A few years ago, I attended an HR conference and sat in on a session about burnout. As someone who speaks and writes about stress management for a living, I was excited to hear another perspective on the topic.

The speaker walked onto the stage, introduced herself, and, within the first few minutes, said something that upset me. She essentially told the men in the audience they could sit this one out because burnout primarily affects women.

Her argument was one I've heard many times before. Women are working full-time jobs while also carrying the mental load at home. Women are coordinating schedules, doing the laundry, cooking meals, helping with homework, managing school projects, driving children to activities, and keeping households running. Meanwhile, the implication was that men simply weren't carrying the same burden.

As I sat there listening, I found myself becoming increasingly uncomfortable and quite honestly angry.

Not because I don't believe women experience burnout. They absolutely do. I work with countless women who are stretched thin trying to balance careers, caregiving responsibilities, aging parents, households, and relationships.

What bothered me was the assumption that men aren't carrying heavy burdens of their own. As I looked around the room, I couldn't stop thinking about the men I know.

I thought about the male executives I've coached who carry the weight of entire organizations on their shoulders. I thought about the business owners who haven't taken a real vacation in years because they feel personally responsible for every employee's paycheck. I thought about the fathers I know who desperately want to be involved in their children's lives but constantly feel pulled between work obligations and family responsibilities.

Most of all, I thought about my husband.

When our son was born, something shifted in him. Like many fathers, he didn't just want to provide financially for his family. He wanted to be present. He wanted to help care for me. He wanted to change diapers, attend school events, read bedtime stories, and be involved in the everyday moments that make up a childhood.

At the time, he was working for a company that had a very different view of what a successful man should look like.

He showed up every day. He worked hard. He put in his hours and did what was expected of him. But unlike some of his colleagues, he wasn't interested in making work the center of his identity.

One day his boss pulled him aside and told him he needed to work more.

My husband explained that he was already doing his job and meeting expectations. If the company wanted to discuss additional responsibilities, they could certainly discuss additional compensation as well. But he also made it clear that he valued his work-life balance and wanted to be home with his family.

That's when his boss said something that has stuck with us ever since.

He told my husband that eventually he would have to choose between his career and his family.

Then he told stories about how he had chosen his career.

As he spoke, all I could think about was the fact that we knew his story. His daughters were grown. They barely spoke to him. His career had flourished, but many of his personal relationships had suffered.

When the conversation ended, my husband looked at him and essentially said, "I don't want that life."

He didn't want to sacrifice his family for his job.

He worked because he loved providing for his family. He didn't want to lose his family in the process.

Within a few months, he left the company.

Not because the work was difficult.

Not because the pay wasn't good.

Because he couldn't reconcile the culture.

The expectation wasn't simply that employees worked hard. The expectation was that work came first and everything else came second.

The more I've reflected on that experience, the more I've wondered whether we've unintentionally created a dangerous narrative around burnout. When we constantly talk about burnout as a women's issue, what message are we sending to men?

Research does show that women often report higher levels of burnout than men. A large national study of more than 4,000 workers found that women reported more emotional exhaustion and feelings of being overwhelmed by work.

But the researchers also found something interesting. The difference wasn't fully explained by childcare responsibilities, household chores, hours worked, or many of the factors people commonly assume are responsible.

Even more importantly, the researchers warned that viewing burnout as primarily a female experience could create unintended consequences. They noted that men may be less likely to seek help because expressing vulnerability conflicts with long-standing expectations about masculinity.

That observation has stayed with me.

Because when I look at the men I know, I don't see people who are immune to burnout.

I see people who have often been taught not to talk about it.

I see men who are struggling with financial pressure, career uncertainty, family responsibilities, aging parents, and rising expectations. I see fathers trying to be more involved at home than previous generations while simultaneously receiving messages that their primary value is still tied to their paycheck.

In many ways, today's men are trying to navigate competing expectations that previous generations never faced.

They're told to be providers.

They're told to be present fathers.

They're told to be emotionally available.

They're told to climb the corporate ladder.

They're told to prioritize family.

They're told to prioritize work.

And often they're criticized no matter which choice they make.

Maybe that's why so many men simply stop talking.

The problem is that burnout doesn't disappear when we ignore it.

It simply changes shape.

Research suggests that men often express burnout differently than women. While women may be more likely to report emotional exhaustion, men are more likely to withdraw, become cynical, emotionally detach, or disengage.

In other words, men don't always burn out loudly. Sometimes they burn out quietly.

And quiet burnout can be incredibly dangerous.

One of the worst things chronic stress does is isolate us from the very people who could help us through it. We pull away from friends. We become less engaged with our families. We stop talking about what we're experiencing.

Yet connection is one of the strongest protective factors we have against stress, depression, and hopelessness.

That's why I think Men's Mental Health Month matters.

Not because men have it harder than women.

Not because burnout is a competition.

But because every time we frame burnout as somebody else's problem, we make it harder for people to recognize it in themselves.

Women deserve support.

Men deserve support.

Parents deserve support.

Caregivers deserve support.

Human beings deserve support.

My hope is that we can move beyond the conversation of who has it worse and start focusing on something much more important.

How do we create workplaces, families, and communities where people feel safe admitting they're struggling before burnout becomes a crisis?

Because men don't need another message telling them to tough it out.

They need permission to be human.