Noah Kahan has built a career out of saying the things men don’t often say. So when his Netflix documentary “Out of Body” dropped on April 13, I watched it twice—once as a fan, and once as a therapist.

Picture Noah Kahan in a baseball cap looking at a sunset superimposed over an image of him in a white shirt performing at Fenway Park

As a licensed mental health counselor at Thriveworks, I work with many teens and young adults navigating anxiety, depression, and the complicated work of figuring out who they are. And as a younger therapist, I usually find myself paying attention to how mental health is portrayed in the media, especially when it comes to men expressing their emotions (or, more often, being told not to).

To see an artist who I have come to love over the past few years reflect so openly about these themes felt significant and felt important. Here’s what stood out to me, and what I hope others take away from it.

Naming what’s actually going on is a big part of healing

One of the most striking parts of “Out of Body” is how openly Noah talks about his mental health. While his last album “Stick Season” centered on the idea of home (leaving and returning to it), this documentary explores the feeling of never quite feeling at home in your body, even when everything on the surface would suggest otherwise. Kahan talks about anxiety, depression, and feelings of hopelessness, but the part that really stuck with me was his discussion of disordered eating and body dysmorphia.

“Disordered eating is something I’ve experienced in ways my whole life but particularly my adult life, like the last four or five years,” Kahan says. “I don’t know what I look like. No clue. And I guess that’s what body dysmorphia is supposed to be: not having a correct image of who you are.”

Body dysmorphia is still widely misunderstood as something that primarily affects women—or at least as something men aren’t supposed to talk about. Watching Kahan give language to that distorted self-image, that shame and self-scrutiny, was genuinely refreshing to see. We see someone who doesn’t have all the answers but is actively taking steps to examine those feelings and work toward healing them.

“I’m not curing it, but I’m definitely walking near it, poking it with a stick, saying, ‘What are you?’, and telling it to come out of the dark and show itself. It feels nice. It feels like progress, which is cool,” he says.

In my work, helping clients name their experiences is one of the most powerful tools we have. When you can put words to what you’re feeling, you start to reduce its intensity. For many men, that step gets skipped entirely—either because no one modeled it or because the cost of doing it feels too high. My hope is that men watching this feel some permission to do the same, because that’s critical to start shifting from criticism to self-compassion.

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You can be incredibly successful and still struggle

Another powerful takeaway from the documentary is the coexistence of success and suffering. Kahan is objectively successful and he’s also wrestling with anxiety, self-doubt, body image, and what he describes as an immense fear of failure. “I’m so afraid of losing this special thing,” he says. “Like, it might go away.”

This matters, especially for men, because we’re often told that if you work hard and “make it,” you’ll feel better. But mental health doesn’t work that way. In my practice, I see this a lot, particularly with male clients in the military who are often sold the idea that they need to withhold their emotions, always come across as strong, and have it all figured out.

Another thing I loved about this documentary is that Kahan isn’t just an artist singing about these struggles, he’s actively working to reduce stigma and improve access to resources for people who relate. We see this with his nonprofit organization “The Busyhead Project.” Named after his debut album, it’s become a community and a shared language for people whose minds are constantly “on,” overthinking, spiraling, or carrying more than they let on. As a therapist, that kind of visibility and advocacy is incredibly powerful.

What I hope men take away from this documentary

My hope is that people (especially men) walk away from “Out of Body” with a slightly more expanded view of what it means to be emotionally well and honest about what you’re struggling with. I hope it encourages others to talk about their mental health and body image, and to reach out (to a friend, a family member, or a therapist) when things feel heavy.

What Kahan models through his music and this documentary (and, I hope, in his upcoming album) is vulnerability that’s grounded, aware, and human. It isn’t performative. It’s just him. And if more people, especially men, feel permission to engage with their own mental health in that way—to name it, share it, find some connection to it—that’s not a small thing.