“Wul Up Yuh Stress”: Jamaica’s Male Mental Health Crisis and the Silent Response of Women

In Jamaica, the phrase “wul up yuh stress” is more than a saying—it’s a mantra many men have grown up with since boyhood. From early on, they are taught to firm up, man up, and never show weakness, because talking too much about your feelings is considered soft. Vulnerability gets you mocked or ignored.

But if you listen closely—past the bravado, the drinking, and the rooms stale with silence—you’ll hear men quietly breaking under the weight. Suicide rates are higher among Jamaican men. Substance abuse is rampant. Violence is often the only language some feel permitted to speak.

So how do we begin to challenge the hegemonic ideals of masculinity that Jamaican men are socialised into—and continue to uphold daily? Especially when the impact isn’t just on men—it ripples throughout society. It shows up in the mental health support men hesitate to seek, in strained relationships, and in the systemic disadvantages passed on to women and children. Dismantling these ideals is critical to addressing gender inequality and the harmful stereotypes it feeds.

On a recent episode of the popular Jamaican podcast Toxic Talks, hosted by social media entrepreneur Jaii Frais, a female guest went viral after declaring that men should simply “wul up dem stress.” She explained that she didn’t want a man coming to her with his problems. In context, she felt men were becoming too emotionally expressive—too “soft.” Her advice? “Don’t complain to the female—complain to yuh mother, ah she have yuh.”

When asked whether her partner could come to her in a moment of emotional need, she doubled down—encouraging men to turn to prayer or family for support. She added that relationships are fundamentally about money, so to avoid stress from unmet expectations, men should only date women they can financially manage. Otherwise, stress is inevitable.

The clip circulated widely and quickly caused a stir. Public opinion was sharply divided. Some—mostly women—agreed with her. Others, especially men, saw her comments as confirmation that women are, in their words, “wicked”—that they’ve never truly cared about men’s feelings. She became a scapegoat for men heartbroken by women, who used her statement to justify distrust and emotional withdrawal in relationships. Some even called for the normalization of male infidelity, framing it as fair retaliation for women’s perceived lack of empathy.

These reactions—particularly in online manosphere spaces—seemed less about healing and more about punishing women. Reducing women’s ‘advantage’ in relationships became the focus. And yet, while condemning her for being unsympathetic, many of these men revealed how emotionally starved and hurt they truly were.

As I watched the discourse unfold, I started to understand both sides more clearly.

Firstly, the women are tired.

From outperforming men in education, to making major strides in entrepreneurship and climbing the career ladder, all while supporting and starting families—women are working the triple shift: domestic labour, paid work, and emotional caretaking. They are stretched thin. And understandably, their capacity for more can sometimes feel limited.

But this doesn’t mean women are intentionally insensitive to men’s issues—especially when they’re often part of the emotional labour themselves. In today’s society, women are both caretakers and breadwinners, performing emotional duties for themselves, their partners, and their children—while managing households and maintaining careers.

Still, men often retain greater freedom and social privilege. That imbalance—combined with experiences of neglect, infidelity, emotional unavailability, and sometimes violence—has taught some women to dismiss male vulnerability as a form of self-protection. That apathy doesn’t come from cruelty—it comes from exhaustion. It helps explain why a young woman might tell men to “wul up dem stress” and keep their pain to themselves.

But here’s the catch: sentiments like that keep the stigma alive. They keep Jamaican men silent. They keep them unwell. When male emotions are framed as weakness, help-seeking becomes shameful. And the cycle of resentment continues. Men begin to resent women for not being their safe space—even as they’re expected to show up as providers and protectors.

Yet we must also confront how men are socialised to feel entitled to women’s emotional labour. Many suppress their feelings for years, only to later expect someone—usually a woman—to absorb them. Even when there’s support or encouragement, they won’t go to therapy. They won’t open up to their bredrin. But they will offload everything onto their partners. That kind of emotional dumping breeds resentment too.

There needs to be a healthier balance. One where men hold space for their partner’s softness and emotional needs, while also feeling safe enough to express their own struggles—with intention and care. Outside of romantic relationships, men need to invest in deeper, emotionally honest friendships. They need to speak to their boys the way women speak to their girlfriends—for relief, perspective, and guidance in the messiness of life.

When the young woman said she didn’t want a man telling her his problems, it wasn’t just coldness—it was a boundary. A bold refusal to be the only outlet for a man’s lifelong emotional repression. It was self-preservation. Without the right emotional infrastructure, women become default therapists, and men remain emotionally isolated—dependent on love, but unable to fully participate in it. That’s not intimacy; it’s imbalance.

But it would be dishonest to pretend the story ends there.

Sometimes women have become so accustomed to emotional unavailability that when men do try to open up, no one knows what to do with it. Suspicion creeps in. Discomfort sets the tone. Dismissal feels like the only ‘logical’ solution. It reinforces the belief that it was never safe to be vulnerable in the first place.

And it exposes a deeper truth: our society still doesn’t see men as deserving of softness. Boys are taught that strength means silence, and that emotions—especially sadness, tenderness, fear—are dangerous. So when a man finally reaches a place of emotional honesty, it’s clumsy. It’s raw. Sometimes it’s even overwhelming.

We’ve all been conditioned by warped ideas of what masculinity should look like. So when women see softness in men—emotions outside of anger—they don’t always know what to do with it. Even when it’s healthy and sincere, it’s often misread. That’s why if we want healthier relationships, we all have to unlearn the habits we’ve inherited. Creating space for male vulnerability means women (and society at large) must learn to meet it not with suspicion, but with curiosity, compassion, and calm.

Softness isn’t gendered—it’s human.

That said, men still have a responsibility—to themselves and to others—to unlearn what no longer serves them. It’s not enough to expect women to translate, absorb, and forgive every emotion that never had a healthy outlet. Learning to talk is a choice. Learning to seek help is a better one.

“Wul up yuh stress” was never meant to be a life sentence.
Real strength is learning how to put the burden down—and unpack it.

Videos on the topic below!