Breaking Free: Overcoming Mental Health Stigma in Indian Culture

Being Indian, many of us grow up with deeply ingrained social norms and expectations — especially around how society perceives us and the pressure to keep up appearances.

These social expectations played a huge role in my family. Not so much in the UK, as my dad hardly knew anyone here, but he was intensely concerned about what people in India thought of him and how they perceived his family.

He had carefully crafted a persona — the image of a successful Non-Resident Indian (NRI) who had it all: money, status, UK citizenship, and most importantly, the perfect family.

The Pressure to Be Perfect

My dad had very clear expectations of us as a family. As the head of the household, he demanded control and obedience. We were expected to listen without question, ask permission for everything, and above all else, appear perfect in front of others.

I, however, was always the slightly ‘odd’ one. I was born and raised in the UK, so I didn’t grow up immersed in Indian society or its rigid social norms. I understood British culture and UK societal expectations — which are very different. Yet I was still expected to follow Indian norms unquestioningly. I did try to fit in, but there was always a part of me that simply didn’t.

Mental Health and Cultural Silence

Growing up, I struggled with anxiety and mild depression. Whether that stemmed from a toxic family environment or was something I was predisposed to, I’ll never fully know. What I do know is that mental illness was a complete taboo.

In Indian society, mental health simply wasn’t discussed — and certainly not accepted. This meant I suffered in silence, managing everything alone. When a child is forced to deal with overwhelming emotional pain without support, something eventually gives.

For me, that breaking point came when I was 14.

My Cry for Help

At 14, I began taking extra painkillers. Not an entire packet — but instead of following the guidance of two pills every four hours (no more than eight in a day), I took all eight at once.

I don’t think I truly wanted to end my life. I was desperate for someone to notice that I needed help. It was a cry for help — one that went unseen.

The only people who knew were my high school friends. They tried to support me, but the pain and mental anguish I was carrying were far too heavy for teenagers to manage alone. Eventually, they told an adult — a teacher — and that’s when everything unravelled.

When the Truth Came Out

My mental health struggles finally came to light at home. You might assume that my parents would have reacted with concern, comfort, or care. That they would have hugged me, reassured me, or tried to understand what had led me there.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, they turned on me. I was made to feel guilty — for having a problem, for letting them down, for how they would be seen by others. My pain became an embarrassment. At no point was I made to feel safe, supported, or loved in the way parents should offer their child.

Finding Support Outside My Family

The people who truly helped me were my school teachers. I was given counselling — something my parents strongly opposed, as they believed therapy was only for those with ‘severe’ mental illness.

Through therapy, I slowly came to a painful realisation: my family was never going to support my emotional needs. So alongside healing, I began planning my escape.

Escaping to Survive

University became my way out. Moving to a different city was the only escape I could see. I studied hard, aimed for good grades, and played the role of the ‘perfect Indian daughter’ — all while quietly biding my time.

At university, I finally experienced freedom and self-confidence. I did things I never imagined I could — or would — do. And instead of feeling shame, I felt hope. For the first time, I could see a future worth fighting for.

Building My Own Support System

I knew healing wouldn’t be easy, and I knew I couldn’t do it alone. So I found my people — my tribe.

Initially, that support came from my colleagues at the bank where I worked. I formed strong friendships, particularly with managers who supported me through difficult times, forgave my mistakes, and accepted me exactly as I was — flaws and all.

One of those relationships became so meaningful that she is now a permanent part of my life, becoming the godmother to my daughters.

Still the Outsider

My family, however, never accepted me in this way. To them, I was always the odd one out — the one with ‘mental health issues’, the one who wasn’t a ‘good Indian girl’, the one destined to rebel.

And eventually, that rebellion came.

Rebellion as Healing

When I was pushed to my absolute limits and hit rock bottom, I rebelled against everything I had been taught to accept as ‘normal’. That rebellion marked the beginning of my healing.

For the first time, I allowed myself to live life on my own terms — to heal from the life I had survived. The social guilt still lingers, and perhaps always will. That guilt is one of the reasons I wrote my book, Breaking Free, and why I continue to blog.

Why I Write

Through my writing, I’m trying to shine a light on the experiences of women like me — the stories we don’t talk about, the pain we hide, and the healing we desperately need.

Because healing doesn’t begin in silence.

It begins when we start talking.