Boomers and Gen X have failed us and taken away our voices when it comes to mental illness.
Those who struggle with mental illness have been told that resources exist, that our voices are important, that our feelings are valid—yet in the face of need, we are met with empty promises and subpar resources from our elders. While Gen Z and Millennials have fought for mental health to be taken seriously and have taken that education upon ourselves , there is still a lack of intentionality around the topic. With these generations still at the forefront of our society, social media platforms such as Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok have taken on this “all for show” mentality that results in hollow conversations around mental health. While the messages of being “loved” and “heard” are incredibly important, they alone do not lead to meaningful interventions for those that are struggling. This leads to more isolation for those with mental illness, allowing us all to hide behind Instagram posts and Googled “educations”—increasing the stigma and decreasing the possibility of a change that desperately needs to occur.
Finding my own voice in regards to my mental health has been a struggle surrounded by feelings of isolation, misunderstanding and shame due to the climate produced by the adults in my life. Additionally, the growing use of social media throughout my life has led to anxiety and depression. I have felt lied to and let down for reaching out to those that said “resources are available.” I have been made to believe that I am lacking true understanding of my feelings and that the mental illness that I have is simply a figment of my imagination. Thus, I’ve been led to turn even further inward to places that sent me further and further away from the health that I deserved.
I walked into my first therapist’s office as a sophmore in high school after finally opening up about the panic, depression and self-hatred that I had locked away in the deepest parts of myself. Having hit my rock bottom, I opened up to my mom about the pain that I had been feeling—which, after a few months of struggling, landed me in this office. As I sat face-to-face with my first therapist across the small, cozy room, I listened to my mom talk about her expectations of me attending therapy: how she hoped that we could get rid of my anxiety and that I would no longer struggle. I was reminded that I was being “allowed” to go to therapy to be “fixed” rather than to be heard. After a few sessions, it was clear that after being my mother’s therapist for 15 years, it was my mother’s narrative and emotions that were at the forefront of my care—that my growth in therapy was more about accommodating the fact that my mental health brought my family discomfort. This was the start of neglectful mental health care that sought to please all those around me and to make my life fit the narrative that they wrote. This has continued throughout my care.
When I moved to college and gained my own freedom, I wanted more for myself. Having come to SLU—which from day one preached a loving, supportive and intentional campus with resources like therapists, psychiatrists and campus ministry (all for free to students)—I was ready to see if there was another mental health story out there for me. After my first appointment, which included mostly history and background, I was told that although the counselor felt under-qualified to do anything of value for me, we could “try” and I could always be referred off-campus. I left feeling unseen, discouraged and anxious that I would not only have to find transportation off-campus, but tell my parents that I was once again in therapy. I decided that I would come again the following week and see if there was actually something that could be accomplished. I walked into my next appointment ready to see what she had to ask and if there was some progress that we could make. I was asked how my week was and when I responded that it was alright I was told—after only sitting in her office for five minutes—that I was “clearly okay and maybe we didn’t need to meet this week.” I walked out of her office in complete shock. Not only was I told the first time that my problems were “too much to handle” for this therapist, but after gathering the courage to come back again I was escorted out of her office when I did not come in with a discussion agenda. Once again, I was reminded of the show mentality that SLU was clearly embodying. They cared more about the appearance that they showed to the outside, providing inadequate resources that were different from what was advertised..
This was not the end of my story though. Although I grew more insecure, anxious and isolated by the response that I was receiving from my family, Instagram feed and university, I also grew angry—angry for myself and for others going through the same experience. When I walked out of that office at SLU after my second disappointing therapy experience, I promised myself I was going to find the healing that I desired.
Three years later, I have a great health care team. A therapist who has worked with me to reach my goals, to hear my narrative and to care about my feelings and no one else’s. I have a psychiatrist who cares about me as a whole and not just what he can fix with medication. Reaching this point was not easy and continues to be a challenge week-to-week. I had to learn to demand the care that I knew I needed. I had to fight with my parents over payment (even when my health insurance covered it, for the most part). I had to find rides for two years before I was able to get a car. I am surrounded by Instagram posts about the nature of anxiety and have had ignorant friends comment, “you’re so mentally stable, your life is so together.” I am living under gross generalizations leading me to question the validity of my feelings and to be even more alone.
Even three years later, I am shocked at the amount of determination it took to get here. I was shocked that even with health insurance, means of transportation and a family member with a background in psychology, it is this hard to get basic care. It made me start to think about those that are struggling around me, being drowned by the show mentality that has been created by generations before and perpetuated by social media. How are they getting the care that they deserve? Are they able to get to the free clinics or do they have a phone to call a hotline? Are they hiding behind a mask of stability due to fear of what others think of them? These questions keep me awake at night as I remember that although I had almost every resource in my hand, I am still struggling day in and day out to get the mental health services that should not be so hard to obtain. Although I am unsure what the answer is to end this mentality that is harming those with mental illness daily, it is clear that the answer is complex. Care should be individualized and made to match the needs of each and every person. While there are need-based mental health services that are targeted for those struggling, they are often difficult to obtain, and the issue still lies in the stigma that surrounds mental health. The complexity of the issue starts there, and as the first generation that has grown up with social media, we should be the ones taking the lead to dismantle this. We should no longer allow the show mentality to take over our Instagram feeds. Rather than posts that are hollow with simple quotes like “you are loved” and a list of resources that never seem to measure up, we need to be sharing our stories, working through and supporting each other’s vulnerability.
To take it even further, jump off of social media altogether, turn to the person next to you, smile and ask them, “How are you doing?”
And truly mean it.