“When the Game Stops Being Fun: A Personal Reflection on Mental Health, Masculinity, and Letting Go”

Fencing used to be something I did for fun. I remember the satisfaction of landing a clean touch, the way time would fly by when I was on the strip. But as time went on and I began competing more seriously, that joy slowly disappeared. The sport became a chore. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I dreaded the end of the school day because it meant three more hours of fencing—three hours of going through the motions, feeling like I was stuck. It took up so much of my time, yet I felt completely unfulfilled. By the time I quit fencing after my sophomore year, I finally felt free. I didn’t realize how much it had been weighing on me until I stepped away. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t constantly stressed, and I could breathe again.

It wasn’t until 9th grade that I even heard the term “mental health.” That’s crazy to me now because, looking back, my mental health in 8th grade was awful. I was constantly comparing myself to others, worrying about what people thought of me, and feeling like I didn’t matter. I was so excited to leave middle school behind because I had spent so much time trying to impress people who probably weren’t even paying attention. When I got to high school, my freshman year felt like a fresh start. I was happy for once. But the thing is—fresh starts don’t last forever. Over the summer and into 10th grade, the anxiety and pressure crept back in. I started comparing myself again, obsessing over how I was perceived by others, and feeling more alone than ever.

But I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t even know how. I was never taught how to deal with emotions, how to express what I was feeling, or even that it was okay to feel those things. As a guy, I thought my job was to be funny, to be confident, to keep things light. That’s what strength looked like. That’s what I saw in my peers. No one ever said it out loud, but the message was clear: suck it up, don’t cry, and never show weakness.

So I didn’t. I kept it all in. I tried to laugh through it. I tried to pretend I didn’t care.

But here’s the thing: pretending not to care has somehow become cool in our society—but that’s not how human beings are built. We do care. We’re meant to feel. We’re supposed to experience joy, pain, sadness, love—and yet, guys are told that we should numb ourselves to all of it. When we bottle things up, we don’t just lose touch with our emotions—we lose touch with ourselves. And over time, that takes a toll.

If someone had told me earlier that it was okay to not be okay, I think I would’ve been able to get through those tough moments a little better. I wouldn’t have felt so alone. I wouldn’t have doubted myself so much. I would’ve felt seen. Because the truth is, men do get lonely. We do feel sad. We do need support. And it doesn’t make us weak—it makes us human.

That’s why I joined Stronger Minds Stronger Men. I want to help build a world where guys feel comfortable being vulnerable. Where it’s okay to talk about the pressures of school, the anxiety of competition, or the weight of trying to “be a man” in a society that doesn’t give us space to be whole people. I want young men to know they’re not broken just because they feel things deeply. I want us to stop wearing masks and start having real conversations.

This isn’t just about fencing or school or friendships. It’s about shifting a culture that tells boys they have to be tough at all costs—and helping them realize that real strength comes from being honest, open, and unafraid to care.

We don’t have to keep pretending. We don’t have to keep quiet. We just have to start talking.