There’s a certain kind of silence that sits heavy in a man’s chest. The kind that builds over years — decades, sometimes — of swallowing pain, hiding fear, and convincing yourself that “this is just how life is.” And then, one night, you find yourself in a softly lit room with a woman who makes you feel, for the first time in forever, like you can take that armour off.
It happens more than people think. Men confiding in working ladies about their marriages. About their loneliness. About the way they don’t feel seen anymore and I want to talk about that. Because there’s something deeply human in it. Something sad. Something beautiful.
I’ve been around long enough to understand this: men rarely talk because they don’t know how.
We’ve been taught since boyhood to “suck it up,” to be useful, to be stoic. When life cuts us open, we slap duct tape over the wound and call it “being strong.” But then you walk into her space. And she’s not judging you. She’s not rolling her eyes or telling you to “man up.” She listens. She laughs at your awkward jokes. She asks questions about you — not the version of you that shows up at work or at home, but the real you. And for a moment, that silence in your chest cracks open, and the words start spilling out.
Now, on the outside? She’s kind. She’ll nod. She’ll reassure you. Maybe she’ll touch your hand or smile gently, and for that moment, you’ll feel lighter. But on the inside? That’s more complicated.
I’ve spoken with enough working ladies to know: some don’t mind when men open up. In fact, some welcome it. They understand that, for many men, this is the only safe space they have to let it out.
But others — and they’ve said this with honesty — find it heavy. Not because they don’t care, but because it’s a lot to carry. They’re balancing your pain with their own boundaries, their own emotional well-being.
One working lady told me: “I can hold a man’s hand through his storm. But I can’t be the one to stop the rain. That’s not my role. And if I try, it breaks me.” That stuck with me
The compassion they show is real. Don’t ever think it isn’t. But there’s a line. They’re not therapists. They’re not your wife. They’re not there to absorb every unspoken wound you’ve been hiding for years. And here’s the thing — when you pour it all out in that one hour, you’re not just sharing. You’re offloading. And as safe as it feels in that moment, it doesn’t heal you. It just leaves you lighter for a little while… until the silence fills back up again.
In my years of talking with working ladies, I’ve heard wisdom that could fill books.
One said: “When a man tells me about his wife, I listen. But I always wonder — what would happen if he told her? If he found the courage to share that pain where it really matters?”
Another told me: “Sometimes, I can see the little boy in them. Scared. Lonely. Just needing to be told they matter. And I give them that. But I also hope they go home and find it in themselves, too.”
That — to me — is profound.
Here’s what I believe: yes, you can. But do it with care. Confide, but don’t offload. Share your truth, but don’t make her the vessel for your grief. Let her compassion be a balm, not a replacement for the deeper work you need to do.
If your marriage feels like it’s collapsing under you? See a counsellor. Join a men’s circle. Talk to a mate who won’t just hand you another beer and change the subject.
And most importantly — start talking to her. The woman you married. It might be the hardest thing you ever do, but it might also be the thing that saves you both.
To the women reading this — especially the working ladies:
And to the men:
Because somewhere in these conversations lies the wisdom we’re all searching for — men learning to be braver with their pain, and women helping them find their way without carrying the whole load themselves.
If you’ve ever been brave enough to look into someone’s eyes and say, “This is where I hurt,” — you’re already doing the work. Don’t stop there.
Author: Master Yoda
For: Langtrees.com
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