I Don’t Post Here Often (But I Needed To Today)

I don’t write on this blog very much.
This site has always been for me, not for traffic, not for followers, not for likes or shares.
I don’t post links on social media. I don’t expect anyone to read it.
I write to get thoughts out of my head and into the world, because sometimes just saying it silently isn’t enough.

June is Men’s Mental Health Month.
And that means something to me.

Some Days Are Just Heavy

I don’t talk about my feelings much.
Not because I’m ashamed of them, I’m not.
But because I don’t like burdening others with them.

That’s the thing about being a man, right?
We’re taught to carry. To hold it together. To be “fine.”
Even when we’re not.

I don’t really have anyone I talk to about this stuff.
No close friends.
Family? I keep it surface level.
My wife? She’s incredible, but she already carries enough. She shouldn’t have to carry me, too.

So I write.

Sometimes it’s at mullins.io, sometimes it’s on eninem.com, sometimes it’s here.
Sometimes it’s in a private doc I never publish.
But writing gives the pressure in my head somewhere to go.

When Your Body Breaks, Your Mind Feels It Too

The last couple of years haven’t exactly been a highlight reel.

I was diagnosed with colon cancer.
Had two surgeries to remove it.
Then dealt with two bowel obstructions just to keep things interesting.

When I first heard cancer, I didn’t know if I was going to die.
That uncertainty weighed on me heavier than anything I’d felt before.
It turned out to be manageable, “not too bad,” in relative terms. But that doesn’t erase the mental toll it took in the meantime.

Even after the cancer was gone, things didn’t go back to normal.
Some of the daily struggles stuck around.
Some of them always will.

That changes you, physically, mentally, emotionally.
There’s a quiet fear that lingers. A frustration with what used to be easy. A pressure to pretend like everything’s fine now that the big, scary part is “over.”

So I try not to dwell on the past.
I don’t camp out in the present either, because honestly, some days just aren’t that great.

Instead, I focus on the future.

That’s where the hope lives.
That’s where the work continues.

I tell myself:
Put on your big boy pants.
Push forward.
Never be satisfied.
Keep improving.
Be better, for myself, for my family, for the life I still get to live.

Loneliness Isn’t Always Obvious

You can be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.
You can be loved and still feel like no one really knows how heavy it all is.

That kind of loneliness hits different.
And men, especially, are trained to sit in that silence.
To bottle it up.
To pretend we’ve got it handled, even when we don’t.

But we don’t have to.

Not anymore.

Mental health is talked about a lot more now than it used to be.
There’s space for honesty.
There’s room for being not okay.

Therapy Isn’t for Me — But Something Is

Terapy isn't for me.
Maybe it’s the format. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s both.

But writing? Writing works.

Writing lets me process things without filtering them for someone else.
It lets me say what I need to say without needing to explain it.
It’s how I offload the mental garbage before it piles up too high.

You don’t need the same outlet I have, but you do need something.
Something that helps you not carry it all alone.

So Why Am I Posting This?

Because saying it out loud matters.
Even if no one reads it.
Even if it’s just me hitting “publish” and walking away.
It’s still real. It still counts.

If you’re a man holding it all in, please know you don’t have to.
Not today. Not anymore.

You can talk. You can write. You can rage-journal or scream into the void.
Whatever works. Just do something with it.

Because the weight doesn’t get lighter by pretending it’s not there.

This is how I carry mine.
And maybe, just maybe, it helps someone else carry theirs.