Depression in the age of smiling faces and filters

One in two suicides is linked to depression. We are losing precious lives every day, not just to mental illness, but to the silence and misunderstanding that still surround it.

One day, it’s a beloved comedian who made millions laugh but couldn’t quiet his own despair. The next, it’s a mid-career man in a metro city who seemed to be “doing well on paper”, until he wasn’t. Then it’s a 24-year-old social media influencer whose filtered posts couldn’t reflect the chaos inside her mind.

But death isn’t the only cost.

There are those who survive, but barely. Who go years without joy or connection. Who slowly detach from themselves and the world around them, carrying pain that few notice and fewer acknowledge.

So why is this still happening in a world where awareness is everywhere? And what would it actually take to make things better?

Why we expect depression to look obvious

You know how much pop culture shapes our understanding of mental health? Depression, as it’s often portrayed on screen, tends to look extreme. We see characters curled up in bed for days, unable to move. Or breaking down in public. Or spiraling into addiction and violence. And then there are the tortured geniuses, brilliant but unstable, suffering as part of their creative identity.

Yes, sometimes depression can look like that. But most of the time, it doesn’t.

In real life, many people living with depression still show up to work. They manage their homes. Meet friends with a smile. Post cheerful pictures with captions that say “blessed”.

You might see them and think they’re doing fine. But are they, really?

We often miss the signs of depression because they don’t always appear dramatic. Today, depression often looks like this:

• Constant busyness, used to avoid sitting with difficult thoughts
• Emotional numbness, ie, feeling nothing, even in moments that should bring joy
• Endless screen time, especially late at night, because silence feels overwhelming
• A growing disconnection from oneself, even while staying outwardly social

This is what’s often referred to as functional depression. It’s when someone appears to be fine, even thriving, on the outside, but is struggling deeply on the inside.

Because it doesn’t match the dramatic image we’ve come to associate with mental illness, it’s easy to miss. And just as easy to dismiss by others, and sometimes by the person experiencing it.

When distress is invisible and there is no validation, people stop asking for help. Eventually, some stop believing they even deserve it.

“Log kya kahenge” and other reasons we stay silent

While India is growing in many ways, our attitudes toward mental health haven’t kept pace. As a society, seeking emotional support still carries a quiet stigma. It’s not something we’re culturally known for.

Yes, perceptions are slowly changing. There’s more awareness than before, and more platforms to reach out for help. But even then, there’s a voice many of us carry in our heads that makes asking for help feel almost impossible: Log kya kahenge?

This attitude has been wired into us from childhood.

• When a child cries too much, they’re told to “be strong” or “stop overreacting.”
• When a teenager withdraws, it’s blamed on laziness or “attitude.”
• When an adult feels overwhelmed, they’re advised to focus on work, pray harder, or just “adjust.”

Years of emotional suppression, taught as strength, often leave us unequipped to process or even name what we’re feeling.

This internalised shame affects men deeply. Men are diagnosed with depression at only half the rate of women, yet die by suicide three to four times more often. This disparity is largely due to untreated depression, financial stress, and the pressure to appear strong. Despite facing emotional turmoil, men are far less likely to seek therapy or open up, because of the mental health stigma around it and doing so is still seen as a failure of masculinity.

What’s even more worrying is how little we’ve done to build emotional literacy into our systems. Cultivating emotional intelligence could radically shift how we approach mental health. Yet it remains missing from most of our public health strategies.

Hyperconnected, deeply disconnected

Can you imagine being at a party where everyone is shouting over each other, holding up trophies, flashing their glow-ups, and declaring how productive or deliriously happy they are? No one’s listening or sitting down. Everyone’s just broadcasting.

That’s what social media has become. A loud, crowded room of curated perfection.

Online, we inflate everything. But offline? It’s the opposite.

We downplay how we feel. We tell people we’re fine when we’re not. We avoid “oversharing.” We sit with discomfort quietly, because showing pain in real life still feels risky and even shameful.

So we end up in this strange paradox: constantly connected, yet deeply disconnected.

And for someone dealing with depression or emotional overwhelm, this gap only deepens the isolation. Because when everyone else looks like they’re thriving, it becomes harder to admit that you’re not.

No surprise then that a 2021 review found a strong link between screen time and mental health, particularly depressive symptoms, in young users prone to social comparison, low self-esteem, and loneliness.

What we need: A more honest emotional culture

If we want things to truly change, we have to move beyond awareness and into practice. Building an emotionally honest culture means creating spaces where people feel safe to say, “I’m not okay,” without fear, shame, or judgment. To truly reduce stigma, mental health must be integrated into how we speak, teach, parent, and legislate.

At an individual level, start by noticing your own emotional habits. Do you downplay how you’re feeling? Or push yourself to keep functioning even when you’re mentally or emotionally depleted?
When holding space for someone else, try replacing the urge to advise with genuine listening. Sometimes the most healing thing we can say is, “That sounds really hard. I’m here.”

As parents, model emotional vocabulary early. Instead of saying “Don’t cry,” try “It’s okay to feel upset. Do you want to talk about it?” Let children see you process your own emotions openly and without shame. This builds emotional safety and trust.

Within friendships and communities, encourage depression support groups. Normalise therapy and offer to go with someone if they’re nervous. Sharing your own mental health experiences (when safe to do so) often gives others quiet permission to open up.

In schools and colleges, emotional literacy must be introduced early. India’s New Education Policy (NEP) 2020 is a step in this direction, recognising the importance of emotional development alongside academics.

And most critically, we need change at a systemic and grassroots level. Public health campaigns must go beyond slogans to include real, diverse voices of men, rural youth, and caregivers. We also need more community health workers trained to recognise emotional distress, especially in areas where mental health professionals are scarce.

We don’t need more positivity. We need permission to be real.

When we’re willing to have the hard conversations, unlearn our judgments, and offer our full presence when someone says, “I’m not okay,” that’s when true healing begins.

References

https://www.mdpi.com/1660-4601/15/7/1425
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/39963293/
https://journalofethics.ama-assn.org/article/depressions-problem-men/2021-07
https://transmedcomms.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s41231-021-00092-3

END OF ARTICLE