You see it at the gym at 6 AM.
The guy who shows up every day, goes through his routine perfectly, but never seems present.
He’s checking boxes, not training.
I used to be that guy.
Every marker of “doing fine” checked off: Consistent workouts, decent job, and responding to texts within reasonable timeframes.
But underneath, I was running on autopilot, mistaking motion for progress.
Here’s what most people miss: Unhappiness in men rarely announces itself.
It hides behind “just tired” or “busy with work.”
After years of training teams and studying performance psychology, I’ve learned to spot the patterns.
These behaviors look like exhaustion, but they’re actually early warning systems.
1) They respond to “how are you?” the exact same way every time
“Good, busy.”
“Can’t complain.”
“Living the dream.”
These are deflection scripts.
When someone uses the identical phrase every single time, they’re not tired.
They’re avoiding the question entirely.
I caught myself doing this for six months straight.
Same two-word response to everyone.
A colleague finally called it out: “You’ve said ‘pretty good’ 47 times this quarter. Are you actually good, or is that just your auto-reply?”
The truth? Men who are unhappy develop these verbal shortcuts because actually answering would require acknowledging something’s off.
It’s easier to give everyone the same bland update than risk someone asking follow-up questions.
2) They cancel plans at the last minute, but never admit why
The cancellation itself isn’t the tell but, rather, the vague excuse combined with immediate rescheduling that never happens.
They want to want to go but, when the moment arrives, they can’t generate the energy for performance.
This is the gap between who they think they should be (social, engaged) and how they actually feel (disconnected, going through motions).
The last-minute cancel protects them from having to fake enthusiasm for three hours.
3) Their hobbies become obligations
Watch how they talk about things they supposedly enjoy, like “I should go fishing this weekend,” or “Need to get back to woodworking.”
The language shifts from want to should.
I watched this happen with my guitar.
Went from playing because I wanted to escape into music, to playing because I’d told people I was “a guitar player.”
The instrument became another performance metric instead of an outlet.
Men experiencing quiet unhappiness turn everything into productivity that even leisure becomes something to optimize or justify.
They lose the ability to do things purely for enjoyment.
4) They give advice they don’t follow
“You should set boundaries at work.”
“Don’t let them take advantage.”
“Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
They become excellent at diagnosing everyone else’s problems while ignoring their own identical issues.
It’s projection disguised as wisdom; this happens because giving advice feels like progress without requiring change.
They get the satisfaction of knowing the answer without the discomfort of implementing it.
Every piece of guidance they offer is actually a note to self they’re not reading.
5) They buy things to solve problems that aren’t really problems
New productivity app, better coffee maker, upgraded gym membership; the purchases always promise optimization, efficiency, or improvement.
But, here’s the pattern: They’re solving surface issues to avoid addressing the deeper disconnect.
The problem is that nothing feels satisfying anymore, so they keep tweaking the variables hoping something will click.
I spent two months researching standing desks thinking my back pain was ruining my focus.
The real issue? I was doing work that bored me to death.
My body was literally rejecting the situation.
6) They scroll through their phone while doing things they used to enjoy
Watching the game with phone in hand, cooking dinner while cycling through apps, at their kid’s soccer practice but mentally elsewhere; this is the inability to be present because being present means feeling the hollowness.
The phone becomes a buffer between them and the recognition that activities they once loved now feel empty.
The scrolling is about not being fully where they are.
7) They stop mentioning the future
Conversations become purely logistical.
Weekend plans, sure.
Next month’s trip, fine.
However, ask about next year or five years out, and you get vague non-answers.
Men who are secretly unhappy stop building future stories because they can’t picture themselves in them, just a blank where vision should be.
They’re managing today and tomorrow, but next year feels fictional.
Growing up in an environment where you handled things without complaining, I learned to view future planning as weakness.
If you’re tough enough, you just handle what comes.
8) They become excessively helpful to others
Always available to help with the move, first to volunteer for the weekend project, and constantly checking if everyone else is okay; this looks like kindness, but it’s often avoidance.
Fixing other people’s problems feels purposeful and provides clear success metrics.
Their own situation feels too complex or ambiguous to tackle, so they become everyone else’s solution guy.
I spent a year being everyone’s emergency contact while my own life slowly unraveled.
It’s easier to be needed than to need.
9) They laugh at things without finding them funny
Watch their eyes during a laugh.
There’s a delay, like they remembered they’re supposed to react.
They’re performing the social cue without experiencing the emotion.
This automatic laughter is muscle memory from when things were actually funny.
They’re going through the motions because that’s easier than explaining why nothing hits the same anymore.
10) They have perfect routines that feel like prison
Every morning identical, meal prep on Sundays, gym schedule locked in; from the outside, it looks like peak discipline.
However, from the inside, it’s a cage they built themselves.
The routine becomes religion because it’s the only thing providing structure when internal motivation disappears.
They’re afraid of what happens if they stop moving.
The schedule keeps them from having to make decisions or feel feelings.
Bottom line
These behaviors are coping mechanisms that worked until they didn’t.
The “just tired” excuse becomes a shield because admitting unhappiness feels like failure, especially when you can’t point to a specific cause.
The first step is recognizing these patterns without judgment.
Pick one behavior you recognize in yourself to notice when and why it happens.
Start small: Instead of “good, busy,” try “actually struggling with something today.”
Cancel plans honestly, and put the phone down during one activity you used to love.
The goal is breaking the autopilot cycle, one honest moment at a time.
The exhaustion everyone sees is from pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.
