Growing up in Hackney in the 1970s and subsequent decades, I witnessed a community alive with vibrancy and resilience. My parents, part of the Windrush generation, instilled in me values of hard work, perseverance, and community solidarity. Yet, as I’ve grown older and pursued my career as a counsellor, I’ve come to see the silent struggles that often go unspoken in Black communities—especially when it comes to mental health. The stigma surrounding mental health in our community is complex, deeply rooted, and urgently needs addressing.
For many of us with Afro-Caribbean heritage, there is a cultural emphasis on strength. Our ancestors survived the horrors of slavery, colonization, and systemic racism. My parents often reminded me that they came to the UK to build a better future for us, despite the discrimination they faced. In this narrative, strength was not just admirable; it was necessary for survival.
But strength, when misunderstood, can become a barrier to vulnerability. Expressions like “man up” or “we don’t talk about that” are common. Mental health struggles, rather than being seen as part of the human experience, are often viewed as personal weaknesses—a failure to cope in a world already stacked against us.
Growing up in Hackney, I saw this mindset all around me. Men worked long hours, often enduring the double burden of racism in the workplace and the pressures of being the family provider. Women juggled multiple roles with remarkable tenacity but rarely spoke of their own emotional needs. There was pride in resilience but little room for openness about emotional pain.
It’s impossible to discuss mental health stigma in Black communities without acknowledging the mistrust many feel towards the healthcare system. This mistrust is not without reason. Historically, Black people in the UK have been disproportionately diagnosed with severe mental health conditions and are more likely to be sectioned under the Mental Health Act (Mental Health Foundation, 2021). The over-reliance on coercive treatments like hospitalisation, and the underrepresentation of Black therapists, compounds feelings of alienation (Mind, 2020).
I hear this mistrust echoed in the stories of my clients. They tell me about feeling misunderstood by professionals who don’t share their cultural frame of reference or fear being judged by friends and family if they seek help. In Hackney, where gentrification has transformed much of the borough, these issues are layered with a sense of cultural displacement—many feel their struggles are invisible in a changing community (Hackney Council, 2020).
Faith has always played a central role in the Black community. Growing up, the church was a cornerstone of my life. For many, the church is still a place of solace and strength. Spiritual leaders often provide emotional guidance, offering prayers and scripture as tools for overcoming difficulties.
However, while faith can be a source of support, it can also contribute to stigma. Phrases like “leave it to God” or “pray it away” can discourage people from seeking professional help (Royal College of Psychiatrists, 2021). Some clients share their worry that acknowledging mental health struggles might be seen as a lack of faith or spiritual weakness.
In my counselling practice, I strive to create a space where clients feel seen, heard, and understood—culturally and emotionally. Building this trust takes time, particularly in a community where silence around mental health has been the norm for generations. But I see signs of change. Younger generations are beginning to challenge the stigma, often drawing from their dual identities as Black British individuals who are more attuned to conversations about mental health in mainstream culture.
As a counsellor, one of the most fulfilling aspects of my work is helping clients unpack the myths they’ve internalized about mental health. We talk about how seeking help is not a sign of weakness but a courageous step towards healing. We explore cultural and familial narratives, identifying how this shape their beliefs and behaviours.
Representation matters. When I began my training as a counsellor, I was struck by how few people in the profession looked like me or shared my background. For Black clients, this lack of representation can reinforce feelings of disconnection (British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy, 2022).
This is why I remain committed to practicing in Hackney, the community that raised me. My identity as a Black British counsellor with Afro-Caribbean roots allows me to bridge cultural gaps and offer a perspective that resonates with my clients.
Addressing mental health stigma in Black communities requires a collective effort. Faith leaders, educators, families, and professionals must work together to normalize mental health conversations. Initiatives that bring therapy into community spaces—whether through churches, schools, or cultural centres—are vital.
As a community, we must also challenge the notion that strength and vulnerability are mutually exclusive. True strength lies in recognizing when we need help and having the courage to seek it.
Hackney has changed so much since I was a child, but its heart remains the same—a community bound by resilience and connection. My hope is that as we continue to evolve, we can foster a culture where mental health is no longer a taboo but an integral part of our collective well-being. Together, we can break the silence and begin to heal.