Mental Health: The Burden of Stigma in Kashmir
As someone who usually writes about economics, this reflection may seem like a departure from my usual terrain. Yet, the more I have engaged with the world around me, the more I have come to realize that no economic model fully captures the cost of what is left unspoken in a society. Sometimes, the most pressing issues are not the ones reflected in growth charts or policy documents, but the ones hidden in conversations we avoid. Mental health in Kashmir is one such issue: quietly pervasive, deeply impactful, and yet cloaked in stigma so thick that even acknowledging one’s own struggle feels like a transgression.
Kashmir is not unfamiliar with stressors—political, social, economic, and historical. For decades, life here has been shaped by a complex interplay of turmoil, uncertainty, unemployment, shifting social structures, and a sense of perpetual instability. One does not need to be a mental health professional to understand that prolonged exposure to such conditions inevitably leaves a psychological imprint. What is more puzzling, however, is the collective reluctance to talk about it. The silence around mental health does not simply exist. It is actively sustained by cultural norms, social expectations, and the fear of being perceived as “weak” or “unstable.”
When I first decided to seek therapy myself, I was driven not by any dramatic breakdown but by a simple desire to understand my mind better. It was an act of self-responsibility and not self-indulgence. Yet the reactions I encountered—from raised eyebrows to gently patronizing concern—revealed the gap between private struggles and public acceptance. The moment you mention therapy, it feels as though people begin to view you through a slightly altered lens. For them, therapy signifies a problem but for me, it signifies an attempt at clarity. This disconnect is symptomatic of a larger societal misunderstanding.
Historically, mental health in our society has been framed in extremes. Either one is “fine,” or one is suffering from something so severe that it becomes a subject of hushed gossip. The middle ground—where most people actually exist—rarely enters public discourse. Emotional distress, anxiety, burnout, and even depression are often dismissed as personal weakness or a lack of faith, rather than acknowledged as legitimate human experiences. The irony is that we live in a region where these conditions are not rare anomalies but predictable outcomes of lived realities.
If we examine the issue from an economic perspective, the neglect of mental health has tangible costs. Productivity decreases, healthcare burdens increase, households bear hidden strains, and generational wellbeing is undermined. A society’s human capital is shaped not only by education and skill but by psychological resilience. Yet we persist in ignoring the very foundations on which healthy economic participation depends. In Kashmir, where opportunities are already limited, such neglect compounds existing structural challenges.
One reason for the persistent taboo around mental health is the cultural premium placed on endurance. Pain, whether physical or emotional, is often romanticized as a sign of strength. There is an expectation to “keep going,” irrespective of the internal cost. Though this expectation is shaped by resilience but it becomes counterproductive when it discourages people from seeking support. Strength is not the absence of vulnerability rather it is the willingness to confront it. But our social vocabulary has not yet fully embraced this distinction.
Another reason is the lack of accessible mental health infrastructure. While there are trained professionals and institutions working tirelessly, the demand far exceeds supply. The healthcare system is burdened, awareness remains uneven, and therapy is often viewed as an urban or elite practice rather than a basic health resource. When institutions lag, stereotypes flourish. People begin to rely on social narratives rather than scientific understanding.
Stereotypes, however, are not immutable. They change when individuals speak, when experiences are normalized, when silence is broken repeatedly and responsibly. This, I believe, is where writing becomes more than an intellectual exercise. It becomes a form of participation in social change. I may study economics, but I live in society. I observe its fractures and feel its expectations. And sometimes, the most rational thing one can do is acknowledge that wellbeing—mental or otherwise—cannot be compartmentalized.
What does it mean to approach mental health with realism? It means rejecting both extremes—the dramatization of suffering and the trivialization of it. It means understanding that mental health is not a trending topic but a continuous condition of human life. It means acknowledging that therapy is not an admission of failure but an investment in clarity, much like education or physical exercise. It means recognizing the difference between being emotional and being honest.
In Kashmir, the path toward destigmatizing mental health requires small, consistent shifts. Conversations matter—authentic ones and not just performative declarations. Educational institutions need to integrate mental health literacy into their frameworks. Families must learn to ask questions without judgment. Religious and community leaders, who hold significant influence, can help reframe narratives around psychological wellbeing. And individuals, when able, should speak about their experiences. It should not be to seek validation but to normalize what is inherently human.
At a more macro level, the government and civil society must treat mental health as a foundational element of development policy. Regions with complex socio-political histories require tailored psychological support systems. While infrastructural development is essential, emotional infrastructure—spaces where people can process their experiences safely—is equally important. Ignoring this dimension creates a silent public health crisis.
For me, therapy has been an exercise in self-awareness rather than a remedy for crisis. It is a space where thoughts can be examined without fear, where patterns can be understood, and where the mind can be treated with the same dignity we afford the body. Yet the fact that one must justify this choice indicates how far society has yet to go. We should not have to hide efforts toward self-improvement simply because they challenge outdated ideas of strength.
It is important to remember that stigma thrives on distance—distance between people, between experiences, between realities. The closer we move toward open dialogue, the weaker stigma becomes. There is no shame in acknowledging that we are susceptible to stress, anxiety, or emotional fatigue. The human mind is not an economic model—it does not operate in predictable equilibrium. It fluctuates, adapts, sometimes falters, and often seeks support. To understand this is a sign of maturity and not a sign of fragility.
In writing this piece, I am not trying to position myself as an advocate or an expert. I am simply someone who has experienced, in a modest way, the disconnect between private understanding and public perception. And I believe that if more of us spoke honestly, the collective narrative would begin to shift. Mental health would no longer sit at the margins of social awareness but at the centre, where it belongs.
Ultimately, addressing mental health in Kashmir requires a dual commitment: institutional reform and cultural transformation. Neither is easy, but both are necessary. The cost of inaction is not merely individual suffering but societal stagnation. A community cannot move forward if its members are silently weighed down by unacknowledged burdens.
We may not solve everything today, but we can begin by refusing to remain silent. That, I believe, is a rational and humane step—one that aligns not only with psychological wellbeing but with the broader principles of human development. Mental health is not a side issue; it is the foundation upon which meaningful progress is built.
Malik Daniyal is a final year economics student at University of Delhi.
