This week marked National Mental Illness Awareness Week, and I was honored that one of my personal essays was reprinted by the Presbyterian News Service and later shared by newsletters and websites across the country.
Alongside that, my pastor and colleague, the Rev. Kristin Hutson, was interviewed for a separate story highlighting how our congregation has become a spiritual home for many residents of a psychiatric rehabilitation facility across the street. What she described captures the heart of what we try to do: not simply include people with mental illness, but welcome them into full participation in the life of the church so they experience true belonging.
Mental health awareness is not just a matter of compassion; it is a matter of survival. Every day, people across all backgrounds silently struggle with anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, and other mental illnesses. Yet far too many go without treatment because of the deep stigma still attached to seeking help.
For some, cultural or religious beliefs convince them that emotional or psychological pain is a sign of weakness or moral failure. Others—particularly men—are taught from a young age to “tough it out” or “shake it off.”
And then there are those who are told, sometimes by faith leaders (this is where religion can be very toxic), that their suffering is the result of not having enough faith in God.
I have heard those messages firsthand.
I grew up around people who believed that depression and anxiety were spiritual failings rather than medical conditions. They said that if your faith were strong enough, you would be joyful and calm, not anxious or sad. That line of thinking is toxic. It isolates the suffering person, fills them with guilt, and discourages them from seeking the help that could save their life.
In my own culture, mental illness was often something you kept private. This is true for me as a Filipino, or any Asian or Latin American for that matter. You didn’t talk about it.
I’m reminded of a Saturday Night Live sketch called “Protective Mom 2” where Marcello Hernandez’ Cuban character Luis brings home a not-Latina home and introduce her to his Latina mother, played by Pedro Pascal, and aunt played by Puerto Rican hottie Bad Bunny.
In the sketch, Chloe Troast as the girlfriend Casey says, “I love Luis and I feel I’ve been really good for him. Like when he got diagnosed with depression.”
Chaos is triggered when Tia Bad Bunny asked, “What do you mean, depression?”
“Mi hijo does not have depression!” yells Mama Pascal. “He just like the dark! He tried to get it when he was a kid. He said, ‘mama, I’m depressed.’ Then I said, ‘Don’t do that, do something else.’”
Drop dead funny, but in it is a serious issue. Many cultures view mental illness as taboo: mental health problems don’t exist if you don’t talk about it.
You prayed about it, perhaps, or told yourself to think “happy thoughts.”
But faith and positive thinking are not substitutes for treatment. Prayer is powerful, but so are therapy, medication, and supportive community. I have learned that God works through doctors, counselors, and scientists just as surely as through pastors and prayers.
And outside the realm of religion—because not everyone believes in God—there is still much that every one of us can do to increase awareness and compassion around mental health.
One of the most powerful things is to be open about our own experiences with anxiety, depression, or burnout. When we speak honestly, it helps others realize they are not alone.
Another is to learn what mental health resources exist in our communities—free clinics, crisis lines, therapy groups, and support organizations—and share them widely. Knowing where to find help and being able to point someone in the right direction, can save a life.
Breaking the silence around mental illness is one of the most important ministries the church can undertake—and one of the most important acts of humanity anyone of us outside religion can do.
When we welcome people with mental health challenges as full and equal participants, when we talk about depression and hope in the same breath, when we affirm that seeking therapy is not weakness but courage, we chip away at centuries of stigma.
There is sacredness in healing—whether it comes through prayer, medicine, community, or all three. And there is grace in admitting that we need help.
Awareness is the first step toward that grace, and it begins when we start talking about it—openly, honestly, and without shame.
