Mental health has become one of the most discussed topics globally, yet many people still suffer in silence, especially in communities where emotional pain is dismissed as weakness, spiritual attack, or “a phase that will pass.”
In Nigeria and across Africa, we have built a society that tells people to “be strong,” but rarely teaches them how to heal. We know how to attend to fever and fractures, but we still struggle to recognise when a person’s mind is drowning.
World Mental Health Day is not just a date on the calendar. It is a reminder that mental health is a human right, and like every right, it must include everyone, not just those who can afford therapy or speak the language of awareness.
The truth is, we do not all break in the same way. The stress of a mother caring for a child with a disability is different from the silent battles of a displaced person in an IDP camp. The mental burden of a young student trying to “make it” in a harsh economy is not the same as that of a widow navigating grief and survival. A person living with leprosy, pushed to the edges of society, carries a kind of emotional pain that statistics rarely capture. And for persons with disabilities, mental health support is often a luxury that was never even designed with them in mind.
So when we talk about inclusion, we must extend it beyond ramps, policies, and representation. Inclusion must also mean emotional safety. It must mean access to mental health care for communities that have never even been considered in the conversation. It must mean that a deaf person can speak to a counselor who understands sign language; that a caregiver also receives care; that a child in a forgotten settlement knows that their feelings matter too.
We cannot keep saying “mental health matters” while mocking people for expressing how they feel. We cannot preach mental health awareness and still label people as “mad,” “possessed,” or “ungrateful” when they cry for help. Advocacy is not complete until compassion translates into access, policy, and understanding.
Today, let this not just be another international day with quotes and hashtags. Let it be a call to see the unseen, to check on the strong ones, to create safe spaces where vulnerability is not a crime, to demand mental health services in our communities — not just in big cities or private hospitals.
Most importantly, let us remember: healing begins when people are allowed to feel without fear of shame. And until every voice — from the city to the camp, from the office to the colony, from the able-bodied to the forgotten — is heard and supported, our work is not done.