How Did We Get Here?
- Brainz Magazine
- May 27
- 10 min read
Carlos Wallace is a bestselling author, motivational speaker, and filmmaker, as well as the CEO of Sol-Caritas. A U.S. Navy veteran, he empowers communities nationwide through entertainment, education, and advocacy.
This has been a topic that I’ve talked about many times, but never really explored publicly. Maybe once in a while, when I’m talking to some of my closest friends, but never out loud.
Until now.
I’ve met a lot of single brothers in my life. Good men. Men who own homes, invest in land, build stability, and give back to their communities in meaningful ways. And yet, not once have I heard any of them describe themselves as a “strong, independent man.” In the world I know, that’s simply called being a man. It’s not headline-worthy, it’s expected. It’s not celebrated, it’s assumed.
And that’s what baffles me. Seriously.
Because when a woman achieves these very same things, society often responds with applause, admiration, and a crown of superiority. She’s hailed as powerful, self-sufficient, someone who doesn’t need anyone. And to be clear, that recognition isn’t wrong. Women who overcome challenges, rise through adversity, and build greatness with their own hands deserve to be celebrated. If a woman wants to stand tall in her independence and walk with the weight of her worth, I respect that deeply. She earned it.
Still, I find myself wondering: why isn’t the same energy reserved for men who do the work quietly, consistently, without fanfare? Why are men conditioned to see responsibility as a duty, while women are praised for it as a triumph?
Before I go any further, let me clarify for the folks ready to ball their fists. This isn’t a men vs. women debate. I am posing these questions, valid observations, to make a point I believe is underrated. Look, I’m a proud girl dad. I don’t raise my daughters to battle, I raise them to balance. I want them to know their strength is powerful, but so is understanding. To be honest, I’m just trying to understand the world they’re stepping into, and why the rules of respect sometimes seem written in invisible ink.
For those who may be wondering where I am going with this (because I understand it may ruffle some feathers), there is a catalyst for this blog.
I just saw a video on social media that made me pause. I mean, it really hit home, hard.
I watched a brother break down. I mean a grown man, losing it, an emotional wreck. By looking at him, physically, he appeared to be a strong dude, and he looked solid. Yet, as he expressed himself, that tough exterior evaporated as the tears poured down.
As he shared what he was going through, what he was feeling, I felt every single word. He said, “When the kids are down, Dad lifts them up. When Mom is down, Dad lifts her up. But who lifts up Dad?” He wasn’t crying for sympathy. He wasn’t fishing for praise. He was crying out from a place of quiet pain that too many men carry in silence. And that hit me hard.
Then he dropped another truth bomb: “When the child’s mother is short on money, people say the father should step up. But when the father is short, people say he should get a better job or two.”
That kind of double standard doesn’t just sting, it quietly suffocates. I won’t lie. I appreciated that he was willing to be that vulnerable, because many men hold that kind of emotion inside, until one day, it made me think deeper about writing this post; this idea of independence and recognition. Because here was a man who (it appears based on his testimony) had done everything right provider, protector, present and still felt invisible. Still felt replaceable. And if he dared to say he was tired? Weak. If he asked for help? Complainer.
Let’s take it a step further.
Since retiring from Union Pacific, I’ve had the privilege of serving as a guest lecturer at colleges across the country. Recently, while speaking at Prairie View A&M University, I sat in on a lecture by Guest Lecturer Princella Clark. She said something that gave voice to a problem I’ve felt for years, but never had the data to fully explain.
She shared that in psychology programs, women outnumber men by nearly 80%. And in the broader mental health field, about 70-76% of therapists are women. Then she said something that still echoes in my mind: “Is it any wonder so many men feel unseen and misunderstood in therapy?”
She didn’t stop there. She followed it with a truth that cuts even deeper: “Is it any wonder suicide rates among men are so high?”
I sat there taking it all in. And when I looked up the numbers later, they backed her up. In 2022, the suicide rate for men was 23 per 100,000 people. For women, it was 5.9. Nearly four times higher. Between 2021 and 2022, male suicides rose by 2%. Female suicides rose by 4%. But the gap remains wide and dangerously persistent.
We tell men to open up. We urge them to seek help. But who’s actually listening? Who’s building spaces where they feel safe enough to speak? There are more mental health campaigns now than ever before, billboards, ads, and hashtags. But the men who need them most? They are still not showing up. Maybe it’s because the system wasn’t built with them in mind. Or maybe, after years of seeing their vulnerability twisted, ignored, or weaponized, they’ve stopped trusting it altogether.
And it’s not just emotional; it’s systemic.
Take Todd and Julie Chrisley, the same crime, the same case. Todd got 12 years. Julie got 7. Or Jesse Jackson Jr. and his wife, Sandi Jackson. He got 30 months in federal prison. She got 12 and they served their time separately.
I'm not saying there isn’t nuance. There always is. But the optics matter. The patterns matter. And as someone who mentors young men every day, I see the toll it takes. We are raising a generation of men who are desperate to be heard but too tired, too skeptical, or too broken to try one more time.
If we’re serious about healing, serious about change, we can't just tell men to "speak up." We have to be ready to hear them. Really hear them.
Switching gears a bit here, but definitely part and parcel of the same emotional sentiment, I saw a post the other day that had me laughing (at first). Then the more I considered the content, it got me thinking. The post read: “Isn’t it funny how a man has to be 6 feet tall with a 6-figure income just to date an average woman with two kids?” Now, again, before anyone gets offended or loses sight of the purpose of this blog, relax. I took the post to be lighthearted humor; however, beneath the joke was a quiet commentary on something deeper: self-worth, expectations, and the boldness of saying no.
What really stood out? That brother didn’t defend his standards. Didn’t issue a disclaimer. He just stood in his truth. No apologies. Imagine that.
We don’t talk enough about how men are allowed to have preferences without being painted as problematic. Or how choosing not to settle isn’t arrogance, it’s self-awareness. Women are rightfully praised when they set high standards, as they should be. But when a man does it? Suddenly, he’s too picky. Too proud. Unrealistic.
And since we’re unpacking expectations (I figure I might as well address every elephant in the room with this blog), can we talk about this idea that an engagement ring should cost two months’ salary? Who came up with that math? Seriously. There was a time in my life when two months of my salary could’ve covered college tuition twice. Now tell me, what’s more valuable in the long run: a shiny rock or a foundation for the future?
Look, I’m not against grand gestures. I believe in love, romance, and investing in your partner. But we’ve got to stop attaching a price tag to commitment. Because when did symbolism become more important than substance? Unfortunately, we live in a world where men are told to prove they’re worthy financially, physically, and emotionally before they even earn a conversation. And I’m just here asking, when do we stop measuring love with dollar signs and start recognizing value in character, consistency, and care? Because I promise you, those things shine brighter than any diamond ever could.
Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Wallace has a beautiful ring. But it’s not about how many carats or the price tag. It’s custom-made from the diamonds in my late mother’s wedding ring and tennis bracelet. It has meaning. It’s a legacy. So when people make the ring the focus, it almost feels offensive, especially to me. To her credit, she understands that. She respects it. She’s never measured her worth by the weight of the jewelry on her hand; she knows her value goes far beyond that. And she cherishes that ring more than even I would have ever imagined, never missing an opportunity to say, “These are my mother-in-law’s diamonds.” That means a lot to me.
She offered to buy me a nice watch as a wedding gift, something thoughtful, timeless, and personal. Not, as my favorite comedian, Dave Lawson, once said, a “flat washer” disguised as a men’s wedding band (I swear, that line still gets me). But honestly, all jokes aside, I married an outlier. Wanting me to have a ring just as valuable as she does, that’s a big deal. It shows she believes I deserve as good as I give. That’s deep. She gets it. Or at the very least, she tries to.
I appreciate that she listens. She considers the pressure, the silent expectations men carry that don’t get talked about enough. And there’s something special about a woman who sees the weight her man is lifting and doesn’t just applaud from the sidelines, but actually acknowledges it. That’s rare.
So while the world argues over ring sizes, salary brackets, and social status, I’m grateful for a partner who values meaning over material; who knows that legacy isn’t built on labels, but on love, loyalty, and the sacrifices no one sees.
And maybe that’s the bigger point, I’m not here knocking anyone’s standards. I’m just saying, sometimes the loudest flex is simply quiet understanding. That’s priceless.
So, how did we get here? Yep, like I said earlier, I’m lining up all the elephants. We are going to talk about all the tough issues that often lead to heated debates in this one!
I’ve got some ideas.
Let’s start with holidays. Take Valentine’s Day, for instance. It wasn’t always a women’s holiday. It was meant for lovers. Both sides. A celebration of mutual affection. But somewhere along the line, the weight shifted. It landed squarely on the shoulders of men. Society handed us the checklist: flowers, fine dining, grand gestures. Men initiate. Men spend. Men prove.
We forget that Valentine’s Day has ancient roots, festivals like Lupercalia, and later, the feast of St. Valentine. The origins were gritty, spiritual, even communal. But what we’ve ended up with is something commercialized, gendered, and heavy with expectations. Somewhere along the way, romance got replaced with performance. And that performance? Almost always demands center stage from the man.
And while we’re on this narrow path, let’s be honest, Mother’s Day gets the parades, the brunches, the floral arrangements that deserve their own zip code. Father’s Day? Usually, it’s giving a group text and a tie. I have to add, in our family, the moms and the kids make that day special, treating the dads to a nice lunch or dinner, and really acknowledging us in grand style. But for the most part, the marketing is more geared to the moms. But it runs deeper than that. Society has long upheld the mother-child bond. And truthfully, mothers are phenomenal. That love? That grind? Unmatched. However, it is possible to acknowledge that without minimizing the importance of fatherhood.
Bottom line, we can praise a woman’s strength without diminishing a man’s value. This isn’t about keeping score. It’s about keeping balance. Because real balance doesn’t ask one side to dim so the other can shine, it holds space for both. It says: your light matters, too. And as men, even though we are coming to these realizations, we must never deny our women their voice, or make them feel they cannot express themselves lest they appear selfish or self-serving. It’s not a competition. Mutual respect and understanding mean we all win.
As I think back to the video that inspired this blog, I want to end with this:
Men don’t cry often. But when they (we) do, it’s not a performance. It’s not for show. It’s a breach in the dam, years of grief, pressure, confusion, and exhaustion finally finding one crack to escape. And we’ve got to stop sealing that crack with silence. We need space to feel, to speak, to be heard. Without judgment. Without shame. Without somebody rushing to “fix” us before they even understand us. Because nobody, man, woman, or otherwise, makes it through this life without someone to lean on.
I don’t want to bury another brother who felt alone in a room full of people. I don’t want to scroll past another headline about a man who didn’t think he could reach out. I don’t want another young man, or a grown man, believing silence is his only option. We’ve got to go deeper. Past the sports talk. Past the highlight reels. Past the barbershop debates. We’ve got to ask the real questions and be ready to sit with the real answers.
Say, "I love you,” and mean it. Say, "I see you,” and prove it. Say, "You matter,” and show it. I do now. With my brothers. With my friends. Every time we hang up. At first, it felt awkward. Now? It feels necessary. Sometimes, it feels like the only thing holding us together.
So, I’ll ask again, how did we get here? And maybe the more important question, how do we move forward?
I’m definitely open to an exchange of ideas.
Read more from Carlos Wallace
Carlos Wallace, President & CEO | Author | Filmmaker | Motivational Speaker
Carlos Wallace is a bestselling author, motivational speaker, and filmmaker who transforms real-life experiences into powerful stories that inspire change. A U.S. Navy veteran and former union leader, he brings a unique perspective on perseverance, purpose, and leadership. As CEO of Sol-Caritas, he produces socially conscious entertainment that uplifts communities. Through his books, films, and nationwide speaking tours, Wallace challenges audiences to live with intention and impact. His work bridges the gap between motivation and action, helping others turn adversity into an advantage.
