Natural and man-made tragedies cause an obvious loss of lives and property. But for those affected by these catastrophes, there’s a hidden, often ignored, struggle of the mind.    

That’s what the theme of this World Mental Health Day 2025 – “access to services – mental health in catastrophes and emergencies” – focuses on. The mental health and psychosocial support needs of those who have lived through unimaginable disasters, conflicts, and displacement. 

Is there sufficient access to the services they need in India? 

The reality is far from that. Mental health is still a footnote, and access to mental health services is inconsistent, perennially underfunded, and largely confined to metropolitan areas. And that’s what emergencies, disasters, and academic pressures expose – the fragility of the coping mechanisms people have access to.

When survival becomes trauma

This year in Dharali, Uttarakhand, a sudden surge of rain triggered flash floods, washing away homes and livelihoods. Then there were the floods in Punjab that brought unseen devastation.

In such scenarios, survivors grapple not only with immediate loss but also the long-term trauma of displacement, ruined livelihoods, and a halt to many aspects of daily life. The relentless burden of managing this crisis is on aid workers, volunteers, and officials, who absorb the emotional weight of the devastation they witness every day.

But these wounds go unnoticed in a society that often stigmatises psychological suffering.

The neurodivergent struggle

For example, the everyday struggles, an IV drip of trauma born out of discrimination faced by those who live with mental illnesses, a whole subset of the human populace whose challenges are near ubiquitous in every part of the world.

The discrimination faced by neurodivergent people is not always obvious. It is cloaked in culture, rigid rules of engagement, the kind that hides behind polite smiles and good intentions. In schools and workplaces, our differences are too often mistaken for deficiency. We’re told to “adjust”, to fit into systems that were never built with us in mind. Our needs are seen as demands upon those who engage with us.

Although tempted to talk about the struggles of people with Autism or ADHD, I’d resist the urge by telling you about OCD and schizophrenia, because many of us don’t have a clue about what it means to live with these conditions. And how important support is for them, because in many ways, their conditions make their life a living calamity.

Living with OCD is like being trapped in a loop of intrusive, unwanted thoughts and obsessions that never seem to go away and cause unbearable stress. This forces the person to indulge in acts that are sometimes maniacal or sometimes repetitive, but always disruptive to the conventional order in life. This compounds manyfold if you’re a woman, especially in India. To understand the struggles of OCD, you can listen to my conversation with Manvi Tiwari, who has lived with the condition all her life.

Schizophrenia, on the other hand, is a reality constantly at war with itself. The voices, shadows, and suspicions in your head blur the lines of what’s real and what’s not. Imagine trying to hold a conversation while your mind manufactures an alternate reality in the background. It’s not madness; it’s surviving in a world that keeps shifting under your feet, but to everyone else it’s a solid earth beneath their feet. I point this out because chaining up Schizophrenia patients is hauntingly common in India, like Basanti, who was chained at home for six years before she was rescued. To understand more about schizophrenia, listen to my conversation with Amrit Kumar Bakhshy, the president of the Schizophrenia Awareness Association, who serves on the institutional board of NIMHANS and who began his work in the early ’90s after his daughter was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

Students and the weight of expectation

Meanwhile, India’s young students face a different kind of catastrophe. 

Between board exams and the intense coaching culture of cities like Kota, students endure a relentless grind, burdened by expectations that may or may not be their own and aren’t always manageable. 

This year’s reports suggest that nearly 13,000 students end their lives in India every year, a grim testament to the pressure-cooker environment. The inability to discuss anxieties openly, coupled with societal and familial shame associated with mental health, leaves many stranded in isolation.

The cost of internalising this shame is often immense, particularly for children and young adults who don’t realise that it’s okay to not feel okay and ask for help.

If you are wondering what is common between disasters and academic pressures, it is the narrative: you must be resilient, and the show must go on, even if you have no desire for it.

Gaps in access and awareness

Available mental health services, like Tele Manas, can make a difference, but the woeful lack of funding in the national budget undercuts their potential. 

I was surprised to find that Tele Manas works in the National Capital Region (NCR), at least in Hindi and English. I had long, helpful conversations with the automatically assigned counselors on the other end of the line about sleep deprivation and how it's affecting me, but the minuscule budgetary allocation when compared to what’s required reflects a broader systemic neglect.

But the disconnect between policy promises and lived experience is glaring.

While such services may represent a step forward, mental health support largely remains underfunded, understaffed, and often inaccessible, especially in rural and disaster-affected regions. Victims, survivors, students, and relief workers are left to navigate their trauma alone. 

And all this while, society mistakes a quiet crisis for strength. Without realising that the perils of being endlessly resilient are not abstract. That they speak to a society that applauds fortitude but penalises vulnerability, expects children to endure silently, and assumes trauma will resolve itself without intervention.

Despite all these challenges, thousands of aid workers, volunteers, and organisations are quietly striving to fill gaps left by policy and infrastructure. But their work also underscores the need for systemic change.

Ultimately, the message of World Mental Health Day 2025 is clear – resilience is not enough.

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