We’re awash with mental health advice. Meanwhile, a generation is getting sadder

Within a few minutes of scrolling through TikTok, the algorithm more familiar with my likes and my interests and my neuroses than my own mother, I’ve absorbed so many pieces of information about mental health that I barely notice that’s what they are.

There’s a woman who says her mother is a narcissist who wouldn’t respect her boundaries and who ruined her wedding.

Who needs mental health experts when there are hundreds of people offering advice from the palm of your hand?Credit: Getty

There’s an influencer who says he’s traumatised by the onslaught of abuse from his followers. It’s triggering, he says. Because of his lived experience.

There’s a 22-year-old sharing the three signs that mean you definitely have ADHD. A mum recalling the moment she received her autism diagnosis. A guy whose voice booms over inspirational music as he proclaims the power of doing “the work”.

I don’t know what “the work” is, who assigned it, who assesses it, or what happens when you complete it, but apparently everyone is doing it. It’s become the cultural shorthand for figuring yourself out.

For a long time, doing “the work” probably included enlisting the help of a psychologist or some other trained professional who might help you identify your thoughts and behaviours, and how they might impact the people around you. Now it’s as simple as listening to self-improvement podcasts, reading the latest book from Mel Robbins or Gabor Mate, or, as I am right now, consuming social media content about mental health.

The problem, of course, is that most of this social media content is wrong.

Last month, a Guardian UK investigation found that of the top 100 videos posted under the #mentalhealthtips hashtag on TikTok, 52 contained misinformation, and many others were vague or unhelpful.

When psychologists, psychiatrists and academic experts were consulted on the messages and advice put forward by creators, they expressed grave concerns. They argued the videos may create confusion about complex conditions, could pathologise everyday experiences and emotions, and might leave people feeling like failures when unsubstantiated “tips” don’t work.

By its very nature, mental health information is nuanced, highly dependent on context and constantly evolving. It becomes risky when therapy-speak and complex theories enter the mainstream via 30-second videos.

But arguably more dangerous than the existence of this inaccurate mental health content is the fact that accessing quality care has become so difficult. The process involves booking an appointment with your GP (where fewer than half of all patients will be fully bulk-billed), getting a referral for a mental health treatment plan, then booking in to see a psychologist or psychiatrist. The average time it takes for teens to see a treatment provider for anxiety and depression is 99.6 days. Expect to wait 77 days to see a psychiatrist, although for some Australians it’s up to 258 days.

According to the Australian Psychological Society, the suggested consultation fee for a single session with a psychologist is $311. The Medicare rebate will be less than a third of this amount, $98.95 for an appointment with a psychologist, or $145.25 with a clinical psychologist, who tend to charge more. This rebate covers no more than 10 individual and 10 group sessions in a year. Can you really blame people for seeking out free information, and for absorbing a face and a voice that speaks to them from the palm of their hand?

Add to that the fact “wellness” is a trillion-dollar industry – bigger than the sports and pharmaceutical industries worldwide. With so much money to be made, the goal for a growing number of people talking about mental health online is to sell something. A meditation course. A manifestation retreat. A coaching program.

I’m someone with an honours degree in psychology who believes firmly in the study and treatment of the mind and its dysfunctions. I believe in the benefit of understanding people – why we do what we do, why we feel what we feel. Despite the proliferation of mental health content, the way it’s seeped into the zeitgeist, the way we all diagnose ourselves and others with myriad conditions, we’re not getting any happier. In fact, there’s plenty of evidence we’re getting less happy – particularly younger generations, who are the biggest consumers of social media content.

Is it because the commodification of mental health has promised us something that doesn’t exist? While the factual inaccuracies in mental health content are obviously cause for major concern, perhaps the most dangerous piece of misinformation is that there’s a version of ourselves that’s free from the inevitable friction of living. But only if we would do “the work”.

Clare Stephens is a writer, an editor and a podcaster.

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