Why mental health support for Black and Brown youth must go beyond self-care – TheGrio

OPINION: Wellness shouldn’t be a privilege. For marginalized youth, mental health care is about survival, justice, and systemic change.
Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.
In today’s conversations about mental health, the dominant narrative is soft, sanitized, and rooted in privilege. It centers on self-care routines, wellness retreats, therapy apps, and motivational mantras. But for many Black and Brown youth across the country, mental health isn’t about balance—it’s about survival.
There’s a growing dissonance between how mental health is marketed and how it’s experienced by historically marginalized communities. While the wellness industry booms, many students of color sit in overcrowded classrooms, carry the weight of generational trauma, and navigate school systems that too often criminalize their pain rather than address it. For them, “wellness” isn’t an Instagram quote—it’s making it through the day without breaking.
The data tells part of the story. Suicide is now the second leading cause of death for Black children ages 10 to 14. From 2018 to 2021, suicide rates among Black youth rose faster than any other racial group. At the same time, mental health services in schools remain underfunded and inaccessible, especially in communities of color. A 2022 report from the American School Counselor Association found that in many urban districts, the student-to-counselor ratio exceeds 500 to 1. In some schools, there are no counselors at all.
Beyond the numbers is a deeper issue: the way mental health is framed and addressed is not culturally responsive to the lived experiences of marginalized students. Black and Brown youth are more likely to face disciplinary action than mental health support when exhibiting signs of trauma. Anxiety in a white student might elicit concern; in a Black student, it’s often misread as aggression. This fundamental misunderstanding contributes to cycles of mistrust, misdiagnosis, and neglect.
Students are speaking out about this disconnect. Gzell Dantan, a high school student at Coney Island Preparatory Charter School, captures the emotional toll of being expected to remain composed in the face of constant pressure:
“Growing up in an immigrant household as a first-generation American, everyone expected the world from me. I was supposed to get straight A’s, have perfect behavior, and just be strong, no matter what. When I told teachers or even my own family that I was stressed, I was met with, ‘That’s life,’ or ‘You have to be strong.’ But being strong led to burnout, depression, and times when I couldn’t see a way out… That’s the reality of mental health for so many Black people, especially Black women. It’s not about self-care. It’s about survival.”
That theme—of being expected to endure rather than be cared for—is echoed by Mackenzie Pettiford, a student at Uncommon Collegiate Charter School. She emphasizes that normalizing conversations about mental health in Black and Brown communities must start with representation and empathy:
“Mental health should be prioritized in Black and Brown communities because too often are our physical struggles overlooked as well as our mental ones. If we can reduce the stigma surrounding mental health, our people will be more open to speaking about these struggles and finding ways to overcome them. Having Black therapists and mental health professionals help students like us would be a great way to make us feel more comfortable, because these are people who’ve been through the same struggles we’re facing.”
Gzell Dantan at Coney Island Preparatory Charter High School after Debate Practice (Photographer: Gabriel Taliaferrow)
These students’ words highlight an urgent truth: the current mental health model was never built for them. To address this crisis, we must redefine healing—not as a clinical checklist, but as a communal, cultural, and often radical act. That means hiring more counselors and therapists who reflect the cultural identities of the students they serve. It means embedding trauma-informed practices into every level of education. And it means funding community-led wellness programs that extend beyond school walls.
Jada Young, Director of Wellness at the NewComm Project, adds a broader perspective from years of working with youth across educational and community spaces. For her, mental health isn’t just about managing crisis—it’s about creating wholeness:
“For me, mental health — especially for Black students — isn’t just about coping, it’s about wholeness. It’s about creating space to not just survive, but to be joyful, to be vulnerable, to be creative, to be still.”
She goes on to challenge the idea that therapy alone is the solution:
“Our students are carrying so much — their own struggles, their families’ pain, and the weight of navigating systems never designed for them. So mental health has to look like more than individual solutions. It looks like community, creativity, rest, connection to culture and ancestry — all the ways we’ve always cared for ourselves and each other.”
True support also requires confronting systemic stressors: poverty, over-policing, food insecurity, and environmental racism. These are not abstract issues—they are daily realities. Telling young people to “breathe through it” while their communities are in crisis isn’t care. It’s avoidance.
Mental health for Black and Brown youth must no longer be treated as a luxury or an afterthought—it’s a matter of equity and a matter of life and death. Well-being shouldn’t be determined by zip code, race, or insurance status. It should be a fundamental right.
What’s most frustrating is how often this crisis is deprioritized in national policy and philanthropy. When the pandemic laid bare the mental health needs of all students, the response was performative—short-term grants, one-off wellness days, vague promises of “care.” But what our kids need is not performance. They need protection. They need investment. They need justice.
The narrative must shift. Mental health for marginalized youth is not about softening the edges of stress—it’s about dismantling the systems that create it. It’s not about teaching kids to “cope better.” It’s about giving them less to cope with.
This is not a wellness moment. This is a survival movement. And if we’re truly serious about change, we must stop relying on hashtags—and start building something better. Brick by brick. School by school. Policy by policy.
Jonathan Conyers is the author of the acclaimed memoir I Wasn’t Supposed to Be Here. He is also a respiratory therapist, writer, and producer, as well as the owner and investor of several successful business ventures. Through his storytelling and work, Conyers continues to amplify underrepresented voices and create impact across industries.

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