In recent years, mental health has transitioned into a buzzword. Self-care merchandise, TikTok therapy advice accounts and wellness weeks have all contributed to normalizing discussions on healing. On TikTok alone, the hashtag #mentalhealth has accumulated over 20 billion views; however, along with this cultural visibility comes a wave of misconceptions. 

Many individuals imagine mental health as a very linear process: You recognize key symptoms, check some boxes on a diagnostic test and begin treatment. Once a label is given, it can often feel as if the problem is “solved.” 

In reality, there are several fallacies about mental health and cognitive impairments that remain concealed. The process of attaining a diagnosis is often financially inaccessible and emotionally draining — especially for students who come from low-income backgrounds. Testing for ADHD, for instance, can cost up to $5,000 for an extensive in-person test, which is a significant barrier that prevents students from seeking help.

At USC, appointments with the student psychiatric center can take up to four weeks to process after submitting all necessary paperwork, and the required amount of money depends on insurance coverage. 

Gradually, diagnoses have become commodified. Universities and insurance companies profit from the process by determining who is eligible for mental wellness medication. Without a formal ADHD diagnosis, possessing Adderall can result in a criminal charge — yet these same institutions profit from selling access to it. Thus, mental health medication has quietly become a means by which companies gatekeep access to treatments that improve focus and attention. 

On college campuses within the United States, only around 5.1% of students reported past-year medication treatment, despite around 9.1% having a lifetime clinical ADHD diagnosis. This gap in medication accessibility is a direct reflection of corporate control and nationwide shortages of stimulant prescriptions and supply. 

The lower rates of diagnosis can also be attributed to other factors, such as environmental influences. Growing up in an Asian American household, I was not accustomed to hearing conversations about mental health or disabilities. The generational stigma is cultural, and I wasn’t aware of how to recognize signs of mental illnesses. 

This kind of cultural blockage only deepens the inequity: Individuals who already face barriers to treatment access are also taught to suppress their need for help.

Rather than emphasizing how mental health is a form of self-understanding and internal improvement, it’s instead becoming reduced to a paperwork-oriented bureaucratic formation that is influenced by administrators rather than credentialed clinicians. 

Mental health is now a source of epistemic privilege, where individuals who can afford testing have access to treatment resources. Mental health and mindfulness are thus viewed as luxuries rather than necessities.

While Mental Health Awareness Month is observed in May, it is essential to remain vigilant about mental health issues throughout the year. We see an uptick of mental health-oriented merchandise in May, yet the commitment rarely lasts. Companies profit from performing pro-mental health stances, but do very little to address affordability barriers. 

Talkspace and BetterHelp, for example, advertise extensively during Mental Health Awareness Month yet face controversies for their high subscription fees and limited insurance coverage. Accessibility is thus seen as insignificant in a system that prioritizes profit.

We shouldn’t have to fight to afford self-care. Mental health access should be considered a universal human right; however, the bureaucratic structure of assistance often hinders rapid treatment.

Universities require lengthy forms and diagnostic proof, implementing waitlists that contradict the urgency of mental distress. 

At USC, the Office of Student Accessibility Services’ accommodations often take weeks — a timeline that doesn’t match the immediacy of student distress. USC has several checkpoints to meet, such as OSAS documentation requirements, which, along with therapy waitlist times and the Counseling and Psychological Services referral process, inhibit access to healing.

As students, do not let this expense or long-drawn process deter you from your healing journey. Institutional red tape exists to monetize mental health — however, there are always alternative resources. USC’s Let’s Talk program allows students to speak one-on-one with certified counselors for thirty-minute sessions. Los Angeles has several low-cost clinics, such as the Maple Counseling Center, which stay committed to affordability.

Allow yourself to have mental health days. The career-oriented nature of USC promotes a continuous pursuit of overworking; thus, to counter this emphasis, incorporate essential breaks in your day-to-day routine. When career development leans towards sidelining healing, choose to react differently. 

We can’t heal in systems that are meant to profit from our pain. Unless institutions change, students must fight fiercely for their well-being, even when systems commodify necessary treatment.