Colman Noctor: Rise in therapy talk can make teens see everyday stress as a sign of mental illness

It seems almost impossible to go a day without encountering language, which used to be exclusive to the therapy room, being used in everyday conversation. Terms like triggered, narcissist, boundaries, toxic, and trauma are no longer confined to psychotherapy. Instead, they saturate social media captions, casual conversations, mainstream journalism and pop songs.

While normalising mental health is a positive development, the misuse and overextension of therapeutic terms have led to significant consequences, particularly among young people navigating the task of self-understanding.

Therapy speak is another example of ‘overcorrection’, where an initial good intention is taken too far, leading to the dial being flipped in the other direction. 

At best, the widespread use of psychological terms has encouraged people to be more mindful of their feelings, to seek help when needed, and to destigmatise struggles that were once taboo. But at its worst, the casual co-opting is distorting the understanding of mental health issues.

It worries me when words that once described severe, clinical experiences are used to express everyday discomforts or minor disagreements. In this context, their gravity and meaning are being lost, and with it, our ability to differentiate between ordinary human suffering and psychological illness. 

This is especially important for young people, who have no previous experience of a time when therapy speak was not in everyday use.

Take the word triggered, for example. In its clinical origin, being triggered refers to a profound psychological and sometimes physical response to a traumatic memory. For individuals with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a trigger is an involuntary and overwhelming re-experiencing of trauma, which occurs when they are exposed to specific stimuli that can be debilitating. 

Yet today, “triggered” is commonly used to describe feeling mildly upset, politically challenged, or socially uncomfortable. When an online meme claims someone was “triggered” because their favourite coffee shop closed early, its original meaning is trivialised.

Similarly, I see how the word depression seems to have been flattened into a shorthand for sadness or boredom. 

To say “I’m so depressed” after a disappointing exam grade or a rainy weekend not only minimises the intense suffering that characterises clinical depression, but it also affects young people’s ability to recognise when they, or someone they know, might need professional intervention.

Major depressive disorder is a complex, chronic condition involving cognitive, emotional, and physical symptoms that interfere with daily functioning. It is not a mood swing and is not usually cured by a good night’s sleep, a gym workout, or a motivational quote.

Normalising ‘anxiety’

The increasing reference to “anxiety” in everyday discourse follows a similar pattern, which might explain how I get so irked listening to the hit song with the same title.

Feeling nervous before an exam or a first date is entirely normal and not a sign of generalised anxiety disorder (GAD). GAD is a debilitating condition marked by excessive, uncontrollable worry about multiple aspects of life over an extended period. Yet today, it seems, that any moment of worry or discomfort is frequently labelled as “anxiety”, contributing to confusion between normative emotional experiences and clinical conditions.

This linguistic drift matters because words shape our reality. If young people grow up hearing that every negative feeling is pathological, they may come to view everyday emotional struggles as signs of illness.

When a person says they “have anxiety”, but means they are worried, it becomes harder for society to appreciate the severity of anxiety disorders. If an online influencer, for example, says they had anxiety, but it resolved when they went to the gym and did some breathwork exercises, it’s reasonable to assume that when someone else tries the same thing but doesn’t succeed, they will feel like they are failing when in reality, they are not.

Mental health, like physical health, is varied and complicated. There are mental health equivalents to cancer and the common cold, and the distinctions between their severity need to be made. Severe depressive disorder or GAD can often require months of intensive therapy, medication or even hospitalisation. 

I have spoken to many young people undergoing this treatment, and they believe their challenges are minimised when they are misrepresented in this way by popular culture.

It’s a bit like the messaging around ‘talk to someone and you’ll feel better’. While it’s well-intended, it is not reflective of the reality of the treatment of some mental health conditions.

After two therapy sessions, some young people have said to me, ‘This isn’t working”. They explain that they were told they’d feel better if they talked to someone. 

It can be challenging for them to understand that therapy is not as simple as that, and often it takes far longer than two sessions, and in some instances, things can get a little worse before they get better.

Therapy culture

The rise of therapy-speak is deeply intertwined with the broader shift known as “therapy culture”, a phenomenon where psychological concepts and therapeutic practices become central to how we understand ourselves and relate to others.

Therapy culture promotes self-examination and emotional literacy, but it can also encourage an inward gaze so intense that it risks turning personal identity into a list of diagnoses and symptoms. Instead of saying, “I’m feeling isolated”, the contemporary script may encourage someone to say, “I’m experiencing attachment trauma”, even when no trauma has occurred.

Good therapeutic interventions offer possible explanations for emotions, not excuses for them. When terms like anxious attachment, triggers or intrusive thoughts are named in therapy, they accompany a series of constructive interventions and strategies to help the client navigate the world.

Therapeutic terms are not intended to be weaponised (another therapy phrase) to attack others. Often, we hear terms like borderline or narcissistic used flippantly about other people. While these terms might describe certain behaviours, they are open to misinterpretation and are often used without context.

Driven mainly by social media, the therapy-speak trend often functions as emotional shorthand. While TikTok videos explaining signs of “toxic relationships” or “trauma responses” can help to broaden awareness, they also tend to oversimplify complex psychological concepts into digestible, often misleading, soundbites. 

Adopting a therapeutic narrative on social media can empower a culture that rewards personal disclosure and vulnerability with likes and validation.

I have listened to many online influencers spout inaccurate and, frankly, nonsense mental health advice in the form of TikTok soundbites. Simplifying complex concepts into digestible chunks is easy, but this should be done to improve accessibility, not popularity.

I understand why people turn to these explanations, as the proper descriptions are often full of academic jargon and hidden behind paywalls in scholarly journals.

Another contributor to the rise of ‘therapy speak’ is the commodification of mental health. Wellness brands and influencers increasingly sell the idea that healing is a lifestyle choice, accessible through self-care routines and affirmations. 

In this model, mental health becomes a consumer good rather than a psychological need. Consequently, the language of suffering is used to market products and personas.

The stakes of the rise of therapy speak are especially high for young people. Adolescence is a period of intense emotional fluctuations and identity formation. Young people may develop a distorted sense of self if every failure, heartbreak, or awkward social interaction is labelled as a pathology. 

They may avoid necessary challenges, retreat from growth opportunities, or feel hopelessly broken by what are everyday developmental experiences.

I’m not suggesting that mental health concerns should be minimised; quite the opposite. 

Maintaining a profound, empathetic, scientifically accurate mental health conversation is crucial. Feeling anxious before speaking in class, grieving after a breakup, or feeling “off” during a tough week are not necessarily signs of mental illness. They are signs of being human.

Restoring meaning to clinical psychological terms does not mean suppressing feelings or ignoring real pain. Distress is often a part of growth, and emotions, even painful ones, are not inherently dangerous but inevitable challenges of living.

If we want young people to thrive, we must model a healthier relationship to emotions that reflect the seriousness of mental illness without collapsing the full range of human experience into diagnostic categories. We need a cultural language that distinguishes between discomfort and disorder, between sadness and depression, between worry and anxiety.

Words matter. Let’s use them wisely. The lyrics of pop songs also matter, so let’s choose them responsibly.

• Dr Colman Noctor is a child psychotherapist