Male infertility can affect mood, identity, confidence, relationships and a person’s sense of the future. Silence often makes the burden heavier. In this personal account, Ciaran describes years of shame, depression, anxiety and isolation before he began talking to professionals, friends and family. His story is not a diagnosis or a universal path, but it shows why men deserve emotional support as well as fertility treatment.

Need help now? If you or someone else is in immediate danger, call 999 or go to A&E. For urgent mental-health help in England that is not an emergency, use NHS 111 online or call 111 and select the mental-health option. Samaritans can be called free, day or night, on 116 123.

Why did I stay silent about infertility?

For me, the biggest reason I did not talk about my fertility struggles was that I felt utterly alone. I believed I was the only man facing this and that nobody could understand.

I was proud and ashamed to admit I had fertility problems. I lacked the confidence to ask for support. The silence did not protect me. Over time, it became depression, anxiety and a profound loneliness that took hold gradually.

Before my diagnosis, I had been very social. I spent time with friends at the rugby club and watched football at the pub. Then I became increasingly isolated because I felt unable to explain the battle going on inside me.

I could talk to my wife, but I held back even with her. She was having injections and procedures, and I told myself that adding my feelings would be selfish. I wanted to protect her. In reality, hiding everything left both of us without the chance to understand what was happening to me.

Why was it so hard to talk to friends?

I tried in a half-hearted way to open up to a couple of friends. When I revealed a little, the conversation often turned to humour. My mates did not know what to say, and neither did I.

Humour can create relief and connection, but it can also close the door when it arrives before a person has been heard. What I needed was not a perfect response. I needed somebody willing to stay with the discomfort and ask one more question.

At my lowest, I told a therapist that I felt as if I had been knocked off my feet and was lying face-down in the mud, unable to get up. I was gripped by fear and shame and convinced that lifting my head would expose me to ridicule.

Looking back, I can see that the people who loved me wanted to help. At the time, the fear felt more convincing than that evidence.

How did I react to the diagnosis?

One clinician said to me, “Ciaran, there’s nothing we can do for you. Have you ever taken steroids?” That exchange stayed with me. Whether the clinical situation was accurately explained or not, the way I heard the message was final and blaming.

I buried my head in the sand. I decided the doctors must be wrong. As my wife and I went through unsuccessful treatment cycles, denial became harder to maintain. When the truth finally broke through, I did not calmly accept it. I imploded.

My drive and motivation slowly disappeared. Outwardly, I could still look fine. Even people close to me did not understand the extent of my distress until I could no longer keep it contained.

There was a specific breaking point that I am not ready to describe publicly. That boundary matters. Sharing a story does not require sharing every detail.

What unhealthy coping did I use?

I drank too much to escape how I felt. I knew alcohol was not helping my mental or physical health, but knowing that was not enough to change the behaviour while I was still avoiding the underlying pain.

Other men may cope by working constantly, withdrawing, exercising compulsively, endlessly researching treatment, gambling, using drugs or directing anger at people around them. A coping strategy can make sense as an attempt to survive and still become harmful.

If you notice that you need more of something to numb yourself, or that it is damaging work, relationships, health or safety, tell a GP or mental-health professional. You do not have to solve the behaviour alone before you are “allowed” to ask for help.

What was the turning point?

The turning point was admitting that I could not continue as I was. I began with professional support and later opened up to friends and family.

The reactions I had feared rarely appeared. Most people were understanding. Talking did not change my fertility diagnosis or erase years of treatment, but it reduced the isolation and gave me a way to process one part at a time.

“Talking” is not one magic conversation. It can mean:

• Telling a GP that your mood has changed
• Booking a specialist fertility counsellor
• Saying to a partner, “I have been hiding how bad this feels”
• Asking one friend to listen without advice or jokes
• Joining a moderated peer group and listening at first
• Calling a helpline when you cannot see the next step

You can choose what to disclose and to whom. Start with the safest person or professional, not necessarily the person you have known longest.

Did becoming a father remove the trauma?

After an 11-year fertility journey, my wife and I welcomed our son in 2016 and our daughter in 2020 through ICSI. Becoming a father brought enormous joy, but it did not make the earlier trauma disappear overnight.

That can be difficult to admit. People may expect a baby to close the infertility chapter and replace every painful feeling with gratitude. Healing does not work on that schedule. Old emotions can return at milestones, during another attempt or when talking about how the children were conceived.

I am in a much better place than I was, largely because I began to talk and accept support. Better does not mean that the history has been erased.

What might indicate that you need more support?

Distress after a fertility diagnosis is understandable. Seek professional help when symptoms are persistent, worsening or affecting daily life, including:

• Low mood, anxiety or irritability on most days
• Withdrawal from people and activities
• Sleep or appetite changes
• Difficulty concentrating or working
• Increasing alcohol or drug use
• Panic, hopelessness or feeling trapped
• Anger that feels frightening or out of control
• Thoughts of self-harm or suicide

A GP can assess mental and physical health and discuss treatment. In England, many people can self-refer to NHS Talking Therapies. A fertility counsellor may offer specialist understanding of diagnosis, treatment, loss and identity. Coaching or peer support may help with practical goals and isolation, but they do not replace mental-health care when symptoms are severe.

Read Fertility Counselling or Coaching for Men to compare support options.

How can you begin a difficult conversation?

You do not need to explain the entire fertility history. Try one clear sentence:

• “I have not been coping as well as I look.”
• “The fertility diagnosis is affecting my mental health.”
• “I need you to listen without trying to fix it.”
• “I am drinking more because I do not want to feel this.”
• “I am having thoughts that scare me and I need help now.”

If speaking feels impossible, send the sentence in a message or show someone this page. You can also write down symptoms before a GP appointment.

What can friends and partners do?

If a man begins to talk:

• Take him seriously, even if he usually jokes
• Ask whether he wants listening, practical help or advice
• Do not minimise the diagnosis or promise treatment will work
• Avoid blaming stress, lifestyle or masculinity
• Check in again rather than treating it as one conversation
• Encourage professional help when daily life is affected
• Ask directly about safety if you are concerned

If somebody may be at immediate risk, do not leave them alone while you seek urgent help. Call emergency services when necessary.

Why publish this story?

Male infertility is common enough that no man should have to assume he is the only one, yet many services and conversations still centre the physical treatment while men’s mental health goes unasked about.

I am sharing this because silence nearly consumed me. The message is not that talking makes infertility easy or that every man should disclose publicly. It is that shame grows in isolation and support can begin before a person reaches rock bottom.

If you recognise yourself here, ask: Who is the safest person I can tell today?

Editorial safeguards before publication

This is a sensitive first-person account. Before publishing the revised version:

• Confirm whether the author’s correct surname is Harrington or Hannington and use it consistently
• Obtain Ciaran’s approval for the substantive edit and all quotations
• Keep the undisclosed breaking point private unless he actively chooses otherwise
• Verify the dates, ICSI history and wording of the clinician exchange
• Do not add a suicide-related detail for dramatic effect or SEO
• Add the urgent-support box near the top, not only at the end
• Replace the old title if Ciaran agrees; “crazy” can stigmatise mental ill-health and does not match the likely search intent

The most important thing to remember

You can look as if you are coping and still need help. Fertility treatment may address the route to pregnancy while leaving grief, shame or depression untreated. Tell one safe person, ask for qualified support and use urgent services if you feel unsafe. You are not the diagnosis, and you do not have to carry it alone.

Join The Male Fertility Hub community for moderated peer connection.

Sources and support

• NHS: Urgent support for mental health
  https://www.nhs.uk/every-mind-matters/urgent-support/
• NHS: Find NHS Talking Therapies services
  https://www.nhs.uk/service-search/mental-health/find-an-NHS-talking-therapies-service/
• Samaritans: Call 116 123
  https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/contact-samaritan/talk-us-phone/
• British Infertility Counselling Association
  https://www.bica.net/
• Kiani Z, et al. Prevalence of anxiety symptoms in infertile men: systematic review and meta-analysis
  https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/38971742/

This article is a personal account and general information, not a diagnosis or substitute for mental-health or medical care.