By: Sulwa Siraj
Inside many Black households, conversations about mental health remain rare, if not entirely absent. Despite this, the suicide rate among Black youth has risen faster than any other racial group in recent years, proving that silence is not a helpful strategy in coping. For 17-year-old Nadia Robbins, that silence was deafening and nearly fatal.
“Mental health was not discussed heavily, or even at all in my household growing up,” Robbins said. “I was raised in a family that wasn’t vocal about feelings or struggles.”
Her experience reflects a quiet but widespread reality among Black youth in America. Mental health issues are common, but open conversation around them is not.
“Not only does this cause a lot of black youth to feel misunderstood,” Robbins said, “but it also can cause an extreme feeling of isolation and hopelessness.”
Nadia’s first suicide attempt came at age 13 during the pandemic. It led to an involuntary stay in a psychiatric hospital. She was overwhelmed at first, but over time, she came to feel a kind of comfort she hadn’t felt before.
“When you go to a psych ward, you know everyone around you has their own struggles and is in no place to judge your own,” Robbins said. “It makes it much easier to connect to others and feel accepted.”
That semblance of understanding and acceptance stood in stark contrast to the silence and discomfort she felt in everyday life due to an absence of support from her own community.
Dr. Tasheka Cox, a psychotherapist who has worked closely with Black youth, recognizes this pattern.
“There’s a big stigma around mental health in the Black community,” she explains. “We don’t want to believe that it’s something that affects us.”
Cox added that it’s common for Black youth to receive care only after their mental health has escalated into crisis.
“It had to get to the point where the challenge was uncontrollable, where police or other outside systems had to be involved, before it was finally addressed,” Cox said.
That delay is worsened by systemic gaps in care. Black mental health professionals remain scarce, making up only 4 percent of psychologists in the U.S.
“It’s hard to trust a system that doesn’t represent you,” Dr. Cox says.
Ultimately, both Robbins and Cox agree that silence isn’t the solution.
“Long-term treatment and support is extremely important,” Robbins said.
But she also notes that psychiatric institutions alone cannot carry the weight of recovery.
“They are not permanent solutions to mental health conditions; they do not cure people,” she said.
True healing, Robbins found, came not just from clinical care, but from reclaiming joy shamelessly and embracing her passions.
“Finding something positive that can make you smile even when you feel isolated and alone is so important,” she said.
Dr. Cox’s approach to healing emphasizes a similar sentiment of fostering a positive, non-judgemental space for young people to freely express themselves.
“Sometimes it wasn’t even about talking,” she said. “Sometimes it was just sitting and listening to music, going through their favorite song and seeing what lyrics match how they feel.”
But meaningful progress, she argues, starts at home. Black families must be willing to challenge generational norms of silence and instead lead by example.
“If you break a leg, you’re not just going to pray over your broken leg, you’re going to go to the doctor,” she said. “If you’re dealing with stress, anxiety, depression, trauma, whichever mental or emotional challenge you’re dealing with, it’s the same concept. You don’t have to suffer in silence.”
Sulwa Siraj is an intern working for Texas Metro News through UNT’s Emerging Journalists Program. She enjoys writing poetry as well as studying psychology.
