Hello and welcome back to The Therapist Diaries,
Three weeks into Suicide Prevention Month and it’s time to talk about the things that make us really uncomfortable.
All too often, find myself sitting in hospital assessments with teens whose pain is just beneath the surface, hidden in plain sight. I talk to parents who say, “I had no idea it was this bad,” teachers who admit they don’t know how to bring it up, and young people who have quietly decided the world might be better off without them. The truth is, for all the awareness campaigns and hashtags, we’re still not talking about this enough. Not where it matters. Not soon enough.
The faces change, but the stories sound familiar. A 15-year-old who’s self-harming in secret because it’s the only way she feels anything. A high-achieving student who tells me he’s exhausted from pretending everything is fine. A college freshman who smiles through panic attacks, too afraid to let her parents know how bad it’s gotten because she doesn’t dare disappoint them after the amount of money they spent… or borrowed… to secure her a place in the classroom. These aren’t rare cases. They’re part of a growing mental health crisis that’s been building quietly in the lives of young people, until it breaks through in ER visits, dropped-out classes, and sometimes, tragically, in final goodbyes.
What we’re seeing isn’t just a wave of sadness or teenage angst, it’s a response to pressure. And it’s time we acknowledge the unprecedented weight today’s teens are carrying. They’re growing up in a world that moves at lightning speed, where identity, success, appearance, and social worth are constantly judged in real time. Social media, while often dismissed as frivolous, has become the main arena where many teens live, and the pressure to curate perfection, avoid embarrassment, and stay relevant is exhausting. Add to that the reality of climate anxiety, mass shootings, academic competition, the rising cost of living, political instability, and the expectation to “figure out” their future before they’re even out of high school, how could that not impact their mental health?
And then, into that already heavy space, we have public figures like Boris Johnson calling young people “wet” for being emotionally vulnerable or struggling. Let me be perfectly clear as a therapist: this kind of rhetoric is not just dismissive, it’s dangerous. When adults in positions of power mock emotional honesty or equate mental health struggles such as anxiety, with weakness, it reinforces the stigma that keeps teens silent. It tells them, “If you feel too much, if you’re overwhelmed, if you need help then you’re soft.” That narrative is how we lose connection with kids. That’s how we teach them to bury their pain, to toughen up, to smile when they’re breaking down inside.
And let’s also call it what it is: hypocritical. These same generations that expect teens to be resilient in the face of constant chaos were never asked to manage global exposure, cyberbullying, or climate collapse before they were legally allowed to vote. Today’s teens are not weaker. They are navigating a world with fewer boundaries, faster consequences, and more complex identities. What they need isn’t ridicule, they need recognition. Respect. Support. Empathy. And access to real help.
Still, many of them won’t get it. Between stigma, lack of access, and adults who are unequipped or unwilling to talk about mental health, too many teens are falling through the cracks. Mental health care is still a privilege determined by income, geography, and insurance coverage. Rural communities remain underserved. Marginalized teens, especially BIPOC, LGBTQ+, and neurodivergent youth, face higher risks and fewer supports. And even when help is available, it’s often delayed, underfunded, or wrapped in red tape.
So what do we do?
I’ve been working as part of youth mental health crisis teams for over three years and believe me, there’s no perfect way to handle the situation but there are some insights I’ve picked up along the way.
If you’re a parent, start at home. Make emotions safe. Normalize saying, “I don’t feel okay.” Listen more than you lecture. Model asking for help. If your child tells you they’re struggling, don’t panic. Don’t punish them for their honesty. Say thank you. Let them lead the conversation. Then, get help together. Admit that you don’t even know where to start, let them see you search for services, show them your frustration with systems, be open and honest because then they will be too. Start small, a quick check in before and after school; let them know if you notice mood changes or them isolating and keep inviting them to the table even when they yell and scream and slam the door in your face. Remember, it’s probably not personal, when in crisis people are often cruelest to the people they’re closest too because they want to hide their struggle from them. Let your kids know it’s ok to make mistakes, to fail and try again, it’s okay to not be perfect, it’s never too late and there’s always a solution even if they can’t think of one right now.
If you’re in a school, push for more than basic check list and textbook service. You should want and demand real training and real staffing. Make mental health literacy part of your curriculum. A one-hour assembly won’t solve this, but daily, intentional change in culture might. Create classrooms where it’s okay to not be okay, where vulnerability is not punished but supported. Make sure your mental health is in check too, if your students feel that you’re stressed out then they sure aren’t going to approach you with their problems. Remember YOU are a part of the safe space they need.
And if you’re in a position of leadership, government, media, policy, do better. Fund youth mental health like lives depend on it, because they do. End policies that criminalize mental illness. Expand access to telehealth. Hire school counselors, not just security guards. And please, for the love of all of our children, stop mocking young people for feeling deeply. They are not the problem. They are the reason we need solutions.
To the teens and young adults: You are not too much. Your emotions are not a flaw. Your mind is incredibly intelligent and it gives you signs when you’re not feeling well , signs that are worth listening to. There is no shame in needing help, in feeling overwhelmed, or in asking someone to stay when you can’t hold yourself up anymore. There are crisis lines, text lines, therapists, teachers, friends, and strangers who care more than you know. And I promise you: this moment isn’t forever. Pain changes. So does life. And you deserve to be here long enough to see that.
This Suicide Prevention Month, I don’t want us to just raise awareness. I want us to change the conversation. To look beyond the numbers and into the lives behind them. To recognize that the world we’ve built is hard for young people to grow up in, and that we have a responsibility to soften that burden wherever we can. It’s time to stop asking kids to be tougher. It’s time we start making the world safer for them to be human.
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