It began like any other Friday briefing, but what followed was anything but routine. At a recent American Community Media (ACOM) national conversation with ethnic media, panelists convened to confront a mounting crisis: the mental health of America’s Gen Z youth.
Moderated by veteran journalist Sunita Sarabji, alongside Pilar Marrero, the July 25 briefing opened with a sobering truth. More than 22% of Gen Z young adults reported a major depressive episode in 2023, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. Four in ten children report persistent sadness. And Latino and Black youth are among the most affected.
“This is the crisis of our time,” said Sarabji, echoing the words of former U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy.
Four speakers brought wide-ranging expertise and lived insight. Dr. Obsana Lafer of Boston University laid out the data and drivers. Dr. Kiara Alvarez of Johns Hopkins illuminated systemic disparities. Therapist Soo Jin Lee of the Yellow Chair Collective revealed how cultural stigma deepens the silence. And youth advocate Victoria Birch gave voice to the pain—and resilience—of those on the frontlines.
A Perfect Storm: Pressure, Screens, and Pandemic Shadows
Dr. Lafer described a grim timeline. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, youth mental health was deteriorating. Between 2009 and 2019, high school students reporting persistent sadness rose by 40%. Social media, rising academic pressure, and diminishing downtime have made today’s young people more stressed, anxious, and sleep-deprived.
Then came the pandemic.
“Isolation, school closures, and family stress made everything worse,” Lafer said. Hospitalizations, especially for adolescent girls, spiked. Add in climate anxiety, global unrest, and economic insecurity, and you get a generation living under siege.
But there’s a sliver of light: increased awareness and better detection. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), a proven treatment, offers hope—if youth can access it. That’s a big if.
Systemic Barriers: When Culture Meets Inequity
Dr. Kiara Alvarez turned the spotlight to structural disparities. “Black, Latino, Asian, and Indigenous youth consistently have less access to mental health care than white youth,” she said.
Even when mental health needs are equal, care is not. This is compounded by fear—of immigration enforcement, child protective services, or stigma. In many communities, seeking help can feel like inviting punishment.
Youth of color are more likely to be funneled into punitive systems—like juvenile justice—rather than supportive mental health care. And cultural barriers, Alvarez emphasized, are not just about language, but also about trust, history, and belonging.
Asian American Realities: Unseen and Unheard
For Soo Jin Lee, a Korean American therapist and co-director of Yellow Chair Collective, the crisis has another layer.
“Loneliness isn’t just about being alone,” she said. “It’s about being unseen.”
Asian American youth, shaped by intergenerational trauma and the weight of the model minority myth, are often taught to suppress emotion. “You’re told to be grateful, to be strong, to not burden others,” Lee said. The result: many don’t even recognize their suffering as valid.
Only 3% of U.S. psychologists are Asian. Many youth find themselves with therapists who misunderstand cultural nuances, often recommending solutions that fracture rather than heal. “Being told to cut off your parents can be profoundly harmful,” Lee added. Instead, she advocates for family-inclusive therapy and community-rooted wellness.
A Survivor’s Voice: Victoria’s Journey
Then came Victoria Birch. Her voice, though soft, carried the weight of survival.
Raised by a single mother battling her own mental health challenges, Birch entered foster care in her teens. That separation deepened her sense of abandonment. By 16, she was incarcerated. She didn’t emerge until age 22.
“I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere,” Birch said.
What changed? A community. Beloved Village, a support network, began working with her six months before release. They showed up—not with judgment, but with consistency. They taught her to seek therapy, to reconnect with her mother, and to believe that healing is possible.
“People are reaching out when they see me struggling,” she said. “Even when I don’t ask.”
Birch’s mother, who joined her at the briefing, shared her own heartbreak. Placing Victoria in foster care, she said, was harder than burying a child. “I just wanted her to know love,” she said, holding back tears.
Toward Hope: Community as Care
If Gen Z is in crisis, the speakers agreed, the solution must be collective. That means funding culturally competent care, training diverse therapists, embedding services in schools, and supporting grassroots initiatives like peer-led retreats and community mental health workers.
And perhaps most of all, it means listening.
As Dr. Alvarez reminded, “Many youth just need to feel seen, understood, and safe.”
Victoria Birch put it plainly: “Even just being in peace with someone helps your mental health.”
In a country divided and distressed, this ACOM briefing was a call to unite around our youth’s well-being. The wounds are deep. But so is the will to heal.
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