A few months ago, in the middle of a chaotic news cycle—elections, press conferences, back-to-back deadlines—I saw something in the newsroom that’s stayed with me. A colleague, known for his sharp wit and endless energy, sat motionless in front of his screen for hours. No coffee runs. No casual banter. Just silence. When I asked him if he was okay, he forced a half-smile and said, “Just tired.” But it was more than that. You could tell. His eyes looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, like he was somewhere far away.
It’s strange how we, the storytellers, are so bad at telling our own stories. Or even noticing when something inside us is beginning to unravel.
In media, we wear stress like a badge of honour. Late nights, skipped meals, nonstop scrolling, always being “on”—we’ve convinced ourselves this is just how it is. I’ve done it too. “I’ll rest once the story’s filed.” “It’s just this week.” But somehow, the week never ends. And in the middle of it, people burn out quietly. They keep showing up, even when something inside has stopped working.
Another colleague—a brilliant producer—once told me she would get chest pains before coming to work. “I thought it was a heart issue,” she said. “Turned out it was anxiety. But who do you even talk to about that?” She started leaving early, avoiding meetings, and eventually took a break that was long overdue. We never really talked about it again. Mental health is still that silent thing—we whisper it, we joke about it, but we rarely face it head-on.
It’s not just in media. Across offices, homes, schools—people are struggling, and most are doing it alone. A friend teaching at a private school in Lahore once confided in me that a student, barely 13, had tried to harm herself after being bullied. When she raised it with the administration, their response was chillingly casual: “Children these days are too sensitive.” They didn’t call a counselor. They called a cleric.
We have a long way to go.
Pakistan has over 220 million people but fewer than 500 qualified psychiatrists. Most government hospitals don’t even have dedicated mental health units. Therapy is either too expensive or too taboo. For many, the default response is: “Just pray. Be grateful. Don’t overthink.” Religion, no doubt, offers comfort—but it can’t substitute clinical care. Yet that’s all most people are given.
The Mental Health Ordinance of 2001 was supposed to change things, replacing the colonial-era Lunacy Act. But two decades on, implementation remains thin. Provinces were meant to establish mental health authorities, regulate facilities, ensure patient rights. Most haven’t. We passed the laws, then forgot about them.
Meanwhile, our workplaces—especially in the private sector—offer no real support. HR departments hand out PDFs on “wellness,” but when someone actually breaks down, they’re seen as a liability. I’ve seen colleagues quietly edged out after taking mental health leave. I’ve also seen others crack completely, because they were too afraid to ask for help.
Still, there’s a small shift happening. Organisations like Taskeen, Umang, and The Listening Space are offering therapy, creating awareness, starting conversations that would’ve been unthinkable a decade ago. Young people are opening up—on Instagram, in cafes, even around dinner tables. Slowly, the shame is lifting. But the system hasn’t caught up. Not yet.
Back in the newsroom, the colleague I mentioned eventually took a month off. When he came back, he laughed and said, “Had to reboot the system.” We all laughed along—because it’s easier to laugh than to admit that this job, this pace, this life, can be crushing. But deep down, I think we all knew. He wasn’t the only one falling apart.
Mental health isn’t a luxury. It isn’t weakness. It’s health. Just health. Like a broken bone or high blood pressure—it deserves to be seen, treated, and talked about without shame.
And maybe it starts with small things: checking in on each other more honestly, refusing to glorify burnout, making space for people to be human—not just productive. Because behind every polished report, every viral video, every “breaking news” ticker, there’s a person. And sometimes, that person is not okay.
And that… deserves to be news too.
The writer is Broadcast Journalist, Human Rights Activist, and advocate for Global Peace.
