Across Canada, many men and young men are quietly running out of connection.

They may be surrounded by coworkers, teammates, followers – even family — but still feel profoundly alone. A growing share of men are single, “friend-poor” and unsure how to rebuild intimacy once school, sports or a long-term relationship ends.

The Canadian Men’s Health Foundation’s research has pointed to the scale of the problem: social isolation is a major driver of declining mental health among Canadian men with half now at risk of social isolation. Among men living alone, that number skyrockets to 73 per cent.

But male loneliness isn’t just about “not having people around.” It’s the loss of reliable, emotionally safe relationships, especially adult friendships and romantic partnerships, compounded by masculinity norms and major life transitions like breakups, aging, job loss or relocation. Left unaddressed, that isolation can harden into depression, substance use, and for some men, suicidal thoughts.

To better understand what’s driving this trend, I spoke with Dr. Paul Sharp, a senior lecturer at the University of New South Wales’ health sciences department and a member of UBC’s Men’s Health Research Program, and with Sachin Latti, a mental health advocate who ran across Canada after his marriage collapsed and his depression deepened.

Their perspectives, one grounded in research, the other in lived experience, converge on a difficult truth: many men are struggling quietly and often don’t have the language, skills or support to name what’s happening.

The “friendship recession” among men

For decades, we’ve assumed loneliness was primarily a problem among older adults. But Dr. Sharp’s research with men aged 18-35 paints a very different picture.

“A lot of the guys we spoke to had great friendships in school,” said Dr. Sharp in an interview. “But once high school or university ends, those networks start to fade. People move, they partner up, they get busy. And over time, those broader friendships narrow.”

Dr. Sharp calls this part of a broader “friendship recession.” Structural shifts like longer work hours, financial pressure, fewer “third places” like community clubs and a more online world have made it harder to maintain deep adult friendships.

Importantly, many men rely on what researchers call “activity-based” friendships: buddies to play hockey with, grab beers with or work out alongside. Those relationships matter, but when the activity disappears due to a job change, a move or a breakup, the connection often evaporates too.

“It’s not that activity-based friendships are bad,” said Dr. Sharp. “They’re often how men first connect. The challenge is moving that acquaintance into something emotionally safer and more durable.”

For Sachin Latti, the collapse of his marriage exposed just how thin his social infrastructure had become.“When my divorce finalized, I remember thinking: ‘Who the hell would want to be with me?’” he said. “I felt like a failure. Financially starting over. Not the best husband. I spiralled.”

Latti described a moment during the pandemic when he felt so alone that he texted a friend simply asking for a hug. “That’s how lonely I was,” he said. “And I’m not a guy who usually says that.”

Why masculinity makes loneliness hard to talk about

Why don’t more men talk about feeling lonely? Part of the answer lies in masculinity norms.

“We still see strong cultural messages that men should be stoic, independent and self-reliant,” said Dr. Sharp. “Those traits are often celebrated. But we don’t talk about the times when grinding through alone doesn’t work.”

Men may intellectually agree that “opening up” is healthy, he added, but in practice expressing loneliness can feel like admitting weakness or failure. Loneliness itself is also hard to articulate.“It’s not just about being alone,” Dr. Sharp explained. “You can be surrounded by people and still feel disconnected. It’s an internal sense that you’re not fulfilled or that you don’t belong.”

That nuance matters. A man might go to the pub with friends, play rec hockey or show up at work every day and still feel profoundly isolated. Latti recognized that dynamic in his own life.

“Most of my friendships were just: go to the gym, go for drinks and watch a fight,” he said. “My friends were all good people, but we weren’t actually connecting beyond the activity.” Only later, after meeting a fellow veteran who was willing to talk openly about mental health did Latti experience something different. “We’d just meet for coffee and actually talk,” he said. “That was new for me and I realized I wanted more of that.”

How loneliness affects mental health and substance use

Loneliness rarely exists in isolation. It often intertwines with substance use, depression and suicide risk. Dr. Sharp was quick to point out that alcohol plays a complicated role in male social spaces.

“It can be the glue that brings men together,” he said. “But it’s also a depressant and for some guys it becomes a way to numb or avoid the pain.”

During Dr. Sharp’s extensive research interviews, men described alcohol as both a social lubricant and an emotional hedge. It allowed them to say: “I love you, man” and then blame it on the booze the next day. There is even emerging evidence that chronic loneliness can carry health risks comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day with links to heart disease and premature mortality.

In Latti’s case, alcohol sometimes eased social anxiety, but also blurred into something more dangerous.“I’ve had issues with substance abuse and suicidal ideation,” he shared candidly during our conversation. “Not just in the last five years – for the past 30 years now.” Latti worked in law enforcement, an environment he described as highly masculine and emotionally restrictive. “I walled up my emotions: that was survival in my line of work, but in hindsight it wasn’t healthy.”

Why divorce, aging and life transitions increase loneliness

Research shows that certain life transitions amplify risk for loneliness. Statistics Canada has reported significantly higher loneliness among seniors who are widowed, separated or divorced compared to those who are partnered. But the vulnerability isn’t limited to older men.

“When you narrow your social world to your partner and immediate family, you become more susceptible to a breakup,” Dr. Sharp explained. “If that relationship ends, you’ve suddenly lost both your romantic and much of your friendship infrastructure.”

For Latti, a divorce, sudden career upheaval and a global pandemic overlapped in devastating ways. “The shame I felt was heavy among work colleagues and family – everyone knew and I felt exposed.” But in that moment, Latti did something out-of-character: he poured himself into running, a sport he hated. First it was 100 kilometres, then nine ultramarathons, then 22 consecutive marathons and eventually a cross-Canada run that raised over $215,000 for mental health.

“In the depths of the worst period of my life, running gave me purpose – something to look forward to every day,” he said. Yet even that had its limits. “I was hyper-focused, training 200 kilometres a week. I didn’t have mental bandwidth for much else. This is a process and I’m still figuring it out.”

What helps you build reconnection

So what can you do if you recognize yourself in Sachin’s story? Research and lived experience point to a few simple starting points.

Dr. Sharp emphasized prevention across the life cycle: maintaining friendships during transitions, creating spaces for peer support and normalizing emotional literacy for boys and men. Peer support programs like BuddyUp, especially those grounded in shared experience and reciprocity, can be powerful. They allow men to both give and receive help, aligning with values of camaraderie and teamwork.

Latti distilled his recipe into three essentials: community, connection and movement. “If you’re part of a community, if you’re connecting with someone and if you have some kind of movement in your life, you’re going to be better off,” he said. “It won’t fix everything, but it gets you unstuck.”

That might mean texting a friend for coffee – not drinks. It could also mean joining a running group, volunteering for a cause or reaching out for peer support. Or if things feel overwhelming, it could mean speaking with a mental health professional because loneliness thrives in silence.

Why connection matters to your health

For many Canadian men, loneliness develops quietly through ordinary life transitions: finishing school, ending relationships, changing careers or moving away from community. But research increasingly shows that strong social connection is one of the most important protective factors for mental health. Rebuilding friendship and community doesn’t just improve emotional wellbeing. It can play a meaningful role in helping men stay healthy, resilient and alive.

If you’re feeling disconnected, these resources can help you reconnect and find support:

CMHF – Never Alone: Why Connection is Key to Men’s Mental Health

CMHF – How To Build Meaningful Friendships that Last

The Lonely Man Project: Supporting Men and the Families Who Love Them

CAMH Engage – The Hidden Crisis: Why Men Are Struggling in Silence

First Step Men’s Therapy – Overcoming Loneliness and Depression: Practical Tips for Men to Reconnect with Confidence

CMHA-Durham – The Quiet Crisis: Why So Many Men Feel Alone

This week, the Government of Canada announced it is launching the country’s first national conversation on men and boys’ health; a landmark step toward creating Canada’s first Men and Boys’ Health Strategy.

The strategy aims to address a growing and often overlooked reality: men in Canada are more likely to die by suicide, less likely to seek preventive care, and more likely to struggle in silence.

Health Minister Marjorie Michel called on Canadians to help shape the future of men’s health. “To build Canada strong, we need the full participation of everyone in our society,” she said. “Help us build a strategy that improves health, prevents harm, and strengthens our communities — for men, boys, and for everyone in Canada.”

Standing in Ottawa for the announcement was Canadian Men’s Health Foundation Champion Richie Bullbrook, alongside CMHF President and CEO Kenton Boston.

Bullbrook wasn’t there just as a young, professional athlete training for the 2028 Olympic Games. His voice — steady, direct, and deeply human — captured exactly why this national conversation matters. “I am a man who struggles,” he told the room.

Watch Richie Bullbrook’s full speech:

The father who helped him chase his dream

Bullbrook was just 18 when his father, James, got sick. It happened fast. Right around Christmas.

“One week he was fine,” Bullbrook shared on the Don’t Change Much podcast. “And then all of a sudden, he was in the hospital and expected to die.” Because it was during COVID-19, Bullbrook wasn’t allowed to see him.

Around the same time, Bullbrook received an invitation that was supposed to change his life: an invitation to his first Team Canada Olympic training camp in Texas. He didn’t want to go. “I really wanted to stay home,” he said. “Even though I couldn’t be with him, I wanted to be nearby.” But his father wouldn’t let him. In a brief moment of lucidity, the elder Bullbrook made he made it clear that he wanted his son to go.

So Bullbrook left. He boarded the plane knowing his father would likely die while he was gone. “That was really hard,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave. But he made it clear that’s what I should do.”

While Bullbrook was at the training camp, he got the call. He came home and found his father on life support. That’s when he made him a promise. “I told him I’d finish this journey,” Bullbrook said. “Because it’s what he wanted for me.” His father died days later.

Bullbrook says it’s this promise that keeps him going on the tough days. “I feel like I’m living two lives all the time,” he said. “My life for me — and my life for my dad.”

When strength means speaking up

“I lost both my uncle and my father to alcoholism. These were preventable deaths. Silence is what makes them fatal, and we need to normalize vulnerability in men,” he said.

That silence is something he knows personally. After suffering a serious concussion last year, Bullbrook faced one of the hardest periods of his life. For months, he didn’t know if he would fully recover. “It forced me to confront my mental health in a very real way,” he said. “It taught me that asking for help is not optional.”

For many men, those words don’t come easily. Bullbrook believes that needs to change. “Being silent isn’t strong. Asking for help is being strong. Strength is the courage to do things differently.”

Following his speech, Secretary of State for Sport Adam van Koeverden spoke about the impact of Bullbrook’s message and the role of the Canadian Men’s Health Foundation in helping bring that voice forward.

“The Canadian Men’s Health Foundation has found themselves one of the best ambassadors and spokespeople they could have ever found,” he said. “I hope that all the men and boys listening today will learn from Richie’s example and seek help when they need it.”

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A national moment and a cultural shift

The Government of Canada’s announcement signals a shift in how men’s health is being understood and addressed. For the first time, Canada is developing a coordinated national strategy focused specifically on the unique health challenges facing men and boys.

This announcement reflects decades of work by advocates, researchers, and organizations pushing to make men’s health a national priority. In Canada, groups like Movember and the Canadian Men’s Health Foundation have helped raise awareness of the challenges men face and the solutions that can help them live longer, healthier lives.

Canadian Men’s Health Foundation President and CEO Kenton Boston said the strategy reflects a reality the organization sees every day.

“The crisis we are living through is real,” Boston said. “Half of all young men are at risk of problem anger, and one in two men are socially isolated. We need to make sure all men know they are not alone.”

Bullbrook says that message is now central to his own mission. “I think there is an epidemic of men being afraid to say, ‘I’m not okay,’” he said. “I want other men to feel like they can say that as well.”

This is just the beginning

Over the coming months, Canadians will be invited to share their experiences and perspectives to help shape the country’s first Men and Boys’ Health Strategy.

Bullbrook hopes more men will find the courage to speak. Not just on national stages. But in everyday life. “I dedicate this journey to my dad and every man who is fighting something no one else can see.”

Because real strength isn’t carrying everything alone. It’s knowing when to reach out.

Join the National conversation on men’s health

The Government of Canada is inviting Canadians to take part in the national conversation on men’s and boys’ health.

You can learn more about it here. Starting on March 2nd, all Canadians can submit their feedback directly through the form there.

If you’re looking for mental health support or tools, the Canadian Men’s Health Foundation is here to help.

For most of his life, Trevor Botkin thought he knew what being strong meant.

“What I thought [strength] was, was the ability to just sustain torture, the ability to sustain depression for long periods of time without help, to get through long days, to work overtime. To really run on the fuel light for the longest period possible.”

It seems he had it all backwards.

In a recent episode of the Don’t Change Much podcast, Trevor and co-host Mike Cameron sit down with Dr. David Kuhl, VP Research & Knowledge Mobilization at the Canadian Men’s Health Foundation and a UBC Professor.

Together, they talk about what real personal strength actually looks like. Which, as it turns out, is not what most of us were taught.

Real strength isn’t about running on empty

Dr. Kuhl has spent years working with first responders to guide them through handling stress, adversity and trauma without falling apart.

His take? Resiliency, as he calls it, isn’t about how long you can tough it out. It’s about maintaining or getting back your wellbeing when life hits you hard.

“It’s influenced by many factors,” Dr. Kuhl explains. “The world we live in, our social network, our biology, our psychology. It’s all of those factors that interact to enable us to gain or maintain or regain wellbeing at any time of our life despite exposure to adversity, stress, or trauma.”

You need to take care of yourself to actually be strong.

Trevor learned this the hard way. For years, he thought strength meant running himself into the ground. But when he started taking care of himself — eating better, sleeping better, actually dealing with what was going on inside — something changed.

The more I take care of myself, the stronger I’ve become. My ability to deal with stresses and pressures…has never been so confident.

You wouldn’t keep loading up the squat rack without eating, sleeping or recovering. Eventually the bar’s coming down on you. Your head works the same way.

When you feel nothing, you’re actually feeling something

One of the things Dr. Kuhl talks about with first responders is numbness. And here’s what he tells them: “Numbness is a feeling.”

That might sound weird, but think about it. If you’re feeling nothing about something that should matter, your body is saying something’s up.

“Numbness is an awareness that there’s something there that isn’t,” Dr. Kuhl says.

A lot of guys go numb because we learned early on that feelings weren’t okay. “Don’t cry.” “Be tough.” “Be strong.” Your dad may have said it. Maybe even your boss said it. Most likely, you’ve been told these things at some point in your life.

So you learned to shut it down.

But, the reality is you can’t just shut down the hard feelings.

If you suppress one of them, you suppress all of them. So it affects your degree of joy, happiness, other things as well.

Trevor experienced this firsthand. His substance use helped him numb out the hard stuff, but it robbed him of the good stuff too. “My life had just become so gray. There wasn’t even 50 shades of gray. It was just mute.”

Toughing it out doesn’t make feelings go away. It just makes you feel like something’s wrong with you for having them in the first place.

“I must be broken because these guys are doing it. My dad did it. All these other people who know better than me told me I shouldn’t be feeling these.”

Mike had a similar wake-up call. After he left the business he’d built over 20 years, something felt off. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

It took six years (and his partner noticing something was wrong) before he realized he’d been carrying shame about how he’d handled the exit.

Warning signs you might be going numb

1. Avoiding conversations that you know you should be having
2. Over-explaining situations to make yourself feel better about them
3. Feeling “off” in ways you can’t quite name

Your body doesn’t lie. If something feels off, there’s probably something there worth looking at.

Do you have someone you can call at 3 AM?

Dr. Kuhl’s core advice for building real strength is to know one person, absolutely, who has your back 24/7.

“Just knowing you have that person makes you stronger,” he says. And this is actually backed by research.

This isn’t just some buddy you grab beers with. This is someone who:

• Won’t judge you when you screw up
• Cares about your welfare first, before anything else
• You can call in the middle of the night if you need to

Dr. Kuhl puts it simply. “Every human being has a basic need to be seen, heard, and understood.”

When you mess up (as well all do) you need someone who can help you understand that while you made a mistake, you’re not a mistake. There’s a difference.

Trevor admits this was tough for him to accept. “I told myself a lot of things that weren’t true. I convinced myself that nobody had my back.”

But when he finally started being honest with people, he found out he was wrong.

There was a lot more people had my back than I had told myself.

So ask yourself, who is that person to you?

If you can’t, who’s the person in your life where there would be the least risk to say, “Sometimes when I wanna talk to somebody, you’re a name that comes up in my mind”?

Don’t convince yourself that person doesn’t exist. You might be surprised.

The strength in being honest

Mike’s experience with shame almost cost him his relationship. His partner could tell something was off. That what he was saying didn’t match what he was feeling.

The word she used that struck Mike was incongruent.

“This is not congruent with who I know you to be,” she told him. “Therefore, that trust is going down and we need to figure that out.”

That’s the thing about trying to hide what’s going on inside. People can sense it. And when your feelings don’t match your words, trust goes down.

Dr. Kuhl calls this what it is: “Vulnerability is honesty.”

Being honest about what you’re feeling, even when it’s uncomfortable, actually makes people trust you more. Not less. And when you take that risk and it works out? You get even stronger.

“If emotions didn’t serve a purpose, evolution would’ve gotten rid of them long ago,” Dr. Kuhl points out. They’re still here because they do something. They give you information. They guide you.

Mike learned this through some of the hardest experiences of his life. “I had an incredibly painful experience a decade ago that I experienced, I allowed myself to experience and the depth of feeling,” he says. “As a result, the flip side of that is when I go to a concert and the joy that those things bring me is incredible.”

You can’t numb the pain and amplify the joy. You just numb.

So if you want to really feel the good stuff in life — like being with your kids, time with your partner, moments that matter — you gotta be willing to feel the hard stuff too.

The work that makes life richer

None of this is about being perfect. Trevor, Mike and Dr. Kuhl all make that clear. Even these guys who do this work for a living still struggle.

This is just a constant thing that I work on that actually enriches my life. It’s not laborious. It actually makes life richer.

Have conversations about what’s really going on with guys close to you.

Not the usual surface stuff. Not just bitching about work or venting about whatever’s pissing you off. Real conversations.

Here’s how Trevor suggests shifting it: When someone’s going off about something, ask them, “How do you feel about that?” or “You sound angry. Let’s talk about that.”

That simple shift moves the conversation from external (what’s happening out there) to internal (what’s happening in here). That’s where the real work happens.

This isn’t easy work. But it’s not for the weak, either. It takes real courage to look at what’s going on inside yourself and deal with it honestly.

The foundation for everything else

Knowing yourself isn’t navel-gazing. It’s not soft. It’s the foundation for real personal strength.

You can’t handle whatever life throws at you if you don’t understand what’s going on inside. You can’t be there for your family, your partner or your crew if you’re running on fumes and pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.

The guys who seem the strongest? The ones who can deal with ongoing adversity? They’re the ones who’ve done the work to understand themselves.

So here’s your challenge: Think about one person who might have your back. Reach out. Start there.

And don’t convince yourself that person doesn’t exist. Take the chance.

Because understanding yourself isn’t weakness. It’s what makes you stronger.

You know that guy you check in on every week? The one whose videos you never miss, whose podcast drops you listen to on your commute, whose take on things just makes sense when nothing else does?

He feels like someone who just gets it. Someone who’s been where you are and figured out how to navigate it all — the confusion about what it means to be a man right now, the pressure to have everything figured out and how you have the power to overcome any obstacle.

Maybe he’s a fitness guy who talks about discipline and self-improvement. Maybe he’s a podcaster who asks the questions you wish you could ask. Or maybe he’s someone who just seems to be living the life you want. He’s successful, confident and surrounded by people who respect him.

You’ve probably shared his content. Referenced his ideas in conversations. Maybe even caught yourself sounding like him sometimes.

Here’s the thing though. He has no idea you exist.

That’s not a criticism. It’s just the math. He’s talking to hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people. You’re one view in an ocean of metrics. And yet the relationship feels real and meaningful. It feels like something you need.

This kind of connection has a name: a parasocial relationship. A 2022 study defined it as a one-sided connection where you feel like you know someone, but they don’t know you exist. 

It’s not a matter of whether this is happening or not. It is. The question is what it means, and what we do about it.

The search for something real

According to our research, about 50% of Canadian men are at risk of social isolation. That’s not a small problem. It’s an issue that’s been building up for years.

Many people end up trying to find people to look up to through online platforms. And fair enough. Everyone needs models of what it means to grow up, to be respected, to matter. Everyone needs community and to feel understood.

And online influencers help fill that gap. Whether they’re self-help gurus, political commentators, fitness personalities, or gaming streamers. They share about their struggles and create spaces where viewers feel like they belong.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting these things. In fact, it’s completely natural to do so. But online communities aren’t the only place you can find support and a sense of belonging.

Spaces where connection goes both ways

Moe Green has been watching these trends unfold. For 14 years, he’s been facilitating GuysWork, a program that creates safe spaces for young men in Nova Scotia schools to talk openly about what’s affecting them.

Green mentions Kanye West recently came up in GuysWork conversations. They discussed Kanye’s past anti-semitic comments. He says the kids were open minded and critical when talking about how they enjoy his music, but don’t agree with his views. Or how factors like mental health and trauma can factor into the artist’s behaviour.

Sometimes, guys in the group admit they’re struggling with these relationships but, thankfully, reach out to the program facilitators for help.

“I always want to shine a light on the number of youth who are navigating these challenges really, really well,” Green adds.

How are some of these young men handling this so well? What’s helping them stay grounded when so much online content pulls in the opposite direction? Green says he’s still at the beginning of this research journey. He’s still trying to better understand what’s really making the difference. “We have a student in Saint Francis Xavier University who’s been doing some [research] for us,” shares Green.

That student is Jake Grady. He’s studying psychology at the university and is especially interested in how parasocial relationships affect young men’s mental health and what can be done to help them navigate this landscape more critically. What they’re learning might change how we think about connection, influence and what young men need right now.

Research that shows both sides

Here’s where it gets interesting. Parasocial relationships aren’t inherently good or bad. It depends on who you’re following and what they’re saying.

What Grady is finding is simple: who you follow really matters

“We found that the more misogynistic ‘manfluencers’ a man follows, the more he is likely to dehumanize women,” he says. This is seeing women as less human and less equal.

But the flip side exists too. “Research has identified that ‘instadads’ who regularly model ‘sharenting’ behaviour (the sharing of household tasks) can have positive impacts on their male followers,” he explains. “Through parasocial relationships, instadads can help normalize and legitimize men’s role in domestic care.”

So the same method that can misguide someone can also help normalize healthier models of masculinity. So it’s not the parasocial relationship itself. It’s what’s flowing through it.

The Andrew Tate moment

Green remembers an example moment clearly. A 14-year-old boy in his circle was explaining his vision for marriage someday.

“He said, you know, when I’m married, it doesn’t matter if my wife has a job, that’s fine as long as when I get home, there’s a meal on the table and the house is in order,” Green recalls.

The boy was repeating sound bites from Andrew Tate, the controversial influencer who’s built a massive following by promoting old-school views on gender roles.

What’s strange is that this young man didn’t seem to be expressing his own carefully considered values. He was repeating someone else’s script word for word. Someone he’d never met. Someone who had no idea he existed.

This is a part of what brought Grady to the research. “I began thinking about how other people may have parasocial relationships with these ‘manfluencer’ content creators, in the same way I had parasocial relationships with my favourite online creators,” he says.

Understanding parasocial relationships

Grady didn’t set out to study parasocial relationships. He discovered the term in his second year of undergrad when a friend described the intense online comments around K-pop idols.

“Fans would write stories, discuss drama between groups and speculate about their lives,” Grady recalls. “I began thinking about the content creators I follow online, and whether I had a parasocial relationship with them.”

He soon realized he did. “I followed many online creators that I regularly checked in with, like a friend. I’d keep up to date on their ‘day-in-the-life’ content, and I was invested in their personal lives. I was genuinely interested in these online content creators, despite the fact that they have no idea who I am.”

Sound familiar?

Grady says parasocial relationships come down to three key things: 

• perceived trust
• perceived closeness
• perceived influence

So what actually helps young men build real connection?

Two things that really help

Green says GuysWork offers something parasocial relationships can’t: reciprocal connection.

The GuysWork space does two things, he explains.

“We’re sort of bucking the trend and stepping away from the online world and having these conversations in a circle,” Green explains. “So that’s the starting point, but the building of the safe space in the circle allows us to tackle some topics and conversations that can be challenging.”

The second thing? Creating a pathway to support. “So if young men do say, you know what, this is embarrassing for me, but I’m going down a rabbit hole and I think I need some support, then the GuysWork facilitator in the school can pass them on to the school social worker, the school psychologist which they trust.”

The program runs in about 100 schools across Nova Scotia. The model uses school-based staff who students already know, create circles where young men can talk honestly and build trust over time.

Research on the program has already shown less engagement with harmful masculinity norms after completing the GuysWork program.

Safe space plus pathway to support. It sounds simple. Although it’s something most online communities, no matter how large or how engaged, can’t provide.

Where things can go wrong

Not all roads lead somewhere positive.

“Just another concern of some of the unhelpful, unhealthy parasocial relationships that might be brewing for some young people,” Green says. “Is that radicalization that could connect with misogyny, racism, homophobia, whatever.”

When you spend enough time consuming someone else’s perspective it can start to replace your own. Their values become your values. Their anger becomes your anger. Their language becomes how you think.

This isn’t conscious. We learn by watching other people. That’s how humans work. But when the people you look up to are from personalities designed to generate engagement and make money, you’re not learning how to be yourself. 

To boot, when you’re isolated you become more vulnerable to simple answers, clear enemies and identities that promise belonging.

What you can do

If any of this sounds familiar or if you recognize yourself (or someone you know) in these patterns, here’s where to begin:

Pay attention to who you’re following

Show caution with who you are following, how closely you are following them, and to remain critical of the messages they are pushing.

Ask yourself: Do I trust this person? Do I feel close to them? Are they influencing how I think? Remember, you’re only seeing what they choose to show you. They don’t know you exist.

Think critically about messages

Diversify your sources. Seek out content that challenges you, not just content that confirms what you already believe.

When you encounter content from influencers, ask yourself whether it’s helpful or harmful. Not just for you personally, but more broadly.

Does this make me think less of other people? Does this oversimplify complex issues? Does this require me to see the world in us-versus-them terms?

Build an in-person community

You don’t need a formal program. Consistent, face-to-face connection where people actually know you can have a massively positive influence.

Join some type of club, sport or group. Show up regularly. Let familiarity build into friendship. It’s harder than clicking subscribe, but it also addresses the loneliness you may experience. 

Don’t be afraid to ask for help

If you’re worried that you or someone you care about has gone down a rabbit hole, that’s not weakness. That’s awareness.

Talk to someone you trust. Name what’s happening. Sometimes just saying it out loud breaks its power.

Try letting yourself be seen

Parasocial relationships feel safe because they don’t require vulnerability. You can consume, agree, feel connected — all without risking being truly seen.

Real connection requires showing up as yourself. Imperfect. Still figuring things out. Capable of being hurt.

It can feel harder, but it can give you a connection that’s really meaningful.

Want to keep the conversation going?

If this resonates with you, you’re not alone. Connection is hard — especially when you’re navigating complex questions about identity and belonging. Find out more at GuysWork, or explore CMHF’s MindFit Toolkit for more resources.

On a frigid afternoon on December 30, 1986, a bus carrying the Swift Current Broncos, then a Western Hockey League junior team, left downtown Swift Current bound for Regina. Four kilometres down the highway, the bus skidded on black ice, slipped into a ditch and flipped. In an instant, four young players — Trent Kresse, Scott Kruger, Chris Mantyka and Brent Ruff — were killed.

Four decades later, the tragedy remains largely unknown in this country. Especially among younger Canadians and hockey fans who might only know of the equally tragic 2018 Humboldt Broncos bus crash. But for those who lived it, the players, their families, their billets and the small Saskatchewan community of Swift Current, it changed everything.

Today, a 40 year old story is being told anew through Sideways: a 2025 documentary produced by Calgary filmmaker Shayne Putzlocher. It follows the personal journey of bus crash survivor Bob Wilkie. Wilkie went on to play in the NHL with the Detroit Red Wings and Philadelphia Flyers in the early 1990s. But as Sideways reveals, the crash and the silence that followed haunted Wilkie and his teammates for decades.

“It affected us all in so many different ways that it ruined relationships. It blurred futures. It took a lot of people into a dark place that some never recovered, unfortunately, because we didn’t know how to do that,” Wilkie told CBC News in late 2025.

A tragedy without a playbook

Wilkie was 17 years old at the time of the crash. Like many young hockey players he was living far from home, billeted in Swift Current and chasing the dream of being drafted to the NHL. He recalls the surreal speed at which life moved in the aftermath of the bus crash.

“We were playing 10 days later so it was a really quick turnaround from this awful incident to ‘okay, it’s time to get back at it.’ And a lot of us were trying to get drafted that year,” said Wilkie in an interview. There was plenty of shock, grief and tears. But he said there were no formal supports: no sports psychologists, no trauma specialists and no crisis interventions.

At the time, the Broncos were coached by Graham James, the now-disgraced hockey coach later convicted of sexually assaulting players in the 1980s and 1990s. The documentary reveals that after the crash James insisted the team didn’t need counselling.

In Wilkie’s mind, the lack of mental health supports reflected an era when therapy was stigmatized and emotional expression among boys was frowned upon. This went alongside the even darker reality surrounding James’ motivation to cover up his own criminal acts.

“In the 1980s, going to see a psychologist meant you were crazy,” said Wilkie. “But [James] was hiding this secret of molesting members of our team. When you’re a predator, the last thing you’re going to do is allow any outside influence.”  And so, the players soldiered on, united in grief but isolated in pain.

The long shadow

During that grim winter and into the years that followed, Wilkie and his teammates were caught between expectation and devastation. They were told to be resilient before anyone ever explained to them what resilience really meant.

Some turned to alcohol. Others shut down emotionally. For Wilkie, the trauma followed him through junior hockey into professional ranks. “I was playing in the NHL and I just couldn’t get rid of these feelings,” he said. “The drinking was completely out of control and that’s where the suicidal ideation started.”

Being alone was unbearable for Wilkie. Sleep brought nightmares and panic attacks emerged every time he boarded a bus in bad weather. And like with so many men (especially athletes raised to be stoic) he struggled to articulate what was happening inside his head.

“Those around me could see this change in my behaviour, but they didn’t know how to start the conversation with me,” Wilkie said.  The players shared an unspoken truth. The crash had turned boys into men overnight, but left them emotionally stranded for decades.

Why we didn’t hear about it

Despite its magnitude, the Swift Current bus crash didn’t become a part of Canadian hockey lore. Shayne Putzlocher believes that’s because the sexual abuse scandal that later engulfed coach Graham James overshadowed everything else.

“Everybody only talks about the Graham James stuff and nobody talks about what this community actually went through,” said Putzlocher who has produced over 40 films and 200 TV episodes. The veteran film producer points out there were 20 other people on that bus, yet for years distribution companies, federal funders and broadcasters rejected Putzlocher’s attempts to make a feature film out of it.

“I got turned away everywhere…they didn’t think it was relevant or that there was a big enough audience for it,” he recalled in an interview. Only after repeated setbacks did Putzlocher pivot to a documentary format – his first ever as a film producer. Even then, he only did it because he felt the story needed to be told regardless of profitability.

A documentary about mental health, not just hockey

When Putzlocher approached Wilkie in 2021about becoming the emotional centrepiece of the film, Wilkie initially hesitated. “I don’t know if I want to put myself out there in the world,” he told Putzlocher. But Wilkie also knew what a documentary could do for men and boys in a positive way and eventually agreed.

What emerged after four years of tireless work isn’t just a hockey documentary; it’s also a mental health film rooted in masculinity and silence. It chronicles Wilkie and fellow survivor Peter Soberlak processing the death of teammate Chris Mantyka on the bus. It also follows Wilkie through the NHL, through the depths of depression, addiction, fatherhood and eventually into wellness coaching through an organization he founded in 2008, I Got Mind.

Sideways also bridges past and present by connecting survivors from the 1986 Swift Current bus crash to survivors and families of the Humboldt crash in 2018. The film highlights how the 1986 survivors used their own long-term experiences with trauma and lack of mental health supports to assist the Humboldt community in a moment of need. And it’s a moment Wilkie describes as crucial for his own healing. “It taught me how resilient we can be.” 

The cost of silence and the power of conversation

For Putzlocher, the most powerful reaction has come from audiences who have seen Sideways on tour. “It opens your mind to feel comfortable starting the conversation before it’s too late,” he said, recounting the story of a parent who spoke publicly about their child’s suicide after a screening.

That, he believes, is the point. Young men in Canada are disproportionately affected by suicide and mental health challenges. According to the Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention, men are three times more likely to die by suicide, yet less likely to seek help.

Wilkie knows this firsthand: what saved his life wasn’t a miracle, but human connection. Meeting someone he loved, becoming a father and slowly beginning to talk. “Love started to happen and that really opened things up,” he said. But healing didn’t happen overnight; it took Wilkie more than 20 years to begin making peace with what happened on that highway.

A message for men — especially young ones

For boys and men who watch the documentary, Wilkie hopes the message is clear: you are not weak for struggling and you are not broken for needing help.

 “When someone can get serious about healing and overcoming, it has a significant impact on all those people around them too,” Wilkie said. Putzlocher puts it more bluntly. “It’s not what’s wrong with them – it’s what happened to them.”

For the boys of Swift Current, what happened on that ill-fated day in 1986 was unthinkable. But through Sideways, Wilkie and Putzlocher are ensuring that what followed – the silence, depression, drinking, suicidal thoughts and the resilience and healing – is finally spoken aloud.

For countless Canadian men and boys facing silent battles of their own, that conversation could be life-changing and-life saving too.

If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, call or text 9-8-8: Canada’s Suicide Crisis Helpline. Support is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

To learn more about the Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention (CASP), its programming and advocacy, visit CASP’s website.

We hear a lot about heart health in terms of workouts, cholesterol numbers and what’s on our plates. And for good reason. Those things matter. But there’s another factor that quietly shapes heart health every day, often without us noticing: the connections we make with others.

Who we spend time with. How supported we feel. Whether we feel seen, heard, or completely on our own.

You can be busy, productive, and surrounded by people and still feel disconnected. A lot of men do. According to CMHF research, about 50% of men are at risk of social isolation. That’s not a personal failure. It’s what happens when work, stress, and life slowly shrink your world.

And here’s the part most guys don’t realize: your heart feels that disconnection even when you don’t consciously notice it.

As a Registered Social Worker and the Clinical Director of Counselling Services at TELUS Health MyCare™, I see this all the time. Loneliness doesn’t always look like being alone. It often looks like being the guy who’s “fine,” who keeps going, who shows up for everyone else but doesn’t feel truly supported or understood.

Over time, that quiet, chronic disconnection becomes a physical stress on the body. Including on your heart.

Why loneliness becomes a physical health problem

Loneliness often flies under the radar because it doesn’t come with obvious symptoms. But your body feels it. 

Chronic disconnection keeps your stress system switched on. That affects blood pressure, increases inflammation, disrupts sleep, and makes recovery from illness harder.

Most of us don’t think about relationships the same way we think about exercise or diet. But physiologically, they belong in the same category.

Chronic loneliness and ongoing relationship stress increase stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. These hormones are helpful in short bursts. They help you react to danger. But when they stay elevated for weeks, months, or years, they quietly wear down your cardiovascular system.

Blood pressure rises. Inflammation increases. The heart works harder than it needs to.

Research has linked social isolation to higher risks of heart disease, heart attack and stroke. In some studies loneliness is associated with a 60-70% increase in risk of early death, and roughly 30% higher risk of heart attack or stroke. That puts it in the same conversation as other major health risk factors.

What matters most isn’t how many people you know. It’s whether you feel connected. Feeling alone in a room full of people still counts. Your nervous system doesn’t care about headcount. It cares about safety and support.

Supportive relationships change how your body handles stress

Strong relationships help regulate stress. They’re linked to better sleep, better emotional regulation, healthier habits, and stronger recovery after illness.

New research from the Ottawa Heart Institute shows that emotional and social support play a meaningful role in heart disease recovery. Patients with stronger support systems tend to recover better, both mentally and physically.

This isn’t about being married or having a huge social circle. As is the case with many things, quality matters more than quantity or status.

What “connection” really means

When we talk about relationships most people jump straight to romantic partners, but connection is broader than that. It has layers, and all of them matter.

The outer layer: Everyday human contact

These are the small, low-stakes interactions we often overlook: saying hello to a neighbour, chatting with a barista, exchanging a few words with a cashier. They might seem insignificant, but they help reduce feelings of isolation and gently regulate stress. They remind your nervous system that you’re part of the world, not separate from it. 

Examples:

• Saying hello instead of staying silent
• Choosing a brief conversation over total convenience
• Getting out of the house when you can

You don’t need deep conversations every day. Sometimes being acknowledged is enough.

The middle layer: Casual but meaningful relationships

This is about work colleagues, fitness classes, hobby groups, and neighbours. These relationships offer belonging without heavy emotional pressure. They’re places to practice connection and vulnerability with boundaries. 

Examples:

• Coffee with a coworker
• Joining a recreational league or class
• Showing up regularly to a group tied to something you enjoy

These connections build confidence, routine, and a sense of “I belong somewhere.”

The inner layer: Close relationships

This is your inner circle. Partners, close friends, family. 

These relationships carry the most emotional weight, which means they can be the most supportive, but also the most stressful.

Conflict, disconnection, or unresolved tension here has a stronger impact on stress and heart health. But so does care, safety and repair.

Remember though, these relationships don’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Repair matters more than never having conflict.

Three ways to be a better partner or friend

Relationship stress affects heart health. But so does how we handle that stress. The way we communicate, listen and show up affects both emotional safety and physical stress responses. Small skills can make a big difference. Here are a few ways to show up better for the people you care about.

Listen without fixing

When someone opens up, most of us jump straight into problem-solving. It’s usually well intended, but often unnecessary. 

Being listened to calms the nervous system. Being dismissed or rushed into solutions can do the opposite. 

Try:

• “That sounds really hard.”
• “I hear you.”
• “Do you want help, or do you just want me to listen?”

Listening isn’t passive. It’s supportive.

Be present (phones down)

Being physically there isn’t the same as being present. Phones interrupt connection and emotional regulation more than most of us realize. 

A few practical ways to be more present:

• Have tech-free meals
• Put your phone away during conversations
• Choose a phone call over a text for emotional topics

Presence builds trust. Trust reduces stress.

Understand how the other person feels supported

People feel cared for in different ways: words, time, actions, gifts, or physical affection. When those signals don’t line up, stress and resentment can build even when both people are trying. 

The fix isn’t guessing. It’s asking.

What makes the other person feel supported might not be what comes naturally to you, and that’s okay. 

Learn more about love languages here.

Small steps make relationships stronger (and your heart steadier)

Connection doesn’t require grand gestures. Relationships stretch, strain, and repair over time. 

What matters most is consistency. 

Small actions add up:

• Asking for time, support, or a hug
• Checking in emotionally
• Making time for real conversations

Asking for what you need is a skill. And skills can be learned.

You’re not broken. You’re human.

Strong relationships aren’t about perfection. They’re about showing up, repairing when things feel off and staying open.

Connection protects both mental and physical health. Feeling disconnected doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. It means you’re human.

And even one small point of connection — one conversation, one check-in, one moment of being seen — can make a difference for your heart.

Want to keep the conversation going?

If this hit close to home, you’re not the only one. If you feel comfortable, share what connection looks like in your life right now in the comments below. Even a short note can help someone else feel less alone.

I’ve won two Paralympic gold medals. I’ve set records. I’ve stood on podiums and heard anthems play, but the hardest work I’ve ever done wasn’t in the throwing circle. It was learning to love myself.

Thirty-nine years ago, I was born with one arm. My parents had a decision to make right off the bat; how were they going to raise this child? They had my older brother who doesn’t have any form of disability, which made their decision simple — just raise me like him.

There’s no written script on how to be a parent. They raised me the best they could. But deep down I was thinking, “I’m being treated the same but I don’t quite feel the same. Internally, something’s not right.”

That feeling of disconnect between how the world saw me and how I felt inside became the foundation for everything I do today. Which is why I’m now a Champion for the Canadian Men’s Health Foundation.

Listen to Greg chat with hosts Mike and Trevor on the Don’t Change Much podcast

The identity crisis nobody talks about

Before I became a shot putter I played all kinds of sports. Five seasons of able-bodied basketball at Thompson Rivers University and was named USport Defensive Player of the Year in my final season. I won three world titles with Canada’s standing volleyball team. I earned bronze medals at two Parapan American Games in sitting volleyball.

I could do it all. But something was missing.

My identity was completely attached to being an athlete. For a few years, I was lost to the point where I thought, “I want to feel better. I don’t want to be stuck like this because life sucks.” It didn’t matter what I was doing. I never felt a sense of fulfillment, never felt connected within. I was just tired.

So I got help, and I went to therapy.

I started understanding my emotions. Learning to identify and sit with my main emotions: fear, guilt, anger, sadness, and love. I still see a counsellor regularly.

That’s when I started to learn that love comes from within so that you can project it outwards. And that’s when my mental health journey really started.

The shot that changed everything

Back in 2017, I picked up the shot put for the first time under coach Dylan Armstrong, an Olympic medalist. His first words to me were simple. “I will coach you. No problem. You just have to show up.”

That hit me hard. Show up. That’s it.

By 2018 I was ranked number one in the world. At Tokyo 2020, my first throw of 16.75 meters set a Paralympic record and earned me gold. At Paris 2024, I defended that title with a throw of 16.38 meters. And just recently, I won my first world title at the 2025 World Para Athletics Championships in New Delhi.

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Shot put became a challenge I wasn’t expecting. It’s a space where it’s 100% on me. In team sports you can say, “I’m having a bad game, just sub me off.” But when I started throwing, there was no one else to blame. If I had a bad practice, that was on me.

The more I showed up and did the work in the throwing circle, the more I started to recognize I needed to do that work everywhere else too. At home, in my relationships, in how I was waking up each day and in how I was presenting myself to other people.

I walked away. Then I came back.

I announced my retirement in 2022. I was in physical pain and wanted a change. But just over a year later, I came back.

Why? Because I felt discomfort from being disconnected from the sport I loved. It wasn’t about missing the medals or the attention. It was about purpose. Connection. The thing that made me feel alive.

That decision to return wasn’t about ego. It was about ownership. One of the three core principles I now teach through my brand, The Mindfulete.

Ownership, trust, and integrity: My framework for life

Everything I teach comes down to three things: Ownership, Trust, and Integrity. OTI for short.

Ownership

Means taking responsibility for your emotions and actions. Not blaming your circumstances on others when things go sideways. Instead, it’s what role did I play here?

Before I did this work, drama was a normal thing in my life. It still happens, but I don’t experience it as much because it’s not something I own anymore. It’s not the present part of my story.

Trust

As in trust yourself. That means your instincts, your process, your ability to handle whatever comes. If you don’t trust yourself, how do you know how it feels to trust other people?

Integrity

Align your actions with your values. Living authentically even when it’s hard. Do I show up for myself? How can you show up for others if you don’t for yourself?

When you put all three together something powerful happens. You become vulnerable, and that’s where real connection and growth live.

The hardest question I ask men

Something I wonder all the time is who’s telling us that we’re not supposed to share?

Who’s telling us that as a man, you’re not allowed to share, you have to hold it all in, you have to be the sole provider? The more I’ve done this work, the more I realize those ideas can get lost, and my life has been happier for it.

There’s this idea of toughness where it asks how much pressure can I load into this vessel, this body of mine, and carry it without exploding? For me, toughness is really about how uncomfortable I can get and work through it.

If you wanna be tough then being a man and talking about it is harder than holding it in. And tough guys are supposed to do the tough things.

The simple tools that changed my life

If there’s one thing I want you to take away from my story, it’s this: find professional support. Find a counsellor or therapist. These people work in this profession for a reason, and they’re there to support you.

The other simple tool we often forget is to breathe. I’ve completed an eight-month Breath Practitioner training program. Through there, I learned that when you’re experiencing the worst life tries to throw at you, stop and take a deep breath. A long breath in, long breath out. It allows you to be present.

I lead most of my talks with two minutes of silence. If you can allow yourself to experience this moment then you’re going to experience a lot more incredible ones, too.

What I’ve learned about love

For me to say “I love me”… that’s selfish. Right? You can’t talk about yourself. As a man you’re here to protect, you’re here to support. But if I’m not protecting and supporting myself, how the hell am I going to protect and support somebody else?

The more I’ve learned to love myself, the more I’ve been able to extend that love outward. I’m confident and loving within, and people respond to that. It doesn’t matter how you look or what your circumstances are. When you love yourself, you create safety for others.

I think I’m on this earth to create support, and a sense of belonging. To help people recognize that no matter who they are or what their outcomes are, they are worthy of love.

And love is always there. You just have to be willing to see it.

Want to learn more about Greg’s journey? Check out his children’s book, Stand Out: The True Story of Paralympic Gold Medallist Greg Stewart. You can also explore his mental health resources and coaching at The Mindfulete, or follow him on Instagram @greg_r_stewart. If   you’re looking for someone to inspire you, Greg’s got a heart the size of his build.