The silent cost of abandoned roles

We live in an era that celebrates ambition. Personal growth, career advancement, and self-development have become dominant markers of success. This pursuit is not inherently flawed. Improving one’s skills, income, and opportunities is essential for dignity and progress in a competitive world.

Yet, in this relentless race toward self-advancement, something deeply human is being lost: our commitment to the roles we occupy in each other’s lives.

Today, many are thriving professionally but retreating relationally. We are present in offices and online spaces, but increasingly absent where presence matters most—within families, kinship networks, and close social circles. The real question, therefore, is not whether ambition is wrong, but whether progress that abandons responsibility can truly be called progress.

When absence hurts more than hardship

Human societies are held together by an unspoken chain of responsibility. It begins with elders and flows downward, and over time, it must return upward. When this chain weakens, societies may survive in form, but they fracture in spirit.

Think of a father — not merely as a provider, but as a protector. His presence is meant to offer safety, confidence, and moral direction. What happens when a young child, daughter, or son looks for reassurance and finds distance instead? The absence of a father’s support leaves wounds that often remain unnamed but deeply felt.

Think of a mother — the first emotional anchor in a child’s life. Her role goes beyond care; it is comfort, listening, and unconditional reassurance. What if her presence becomes limited to routine, while emotional availability disappears? A child raised without emotional security carries that silence into adulthood.

Then comes the elder brother — often the first line of defence after parents. Traditionally, he is expected to shield younger siblings, guide them through uncertainty, and stand up for them when they cannot. What if the elder brother chooses detachment over responsibility? In his absence, vulnerability finds no refuge.

Beyond the immediate household stand the uncles and aunts — figures meant to intervene, advise, and mediate. And among them, the mama, the maternal uncle, has long held a uniquely intimate place. It is often said that the word mama carries two “ma’s,” symbolising double care and double responsibility toward a niece or nephew. He was once seen as a second guardian, a trusted advocate. What happens when even this deeply rooted role is reduced to formality? When elders withdraw, the young grow up without anchors.

Now, reverse the direction of responsibility.

Think again of the father — now ageing, perhaps struggling with health, finances, or relevance. Once the pillar, he now seeks presence more than provision. What if his children are too busy building their own lives to check in, to listen, or to stand beside him? His suffering is no longer just physical; it is the loneliness of feeling forgotten.

Think of the mother — carrying years of unacknowledged labour, silent sacrifices, and emotional exhaustion. What if her care is assumed, her pain unnoticed? Neglecting her well-being quietly weakens the emotional foundation of the entire family.

Consider the elder brother once more — now facing his own struggles: unemployment, stress, illness, or despair. What if the younger siblings distance themselves instead of standing by him? Roles abandoned do not disappear; they simply reverse as resentment and isolation.

And think again of the uncles and the mama — now older, perhaps less powerful, less needed in daily decisions. What if respect fades into neglect, and presence into occasional obligation? A society that forgets its elders severs its own continuity.

What hurts families most is not hardship itself, but the breakdown of reciprocal responsibility — when elders stop protecting and the young stop caring. Roles are not one-time duties; they are lifelong commitments that evolve with time.

These are not rare stories.
They are increasingly common realities.

A global crisis of mental well-being

The erosion of close relationships has coincided with a global mental health crisis. Global estimates suggest that nearly one in eight people lives with a mental health disorder, with depression and anxiety among the leading causes of disability. Suicide claims over 700,000 lives annually and remains one of the leading causes of death among young adults.

These figures expose an uncomfortable truth: economic advancement and individual achievement have not insulated societies from emotional distress. Loneliness, burnout, and psychological strain have become defining features of modern life.

Kashmir: Distress in a fragmented social landscape

In Kashmir, these challenges are intensified by decades of uncertainty and social disruption. Studies and community-based assessments indicate alarmingly high levels of mental distress across the region, with large sections of the population experiencing anxiety, depression, and trauma-related symptoms.

Yet only a small fraction seek or receive professional help. This gap is not merely about limited services or stigma — it reflects a deeper breakdown of informal support systems. Traditionally, families and extended kinship networks served as the first line of emotional care. As these networks weaken, individuals are left to confront overwhelming pressures alone.

In such contexts, families are not a secondary support mechanism — they are the system. When familial roles weaken, distress does not disappear; it multiplies.

The care deficit we rarely talk about

Modern economic life has produced what social scientists describe as time poverty. Longer working hours, migration for employment, and constant digital engagement have sharply reduced the time available for caregiving, listening, and emotional presence. This has created a silent care deficit within families.

What earlier generations managed through shared responsibility is now postponed, outsourced, or ignored. The elderly feel neglected, children feel unseen, and those in emotional distress feel like burdens rather than responsibilities.

This is not merely a moral failure; it is a structural one.

The hidden socioeconomic cost of neglected roles

The failure to play familial and social roles carries costs far beyond private suffering. Societies with weakened family structures face higher healthcare expenditure, loss of productivity, rising mental health burdens, and greater dependence on institutional care and welfare systems.

Across different parts of India, official data consistently shows that family conflicts are among the leading contributors to emotional distress and self-harm. When families fracture, individuals lose resilience — and the state inherits the cost.

The damage is also intergenerational. Children raised in emotionally fragmented environments face higher risks of anxiety, poorer educational outcomes, unstable relationships, and long-term vulnerability. Neglect today quietly shapes the fragility of tomorrow.

Optimum social welfare is not built from policies alone.
It emerges when responsibility flows naturally — from individuals to families, from families to communities, and from communities to society.

From awareness to action: Relearning responsibility

If the crisis we face is rooted in forgotten roles, then the solution begins with intentional remembrance. Sometimes, responsibility does not take the form of grand interventions or dramatic sacrifices. It appears in the simplest of questions: “What is going on?” “Are you fine?” “Tell me whenever you need anything.” Or even the quiet recognition — “You do not look fine.”
Yet these questions carry weight only when they rest on a foundation already built. One can ask them honestly — and the other can answer them safely — only if responsibility has been practiced beforehand through presence, consistency, and care. Without that prior bond, such questions sound procedural; with it, they become lifelines.

In a world that constantly urges us forward, perhaps we must first pause. Pause long enough to ask difficult but necessary questions:
What roles do I carry? Whom am I responsible for? Who depends on my presence, not my achievements?

One simple yet powerful step is to literally write down our roles — son or daughter, brother or sister, parent, uncle or aunt, neighbour, community member — and reflect on what each truly demands. When responsibilities are consciously acknowledged, neglect becomes harder to rationalise.

This pause is not a rejection of ambition. It is a recalibration — a recognition that progress without relational grounding is incomplete.

Families: First school of responsibility

Families remain the primary institution where responsibility is learned — or unlearned. Children absorb values less from instructions and more from observation. When they witness adults choosing presence over convenience, dialogue over silence, and care over indifference, responsibility becomes a lived lesson.

A family that provides emotional availability becomes a protective space — not only against distress, but against life’s broader uncertainties. Strengthening families, therefore, is not nostalgia; it is social investment.

Schools: Teaching life

Equally important is the role of educational institutions. Schools today excel at measuring performance — grades, rankings, outcomes. What they rarely teach is how to be a responsible human being.

Children learn formulas and facts, but not emotional literacy. They are trained to compete, but not to care. They are prepared for exams, but not for relationships.

If schools intentionally taught empathy, conflict resolution, caregiving, social responsibility, and mental well-being, they would shape not just employable individuals, but socially grounded citizens. In societies facing rising mental distress and weakening social bonds, this is no longer optional — it is essential.

The question of answerability

At a time when mental distress is rising, formal care systems are overstretched, and social trust is eroding, the most undervalued resource remains the simplest one: people who show up for each other.

Not playing our roles causes far greater socioeconomic damage than we are willing to acknowledge. Growth that demands emotional withdrawal is not development; it is displacement.

Ultimately, we are all answerable — not only for our personal achievements, but for the roles we were entrusted with. The true measure of success lies not merely in how far we go, but in who we stand by when it matters most.

In remembering our roles, we do not slow our progress.
We make it human.

About the Author

Sameer Ahmad Sofi, Research Scholar (Health, Public & Development Economics), University of Kashmir, Department of Economics.