Why would you tell a stranger our problems?

How often did you hear this? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard it.

Sometimes it comes from a parent, sharp and dismissive. Sometimes from a sibling, half-joking but very serious underneath. Other times, no one even says it out loud… you and I just know. It’s an unspoken but deeply ingrained rule: we keep our problems in the family, don’t bring shame, don’t let anyone see.

And this is stigma.

The reason isn’t that the person don’t care about their mental health. In fact, they often care deeply. They’ve thought about making changes, maybe even dreamed about what life could look like if the heavy backpack of life trauma and stress they’re carrying was lighter. But something holds them back.

And more often than not, that “something” is the people in their lives.

It often sounds like this:

• It’s the parent who dismisses mental health struggles as weakness, “You are depressed? Why? What did you suffer through to be depressed? If anyone, I should be depressed.

• It’s the sibling who says, “Why would you tell a stranger our problems?”

• It’s the friend who jokes about therapy like it’s only for the “crazy” ones.

• It’s the community where privacy is prized above well-being, where needing help is seen as a flaw rather than a human need.

And, I get where they are coming from. Most of them want to protect us and keep us safe by stopping us from doing things that could have led to (usually perceived) rejection or judgment. Just like when we were children.

What stops people from diverse backgrounds reaching out for help?

Research shows that stigma is one of the strongest barriers to therapy in ethnic and culturally and linguistically diverse communities (CALD) communities. Studies have found that cultural shame, fear of gossip, and the pressure to “keep face” can stop people from ever reaching out ( read here, here, and here). In fact, some studies show that the average time between when someone first experiences trauma and when they finally step into therapy can be seven to ten years (read here, here, and here). Seven to ten years of carrying unbearable pain in silence, all because of what people might say.

How many years have been lost to silence, shame, and stigma?

I’ve seen it many times. People arrive in therapy with one foot in and one foot out. It’s not that they don’t care about their mental health. In fact, they often care deeply. They’ve imagined what life could look like if the heavy backpack of trauma and stress they’ve been carrying for years was finally lighter. But, very often there is a part of us that fears asking for help is is weakness and that opening up to a stranger is betrayal of my own family and community.

What the people we love see and what is truly happening on the inside

I often spoke to brilliant, capable, and deeply caring people. On the outside, they look like they have it all together. Inside, they are often falling apart. And, when gently asked why they delayed therapy. The reason is often because in their family and community, because anyone who “went to see someone” was gossiped about. They told me, “If I go, they’ll think I’m crazy.”

No surprisingly, stigma wears many faces:

• The shame of being seen as weak or broken.

• The fear of being judged, labelled, or gossiped about.

• The belief that therapy is only for people who are “really sick.”

• The cultural rule that silence is safer than honesty.

And for migrants and adult children of migrants, stigma often comes with another burden: the lack of representation. Many people wait years because they’ve never seen a therapist who looks like them, speaks their language, or understands their cultural, spiritual or religious world.

Here is a gentle reminder:

The silence around mental health and therapy doesn’t protect us. Stigma doesn’t protect us. It keeps us stuck and suffering, often in silence and isolated. It robs us of years we could spend connecting and living more fully. That’s why I believe in speaking openly about therapy, in challenging those stereotypes, and in making sure mental health spaces are inclusive, safe, and representative of all our stories.

So I want to leave you with a question:
Has that voice, “Why would you tell a stranger our problems?”, kept you from taking a step toward the help you deserve? If so, what might it feel like to take one small step toward the support you deserve?

You don’t have to answer me. But I hope you answer yourself.