Don’t Bleed. Build.

Don’t Bleed. Build.

By Muzi Mthethwa

There’s an old African proverb that says: Indoda ayikhali  A man doesn’t cry.

Generations of men were raised under this weighty banner. Crying was seen as weakness. Vulnerability, a threat to masculinity. And so, boys became men who never learned to speak their pain, who never allowed themselves the healing power of tears. Instead, they bled. Quietly. Internally. Constantly.

But here’s the danger: bleeding doesn’t stop on its own. It seeps. It spills. And eventually, it stains.

The Silent Epidemic of Bleeding Men

Bleeding men often become the source of pain for others. They show up in society as aggressive, angry, withdrawn, or overbearing. In the boardroom, on the streets, in church, or at home they carry unresolved trauma camouflaged as strength.

One of the deepest cuts in a man’s soul comes from expectations he’s too afraid to challenge. Take, for instance, the faithful man who’s shamed for his loyalty. He is mocked by peers who say, “Why stay faithful? There are so many women out there.” In his own home, he may feel neglected or disrespected. So he bleeds because he is trying to hold together what society says he should abandon. But no one sees this kind of bleeding. It’s the kind that drowns silently.

And tragically, the next in line to inherit these wounds are often the children.

When a man doesn’t heal, he disciplines not from wisdom but from his own wounding. He raises his children with the same iron fists that were once used on him. His love is laced with pain, his tone harsh, his presence unpredictable. Not because he doesn’t care. But because he never learned to process his pain.

Blood Stains Are Permanent

The thing about bleeding is—it leaves stains. And no matter how deeply you bury it, your pain will find a place to echo. Often, that echo lives on in your children. In your relationships. In your legacy.

But what if there was another way?

What if instead of bleeding, you chose to build?

Build. Don’t Bleed.

Build because your pain doesn’t have to end in destruction.

Build because you’ve survived too much not to turn it into something meaningful.

Build because your story could be the very thing that saves another man’s life.

Use your broken pieces as bricks. Stack them. Frame them. Shape them into a stronghold your children can find shelter in. Let the things that hurt you become the very things that heal someone else.

Build by mentoring a younger man.

Build by listening really listening to your child.

Build by speaking up about your depression, your anxiety, your fears.

Build by choosing therapy over silence.

Build by loving, even when it’s hard.

Build by being present, not perfect.

Because when men come together, bringing their bricks of pain, experience, and wisdom, they can build a wall so high, so strong, that no wound can breach it. That wall becomes legacy. It becomes defense. It becomes hope.

This Father’s Day, Choose to Build

To every father, every brother, every son: your silence does not make you stronger. Your tears do not make you weak. What makes you strong is what you choose to do with your pain.

Don’t bleed into the next generation. Build a future that ends the cycle.

Because in the end, the world doesn’t just need men who survived. It needs men who built.

Happy Father’s Day.