Beyond Self-Care: Why Your Mental Health Is a Collective Responsibility

There’s something beautiful in breaking the silence around the hushed topic of mental health, in seeing more people speak up about how they feel. 

We live in a time when we cannot escape the term ‘mental health’. From apps and social media to retreats and workshops, messages about rest, mindfulness, and self-care are everywhere. There’s something beautiful in breaking the silence around the hushed topic of mental health, in seeing more people speak up about how they feel. However, it is missing something big — mental health is being framed as something that each of us must manage individually. No one but us is responsible for how we feel and what we do about it.

When someone is overwhelmed, the immediate advice is, “You need better self-care.” “You need to manage your stress.” “Go to therapy.” Yes, many of those suggestions help. But if that’s all we ever talk about, we end up ignoring what needs to change around us. When students crumble under exam stress, is it just because they’re finding it difficult to deal with the stress? Or is it also about an academic system that defines so much by one exam? When people get burnt out, is it only about their difficulty with coping? Or is it also about the instability of the job market and the skyrocketing cost of living?

In many ways, capitalism has quietly taken over how we view mental health. Self-care has become a commodity in the market. The Global Wellness Institute (2024) estimated the global wellness economy to be at around USD 6.3 trillion in 2023, predicting it to reach nearly USD 9 trillion in 2028. As per The India Watch (n.d.), India’s wellness market is also growing and is expected to cross about USD 72 billion by 2025. With the stronghold of capitalism over wellness, what is also striking is how rest gets sold not as a basic human necessity but as a tool so we can get back to work more efficiently, as if rest matters only if it boosts productivity. Hence, mental health has become another version of human capital: something to invest in, optimise, and monetize.

Psychology itself has long been used as a tool of social control, having its own history of drawing lines between “normal” and “abnormal.” As painful as it is to remember, for decades, homosexuality was pathologized. Women who refused certain social expectations were labelled hysterical (Ward, 2021). Those diagnoses reflected norms of their times, yes, but they also pathologized behaviour that society was not okay with. Today, the framings are subtler but present. We praise “resilience” without questioning what systemic forces demand resilience in the first place. We teach anger management, but rarely ask what makes people angry: injustice, suppression, and lack of having a voice. When we do these activities in the name of mental health awareness and promotion without naming what causes the concerns to be addressed, psychology risks reinforcing the very systems that create distress.

This view shows up strongly when we talk about suicide. Even after the Mental Healthcare Act of 2017 in India decriminalized suicide attempts (Ministry of Law and Justice, 2017), the older language and attitudes linger. We still say “committed suicide,” still treat suicide as shameful, as an individual failure rather than a cry from someone overwhelmed by conditions they often did not choose. However, there are various examples that actually show how changing external conditions can be one of the things that make life feel more hopeful. For example, Tamil Nadu introduced supplementary board exams so that students who failed didn’t lose an entire academic year. Over time, student suicides tied to exam failure dropped by 70% (Vijayakumar, 2024). That tells us something powerful: when support exists, people survive — and sometimes, even more than that, people feel hopeful again. Because suicide prevention cannot be just about helplines or posters. It also has to be about making life worth living in the first place. It means advocating for and linking people to affordable housing, decent pay, safe and caring schools, workplaces that understand that exhaustion is real, and social support systems that don’t vanish when things get hard.

So, what might a path forward look like? First, we must rethink what we consider “normal” in the first place. Our definitions of mental health and functioning often reflect narrow cultural and social expectations, which can leave anyone who doesn’t fit those boxes feeling “broken.” The social model of disability reminds us that much of what disables people is not inherent to them but a product of unaccommodating environments. Similarly, queer-affirmative therapy challenges us to see difference not as pathology but as identity, pride, and community. When we broaden our idea of what is acceptable and worthy of care, we reduce isolation and move closer to a society where well-being is possible for everyone.

Next, we need to think bigger than the clinic. Mental health care cannot remain confined to therapy rooms and psychiatric wards but must spill into neighborhoods, schools, and workplaces. Community care models offer a way to make mental health support part of everyday life, reaching people earlier and reducing the sense that distress is a private battle to be fought alone. One promising example is the Atmiyata project by the Centre for Mental Health Law and Policy. The project trains local volunteers in rural areas to recognize signs of distress, offer basic psychosocial support, and connect people to mental health services and even social benefits like pensions and disability support (CMHLP, n.d.). Evaluations show that the project not only reduced symptoms of depression and anxiety but also improved quality of life and social participation, with benefits sustained even eight months later (Pathare et al., 2023). Programs like this remind us that care can be something that communities carry together — early, local, and humane — while also creating breathing room to work on the bigger systems that shape distress in the first place.

And that bigger work matters. Community care can ease the weight on individuals, but we still need to change the conditions that push people to breaking points. That means advocating for structural reforms in education, work, housing, and healthcare, even when those reforms may feel slow, exhausting, or out of reach. Policy change can seem distant from daily life, but it is built out of many small actions: each resource identified, each policy debated, each conversation that shifts public opinion. Over time, these efforts accumulate, moving us closer to a world where fewer people are driven to despair, and where mental health is protected not just by coping strategies, but by fairness, dignity, and safety.

Encouragingly, there are already glimpses of this better world. Some companies are experimenting with four-day work weeks, schools are beginning to teach emotional literacy, and government and non-governmental initiatives are working to make mental health support available across India. These may be small steps, but they are proof that change is possible and worth striving for.

None of this is to say that personal responsibility and personal work are meaningless. Individual strategies like counseling, mindfulness, or self-care can be powerful tools for coping and growth. But when they are presented as the entire solution, they risk becoming a distraction from harder, structural questions. Why do employees need to meditate just to get through the workday? Why do students need therapy to survive exam season rather than simply to thrive as learners? Why do we pour all our resources into wellness apps while underfunding public mental health services that could support entire communities? It is important that psychology be put back in its rightful place: not as a tool for profit but as a practice rooted in compassion and justice. Change is slow, and while we work toward collective, justice-oriented care, individual support remains vital. If you or someone you know is struggling, it is okay to seek help right now while still demanding better systems. Here are some free helplines: Tele-MANAS (14416, 24×7), iCall (9152987821, Mon–Sat, 10 a.m.–8 p.m.), Sangath (011-41198666, Mon–Sun, 10 a.m.–6 p.m.), and Vandrevala Foundation (+91-9999666555, 24×7).

Author: Dishita Swaika, FLAME Alumna and Prof. Moitrayee Das, Faculty of Psychology