Big boys don’t cry, so I was told as a child. But has that always been the case? Nelson’s captains as they made their slow way towards the French fleet at Cape Trafalgar certainly didn’t think so. Many had wept when first shown the battle plan. Tears were not unmanly – far from it. Nelson’s captains were “men of feeling”, part of the culture of sensibility. And this wasn’t just an affectation of the gentry: jolly Jack Tar wasn’t always jolly, and wept buckets on numerous occasions captured in contemporary accounts.

Politicians such as Edmund Burke and Charles James Fox were also liable to burst into tears in moments of high parliamentary emotion, as shown in many satirical drawings. As Thomas Dixon describes in his splendid Weeping Britannia: Portrait of a Nation in Tears, it was not until the Victorian era that stoicism replaced sensibility, and the cult of the “stiff upper lip” was born. And it wasn’t even British – the phrase had been popular in the United States for several decades before it first made an appearance over here.

Now Princes William and Harry have called for the end of the British stiff upper lip culture. And there is much to welcome in this, even if theirs is by no means the first such call – John Lennon being an early advocate in 1970, reminding people that “men hurt” and the therapeutic value of tears. We know for example when dealing with grief and bereavement that repressing memories, not talking about the death of a loved one or avoiding reminders for a long period of time can sometimes prolong grief and its consequences and make things even more complex.

Our own research has shown that after traumatic tours of duty many people in the services find sharing difficult experiences with their mates, and to a lesser extent their families, immensely helpful. Likewise, the vast majority of those living in London during the 7 July 2005 terrorist bombs said that they dealt with their feelings of anxiety and upset by talking a great deal to friends, relatives and colleagues.

But equally, we have also shown that this should be done at a time and a place of your choosing, and preferably to someone who knows you, or is at least part of your social circle and network. At other times, most particularly in the immediate aftermath of trauma, exhortations that it is “better out than in”, as happened with the vogue for what was known as single-session psychological debriefing, not only failed to reduce distress; it often made it worse. Sometimes it is better to talk about family and football until the person is ready for something more difficult.

There is no correct way to deal with trauma and grief – and we should never forget that most people most of the time cope with horrendous adversity without any help beyond their own social networks. People are more resilient than professionals think.

Everybody deals with trauma and grief in their own way, and that’s how it should be. These are painful, sometimes gut-wrenchingly painful, experiences, but eventually it will happen to all, and we should not be, and are not, in the business of pathologising a normal experience. Talking to others at your own time and pace is one way to deal with this, but not the only one.

However, sometimes the pain never eases, and perhaps people will slip into depression, unusual behaviours, or alcohol. Then the evidence does show that it is good to talk, and continued avoidance or repression can just perpetuate suffering. And sometimes it is OK to talk to what Prince Harry called a “shrink”. I think I prefer myself to be called a psychiatrist, but frankly, it doesn’t really matter what we are called so long as people feel able to get the help they need.

So there can be no doubt that having such high-profile young figures as princes William and Harry talking about mental health and their experiences of it can only be a good thing. They belong to a generation that definitely “gets” mental health much more than my generation did. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with having that much parodied and perhaps slightly mythical “stiff upper lip”, but lips sometimes need to be unbuttoned, especially in times of trouble.

So when I saw Prince Harry come to King’s College London last month and interview three ex-service personnel who had experienced significant mental health problems as a result of their experiences of war, it was clear he was speaking from the heart as much as he was appealing to the head. He’s a powerful role model and has a reach that we can only dream of.

Similarly, his brother means what he says when he talks of ending the taboo around talking about important issues such as anxiety, saying how in the past that has been seen as a sign of “weakness”, and how touring schools with his wife Catherine has inspired them. He said that seeing children talk about some “quite difficult subjects in a really clear and emotionally articulate way” had given him hope that things were changing and “there is a generation coming up who find it normal to talk openly about their emotions”. Indeed so. No, it’s not rocket science. No, it won’t eradicate all mental disorders and no, it won’t work for everyone. But it’s a good place to start.