves in 2020, resulting in nearly 46,000 deaths, according to the most recent statistics from the national Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. This makes suicide the 12th leading cause of death in the United States. The suicide rate among men is nearly four times that of women.

The COVID-19 pandemic contributed significantly to increases in depression and anxiety, especially among teens and young adults in the United States, according to the American Psychological Association. Suicide is now the second-leading cause of death for people ages 10 to 14 and 25 to 34.

City Dads Group has long supported the cause of improving mental-health care among men, especially fathers.

How does 988 work? 

Calls and texts to 988 are routed to a mental health professional at one of the more than 200 crisis centers in the U.S. 988 network. (This hotline can also be reached through a chat feature on the hotline’s website.) Callers are routed to a center closest to their phone number’s area code.

A mobile crisis team of mental-health experts and peer-support counselors will be dispatched if a person needs more help. Mental-health or residential facilities may also be contacted for longer-term care and support.

Unlike 911, no ambulances, police or firefighters will be automatically dispatched to the caller’s location. “The vast majority of those seeking help from the Lifeline do not require any additional interventions at that moment. Currently, fewer than 2% of Lifeline calls require connection to emergency services like 911. … [T]he 988 coordinated response is intended to promote stabilization and care in the least restrictive manner.,” states a government FAQ about the 988 website.

The change to 988 is part of a $282 million federal effort to increase suicide prevention and crisis care work, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

With standard time returning this past weekend and daylight hours getting shorter for the next six weeks, you may start feeling a bit low or lethargic. If so, you may be experiencing seasonal affective disorder.

Seasonal affective disorder, SAD for short, is a type of depression. It affects 5 to 20 percent of people, most often during fall and winter months and in colder climates. Experts believe lack of sunlight contributes as it affects the body’s internal clock and internal chemistry. Aging and already having depression or a family history of it may increase your likelihood of developing SAD.

Women are diagnosed far more frequently than men with seasonal affective disorder. However, that may be misleading. Men are often less likely to report feelings of depression because of the stigma attached to mental health issues. Symptoms may often be downplayed or expressed through anger and irritation rather than crying and sadness. Substance abuse can also result.

Other symptoms include:

• Feeling depressed, daily and for long periods
• Lacking energy
• Trouble sleeping
• Trouble concentrating
• Appetite changes, especially an increased craving for “comfort foods,” and weight gain
• Frequent mood swings from high to low
• Feeling helpless, worried and guilty often without cause
• Decline in interest in things usually enjoyed
• Withdrawal from social activities

How to fight seasonal affective disorder

If you suspect you or a loved one may be experiencing SAD, the first step is to consult a healthcare professional for diagnosis and treatment. Recommendations often include light therapy, or phototherapy, to increase exposure to natural or artificial sunlight, such as:

• Altering your schedule so you get up earlier to take more advantage of the early daylight hours for exercise or activity.
• Taking a walk during lunch, especially on sunny days.
• Opening blinds and shades to let more light into your home.
• Moving your workspace near a window.
• Use a light box. The Yale School of Medicine recommends several large and small types.

Exercise or getting involved in a hobby or activity, especially an outdoor one, also helps fight the feelings of lethargy. In more severe cases, counseling or the use of antidepressants may also be prescribed.

Seasonal affective disorder in men photo: ©roooaar.de /  Adobe Stock.

The heartbeat within the walls pounded around me, as the walls pressed closer and closer with every beat.

Boom boom … boom boom … boom boom.

The kids were fighting. Homeschool papers and books were scattered across our large table. The baby was crying for affection. Dishes overflowed from the sink onto the counter. The 4-year-old kept turning on the TV, after I repeatedly turned it off and told him it wasn’t TV time.

Usually I can shrug these things off, but the burdens I was carrying on my shoulders kept me from shrugging. Maybe I was still tired from a long road trip. Maybe it’s because I’ve been feeling worn out from New York City lately. Or maybe, I was simply depressed.

But I was done.

I needed to go.

The rain poured down outside, but I had to be out there. Every drip called me.

Drip … Drip … Drip … Run … Run … Run …Drip …Drip …Run … Run

The walls beat louder. They pulsated. My heart beat harder. My kids grew louder. My ears wanted to explode. My eyes wanted to explode. Every bit of me was ready to explode.

Drip … Drip … Run … Run

I breathed through puffed up cheeks.

Drip. Run. Drip. Run. Drip. Run. Drip. Run. Drip. Run. Run. Run. Run. RUN!

I stood up and paced. Took a deep breath and picked up the baby. She quit crying as soon as my hands settled under her armpits. She was happy to be in my arms. She looked up at me with her loving blue eyes. We gazed at one another. I love her and she loves me. But … the walls … the walls continued to beat. The walls under the chipped paint. The walls with dirt and fingerprints on them. Beating.

I walked with the baby, holding her close. The other kids questioned me and revolted against my instructions. I continued to walk with her. I gave her a bottle and she fell asleep in my arms. Slowly, I placed her in the crib, and then I put on my shoes. I walked by the dirty dishes and past the paper-covered table. I grabbed my keys and told my kids I was going for a walk, leaving the oldest in charge.

“Where,” he asked. “Out,” I responded. “I need to be alone. I need to walk. I won’t be gone long, only a little bit. Call me if you need me.” And with that, I walked out the door and into the rain.

I expected the rain to welcome me and wash off every bit of depression and anger that coursed through my body. But release did not come. I looked to the right and to the left, unsure of where to walk. Knowing that I couldn’t go far, I weighed my options. I had none. My responsibility as a stay-at-home dad was in the house, but I couldn’t go back inside. I took a deep breath, and turned to the right. My feet slowly walked as the rain quickly beat upon my head. I walked to the corner and turned, passing others that briskly walked by me in the rain, shielding their bodies with umbrellas. I didn’t bother grabbing one. Didn’t want one.

I arrived at the next corner, and made another right. Then at the next corner, and made another right. Soon, I was back in front of my house, still not ready to go in. And so I continued to walk to the corner, then the next, then the next .

Here’s what I noticed about others as I walked in the rain. Most people walk quickly when the clouds dump down on them. Those that walk slowly are avoiding something. Not many people enjoy walking in the rain on a cold day. And you must really be avoiding something if you are walking slowly in the rain without an umbrella. I was avoiding my home. Which holds the people that I love more than anything else in the world.

I turned the corner for the last time and walked up to my house. I dipped my head and walked inside. My clothes dripped from the rain, as I shut the door behind me. My oldest met me at the door, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. I love that boy so much. He asked me where I went. “Around,” I answered. And I wasn’t avoiding the question, I really was walking around.  My daughter stood up and hugged me. I love that girl so much. I set the keys down on the table and placed my hand upon my 4-year-old’s head. I love that little boy so much.

I have rarely struggled as a parent, struggling in that I feel overwhelmed at my responsibilities. I’m a dad. A homeschooling parent. A stay-at-home parent. I am around my kids almost every minute of my day. It’s what I do.

Walking around the block didn’t fix things; the frustrations are still there. I could still be walking. But I stopped because my duty as a dad called and I had to answer. I had to go in. You see, they need me. And I need them.

Being a dad is everything to me. I love my role as a daddy. For a brief moment though, I had a really bad day on the job. Good thing stay-at-home parents do not get performance reviews or I would have failed. It was one day and tomorrow will be better. And if it isn’t, then the following day will be better.

My baby girl woke-up and I picked her up out of the crib. I love that girl so much. She smiled at me with her blue eyes beaming. “Dad da,” she spit out. She can’t say, “I love you,” but I could see it in her eyes. I placed my nose next to her cheek and told her “I love you.” I squeezed her close to my heartbeat and let the pounding of my heart merge with hers.

The walls were quiet.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad.

If I couldn’t contribute to my family, couldn’t care for my daughter, then I shouldn’t be here anymore. I started writing a letter to my wife and children.

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As summer neared its end, it appeared no teaching positions would be available for me in the Chicago public school system that upcoming year. I had to look at my options.

I relished the fact that no full-time job meant I would be able to take my daughter to her first day of kindergarten, help out at her school and pick her up every day. I picked up odd jobs here and there to help us out financially but, little by little, our savings were dwindling.

Things were good, but not being able to provide like I used to began to get the best of me. My mood began shifting. I started to keep a lot of things to myself, going into a deep funk that I thought I had a handle on. Depression never really leaves you, you just get good at hiding it from others. Or at least I did.

I feel like I’ve been suffering from depression since junior year in high school. I didn’t know it was depression back then, I just thought I was moody. As I got older and started reading more about it, I realized I was depressed but felt ashamed about feeling this way. I hid it from my family and friends and tried my best to not let it get the best of me. Even as an adult, I have been hiding it but being unemployed brought it on even more.

As the next summer came, I again was on the job hunt. My wife was the only one working and my daughter would always cry when we had to drop off her mom in the morning. It would become a normal routine: She would cry on the ride to and back, and once we got home she would return to normal.

One morning was different.

I was depressed about facing another year of unemployment. The constant calls from debt collectors were taking a toll on me. That morning my daughter’s cries were too much for me to handle. The entire ride home she screamed and yelled she wanted her mother and I tried soothing her, as I did in the past, by telling her “Mom will be home soon” and “She will call you when she gets a break at work.”

It seemed everything I told her was being drowned out by her cries. I knew once we got home she would relax and play with her toys like nothing was wrong, but like I said, that morning was different. She kept crying and said she wanted to go to her grandparents’ house (my in-laws). As much as I tried soothing her, nothing worked. I caved in and called my in-laws.

The crying stopped as soon as she was picked up.

The letter I never finished

What kind of father was I if I could not take care of my own daughter? What did it say to my in-laws that my daughter did not want to spend the day at home with her dad because she missed her mom?

That moment pushed me to the edge.

If I could not contribute to my family like I wanted to, I decided I should not be here anymore. I grabbed my notebook and pen, and started writing a letter to my wife and children.

The tears soon began flowing from my eyes. I started feeling ashamed about having these thoughts, but I still felt that it was the best thing to do.

I got as far as writing down my wife’s name before I couldn’t write anymore.

When you are a stay-at-home dad, most of the people you would normally reach out to for help are not around during the day. They are at their jobs. As I sat near my laptop sobbing, I decided to reach out to my fellow dad bloggers online just to talk to someone. I needed to get these thoughts out of my head.

As soon as I hit the navy blue “Post” button, they started messaging me. A few sent me the suicide prevention hotline information, so I went to that website to “talk” to someone. It was strange how I did not want to talk to one of these counselors, but I felt comfortable reaching out to my brothers about what was troubling me.

The funny thing about having a virtual “suicide prevention chat” — it would take four to five minutes for the person on the hotline to respond to my typed answers. The dad bloggers I talked with online were giving me feedback or advice instantly.

I call those guys my “brothers” because that is exactly what they are. I grew up with two older sisters and all my cousins were female. Being a part of the dad bloggers community creates bonds that are kind of hard to describe, but when I finally met some of these guys in person at a conference in February 2015, there was no awkwardness there.

We all know about each other’s families and jobs from our blogs and Facebook posts. We were all connected. From guys who just started writing online to those who have thousands of followers, we are all striving for the same thing: To change the world’s perceptions of dads. I am extremely thankful for these guys and wish there was a way I could repay all of them for helping me through this really bad moment in my life.

The journey back

I talked to my wife about what happened later that night. I threw out the letter because I did not want that reminder in my life. I decided I needed to seek some sort of help. The thought of seeing a psychologist scares me, but it is something that I must do to get better.

I still have my dark days. I don’t think they will go away, but I try to not show it in front of my kids. I used to hide my depression from 8-to-4 when I was at work. It’s a little different when you are home all day with your children and have to put it aside until they go to sleep.

I have been fortunate to start getting a few paid online posts for my blog. That helps out a little, but we still have our days when things get tough financially. I am now working two jobs that I enjoy, but I would love to be in front a classroom again or have a regular 9-to-5.

Lately, the song “1 of 4” by Aesop Rock has been playing on repeat in my head. This song talks about his battle with depression and encapsulates what I have been going through. As I previously stated I can not thank my brothers enough for what they did for me, but these words are just the beginning.

“I guess it is kind of funny when you look at it from a step back,
How one man can literally buckle under the same pressures
Other men operate normally under
I have scoped this out from all angles multiple times
I have been over everything in my head, still I can’t think anymore
But I guess sometimes, when you can’t breathe,
there are people there to breathe for you
I am lucky enough to have those people around me
Thank you for helping me to not die
Thank you for helping me to not die”

Suicide Prevention Help

If you ever have suicidal thoughts or are battling with depression, seek out help and remember that your life has meaning in this world. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline offers 24/7/365 help through its website, www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org, or over the phone at 800-273-TALK (8255)

A version of this first appeared on FanDads. Photo: PdPics

It’s Movember again, and City Dads Groups across the country again are supporting the campaign to bring awareness and funding to research and treatment of men’s health issues, both mental and physical.

Dr. Sally Spencer-Thomas joins us on the Modern Dads Podcast to discuss suicide prevention and the Carson J. Spencer Foundation, on organization she co-founded after her brother took his own life in 2004. She talks about the suicide prevention programs they run to reach men in most need of support and least likely to seek it. She also talks about how dad communities like ours can be part of the solution.

** Listen to our suicide prevention podcast now **

The suicide rate increased 33 percent from 1999 through 2017, from 10.5 to 14 suicides per 100,000 people, according to the National Centers for Health Science. Rates have increased more sharply since 2006. Suicide ranks as the fourth leading cause of death for people ages 35 to 54, and the second for 10- to 34-year-olds. It remains the 10th leading cause of death overall.

Men of all ages are more likely than women to commit or attempt suicide with the likelihood of men committing suicide being close to four times more than that of women. Suicide rates in the US have been on a constant rise in the last thirty years. With 28.9 deaths per 100,000 people, Montana has the highest suicide rate in the US according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

White people in the US have recorded the highest rates of suicide at 14.7% followed by Native Americans at 10.9%, Hispanics at 6.3%, Asians, and Pacific Islanders at 5.9% with the lowest rates being among black Americans at 5.5%. Firearms are the most used methods in suicide with 49.9% of the deaths, followed by suffocation at 26.7%, and poisoning at 15.9% other methods contribute to 7.5% of the deaths. Due to the stigma associated with suicide, most of the cases go unreported. Suicide rates in the US have increased by 24% in last fifteen years from 10.5 to 13.0 persons in 100,000 persons.

You may also be interested in listening to these other Modern Dads Podcasts about Movember and men’s health issues:

• Dads Dealing with Depression
• A Focus on Men’s Health with Dr. Jed Diamond
• Refuel Your Manhood with Dr. John LaPuma

Editor’s Note: With City Dads Group supporting increased awareness of men’s health issues during this month of Movember, we’d like to present this article our online community manager Ron Mattocks wrote about his battle with depression.

“What’s worse than a dump truck full of dead babies?” my teenage niece asks me. I shake my head.

“Unloading them with a pitchfork,” she answers with perfect deadpan timing.

I laugh. I laugh so hard tears come from my eyes and my sides feel like they’re being gripped by a monster’s gigantic hand.

I haven’t laughed like this in four, maybe five months. I don’t know. It’s been so long I can’t remember.

I’ve been in a fog. A daze. A darkness that won’t release me. The longest depressive state I’ve ever been in. Still is. I don’t know yet. That’s how it works — just creeps in and never leaves.

My struggles with depression are not something I talk much about. As I recently told one well-known dad blogger who knows a little something about the topic, writing about my chronic depression isn’t what I want to be known for. There are some, like this guy’s ex-wife, who do talk about it, and they have a gift for helping others as a result. Then there are others for whom blogging about depression is their jam, and they play it like a harp for comments and page views. I am too afraid of coming off as the later.

Besides, depression is … depressing. Who wants to read about that all the time. Plus I’m a guy. Guys aren’t supposed to be depressed. We’re supposed to provide for our families, drive luxury SUV’s, and have hair like Don Draper. Either that or we’re supposed to be so slovenly stupid that our lone hope for survival is dependent on the female of our species.

Honestly, both extremes sound depressing to me. Either way, there is no middle ground, no spectrum of reality where a guy can say, “Hey, I’m so depressed, I’d rather shovel dead babies from the rusty bed of a 25-ton Caterpillar than get up and face another day.” Try using that line and not get some looks.

I’m of the opinion that it’s easier for a man to admit he is gay than it is to admit he is depressed. For one, the very term gay (to be happy) has depressed (to wallow in a pit of dead babies) beat by a long shot. Done deal. When opening up about being gay, most people (the non-judgey ones at least), pat the person on back and applaud his courage to be himself (and rightfully so). “Well, done,” they say. Mention that you deal with constant depression and you usually get an empathetic response followed by, “Are you on any medication?” The irony in this is that the depression is just as much a part of a person as is being gay for someone else.

To answer the question, yes, medication is involved. I’ve sampled the buffet on the dining car of the pharmaceutical crazy train. Sometimes it helps just long enough for you to get a few hours of work done, or to write a blog post, or to listen to your kids for a change or to sound completely normal to others, or perhaps not. It’s never the same, and the effects never last. Eventually you’ll pull back the curtain and see who’s still really running Oz.

Today I do something different. Today I go for a run. It kills me. My lungs are blazing after only a minute and thirty-seven seconds. People walking their dogs pass me. I am dying. I can’t see how this is supposed to be good for me. I try to forget about all the fears and worries as my feet pound (shuffle) against the pavement, and over the music from my iPod I hear my niece’s voice. “Hey Uncle Pookie, what do your friends have in common with a tree?” There’s a pause before the punchline. “If you hit them enough times with an ax they’ll both fall down.” I laugh again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ron Mattocks, father of three boys, is a marketing professional who also wrote the book, Sugar Milk: What One Dad Drinks When He Can’t Afford Vodka. A version of Depressed Guys first appeared on his blog, Clark Kent’s Lunchbox. You can hear Ron talk more about his battle with depression and bipolar disease on The Modern Dads Podcast.

Photo credit: pdpics.com