The Heaviest Weight Is the One You Hide

Men are told to shut up and be strong. Don’t cry. Don’t talk. Don’t feel. Just lift more, work more, grind harder, and pretend everything’s fine.

But that’s bullshit. Weakness isn’t what kills us. Silence is.

The Weight You Can’t See

I’ve squatted 700, pulled 750, benched five plates. Numbers that move people’s eyebrows. But none of that weight compares to carrying trauma, depression, and anxiety alone.

For years, I thought staying silent was the “manly” thing to do. Keep it in, deal with it myself, don’t burden anyone else. But the truth is, silence almost killed me.

My panic attacks would stretch on for hours, leaving me gasping until I passed out. With a brain injury in the mix, sometimes the stress was so bad it triggered seizures. Nights weren’t any easier — I’d relive the worst moments of my past over and over, and when my mind got bored of those, it created darker versions. I’d fight in my sleep, thrash, swing at shadows, and wake up hurt.

The only reason I made it through those nights was the person next to me, reminding me it wasn’t real. Without her, I don’t know if I’d be here. That’s when I realized silence wasn’t strength at all — it was poison. That’s when I finally opened up, got diagnosed with PTSD, and started the long process of talking instead of burying. The night terrors are still here, but the panic attacks? Almost gone. That’s progress I never would’ve made alone.

When the Gym Was All I Had

When my marriage ended, my mental health hit bottom. I was suicidal. The police showed up at my door twice because my friends and therapist thought I was about to go through with it. And they weren’t wrong — I was ready to quit.

The only thing that kept me alive was the gym. I’d punish myself under the bar, sometimes training twice a day. It wasn’t healthy — it was another form of self-harm. But there was something about pushing through that physical pain that made the emotional pain easier to survive. If I didn’t have the iron then, I wouldn’t be writing this now.

The heaviest weight we carry won't be on our backs — it's the silence.

The Lie We’re Sold

It was my partner who finally pushed me to get help. She told me I had PTSD. I didn’t want to believe it, because I’d bought into the lie that “real men” just tough it out. I thought if I admitted what was happening inside, I’d be weak.

That’s the bastardized version of stoicism that gym bros love to quote online. Misusing Marcus Aurelius to justify disappearing, grinding harder, and suffering in silence. That’s not stoicism. That’s toxic garbage. And it almost cost me my life.

Living With Demons

PTSD, depression, anxiety — I carry all three. It’s heavier than any weight I’ve ever put on my back. Worse than every breakup, every loss, every physical injury.

It shows up randomly, for days or weeks at a time. I’ve tried a dozen different meds, and none of them work the way I want. I’ve learned that instead of fighting it endlessly and burning myself out, sometimes the only thing I can do is let it happen. Let the demon out, cry, write, talk, sit with it. Feel it instead of choking it down. Because bottling it up is like hanging onto a rope that’s tearing through your hands — the harder you grip, the more it rips you apart. Sometimes you survive by letting go.

Men, We Are the Problem

The hardest thing to admit is this: men are killing each other without even realizing it. We’re the ones who make other men feel weak for opening up. We’re the ones who laugh when someone shows emotion. We’re the ones who keep teaching boys that silence is strength.

And that silence is killing us. Every single minute, a man takes his own life. Not because he was weak, but because he thought he had to fight alone.

What Real Strength Looks Like

Strength isn’t about hiding pain. It’s about facing it. A 500lb squat doesn’t mean shit if your mind collapses under the weight of your own thoughts.

Real strength is balance. Body and mind, working together. A strong body without a strong mind is fragile. A strong mind without a strong body is incomplete.

That’s why I coach. Not just to help men put more weight on the bar, but to help them carry the weight life throws on their shoulders.

Final Word

Weakness won’t kill you. Silence will.

If you’re fighting battles inside your own head, stop burying them. Talk. Cry. Write. Train. Do something. Get it out.

The iron will always be there to test your body. But life will always be there to test your soul. And you don’t have to fight it alone.