A Thread for His Thoughts

Rakhri, or Raksha Bandhan, is a festival many of us who grew up in South Asian households associated with family and tradition. It’s a day when sisters tie a sacred thread (rakhri) around their brothers’ wrists, symbolising love, protection, and lifelong support. In return, brothers offer gifts and a promise to safeguard their sisters. But what if, this year, we expanded the idea of protection? What if instead of only asking men to protect, we took this opportunity to protect them—especially their mental health?

The Quiet Crisis of Men’s Mental Health

As a South Asian Counselling Psychologist, I’ve witnessed a persistent, painful pattern: men struggling in silence. It’s not a lack of emotional depth or awareness that keeps them quiet—it’s conditioning. Many have been taught, both directly and implicitly, to suppress, deflect, or dismiss their feelings. In our communities, resilience is often celebrated as stoicism, while vulnerability is misread as weakness. As a result, too many men carry invisible emotional burdens, with few safe spaces to release or even acknowledge them. The numbers back this up. Globally, men die by suicide at significantly higher rates than women (World Health Organisation, 2021). Yet many men don’t seek therapeutic support until they reach a point of crisis—if they seek help at all. In South Asian cultures, the challenges are further intensified. The stigma surrounding mental health is connected to intergenerational trauma, rigid gender norms, and societal expectations that equate masculinity with emotional restraint. These factors create a perfect storm that isolates men from support at the very moment they need it most.

Rakhri and the Cultural Script of Masculinity

Rakhri reinforces a certain cultural script: the brother as the protector, the sister as the protected. While there’s undeniable tenderness in this ritual, there’s also a missed opportunity. Woven into that thread are expectations of stoicism, strength, and emotional invulnerability—expectations that harm men and distance them from their own emotional lives.

The result? Boys absorb these messages early. They grow up believing they must always be the strong one, the problem-solver, the steady anchor. Crying is a weakness. Doubt is shameful. Asking for help? Unthinkable. This narrative doesn’t just limit men—it harms them. It distances them from their own emotional worlds, disconnects them from vulnerability, and makes mental health struggles harder to name or address.

It’s time we reimagine what it means to be a “protector.” True strength isn’t about suppressing pain—it’s about facing it. Rakhri can still be a celebration of love and loyalty—but it can also be a starting point for something more. A conversation. A shift. A symbol not just of protection, but of shared emotional responsibility.

Rewriting the Narrative

What if Rakhri was more than a symbolic thread tied around a brother’s wrist? What if it evolved into a shared commitment—a mutual promise to protect not just each other’s lives, but each other’s well-being, including our emotional and mental health? Traditionally, Rakhri has focused on the brother's vow to safeguard his sister. But in today’s world, protection can—and should—mean so much more.

What if sisters also offered protection in the form of presence, listening, and emotional support?

What if we reframed strength to include softness, honesty, and vulnerability?

What if, this year, we went beyond tradition and asked our brothers, “How are you—really?”

What if we made space for their silence, their struggles, their stories?

What if we reminded them that seeking help is not weakness, but wisdom?

And what if we modelled that ourselves—by being open about our own emotions, our own healing, our own mental health journeys? Because when we lead with vulnerability, we invite others to do the same. We show that real strength lies not in hiding pain, but in sharing it. In holding space for each other’s hopes and fears.

To Our Brothers

You are allowed to feel.
You are allowed to struggle.
You are allowed to not have all the answers.

Your worth does not lie in how much you earn, how much you endure, or how little you express. Your value is rooted in your hopes, joy, doubts, and fears. Rakhri is a time for you to know that being protected isn’t a weakness. It is a part of being in a relationship—with your family, with your community, with yourself. Being held, supported, and seen is not emasculating—it’s necessary. It’s human. And if you’ve grown up in a world that didn’t make space for your mental health, it’s not your fault. But healing? That can be your responsibility—and your legacy.

This Rakhri, Let’s Tie More Than a Thread

Let’s bind the thread not just to tradition, but to transformation. Let’s wrap it around the generational patterns that taught men strength meant silence, and love meant stoicism. Let’s shift the script. Let’s be listeners. Let’s be allies. Let’s be safe spaces. Mental health is not a women’s issue. And protection is not a man’s burden.

So this Rakhri, let’s protect one another—not just from the outside world, but from the quiet, invisible battles that rage within. Let the thread remind us all: strength is shared. And healing is a right—not a reward. If your brother’s been carrying more than he lets on, maybe this is the moment to help him take that first step. A free consultation call could be a place to start.

Disclaimer: This blog is for informational purposes only and should not be interpreted as a substitute for professional advice.