In a world that glorifies silent suffering, walking into a therapist’s office is the bravest act of rebellion there is.
LAST week, a client sat in my counselling room. He walked in looking over his shoulder, asked to park his car three blocks away so no one known would see him and requested that I not use his real name anywhere. His hands were trembling, not from fear of me but from fear of being seen.
Ravi is a high-functioning professional in his early thirties. For the past year, frustration and stress have been eating away at his daily life. He couldn’t sleep, was always snapping at his parents and is unable to land a steady job. He felt hollow. By the time he arrived, he wasn’t just tired, he was broken. And yet, his primary concern wasn’t his burnout; it was about being seen.
“What if someone recognises me?” he whispered.
That moment stopped me. Not because his story is unique, it isn’t. But because of the extremes he went to just to ensure no one saw him walk through a counsellor’s door. He wasn’t ashamed of needing help. He was ashamed of being seen needing help.
That, dear readers, is the unspoken reality we refuse to name. We have a dangerous equation in our society, especially among men. We have been taught that: suffering = strength and asking for help = weakness.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Let’s look at the data we cannot ignore.
The police reported that from 2020 to 2025, over 80% of reported suicide cases involved young working adult men. The same men who are told to “man up”, “stop complaining” and “handle it” are the ones silently dying.
The National Health and Morbidity Survey tells us that depression among Malaysian adults has nearly doubled since 2019. Almost one million of us are living with this weight. Yet, we still whisper the word “counselling” or “therapy” like a curse.
Ravi told me, “I kept waiting until I was falling apart to come here. I thought if I just tried harder, I could think my way out of it”.
Here’s the truth every person reading this need to tattoo on their memory: You cannot think your way out of a brain chemistry imbalance or a traumatic response. Mental health struggles are not a failure of attitude. Healing takes tools, time and often professional help, not just positive thoughts.
We wait because we believe the myths. We think, “I don’t have ‘real’ problems, others have it worse”. We fear, “If I seek help, people will think I’m unstable for my job”. We tell ourselves, “Talking about it will make it more real”.
But pain is not a competition. You do not need to be in a crisis to deserve support. Preventative mental health care is like servicing your car – you don’t wait for the engine to explode before you check the oil.
Ravi waited until his engine was on fire. He waited until his frustration turned into isolation and his stress turned into physical illness. He is not alone. Two out of three employees report experiencing burnout. We are drowning in a perfect storm of digital isolation and generational pressure, surrounded by thousands of online “friends” but with no one to call when you need to talk to someone.
Here is what we need to understand: When we say, “It is okay not to be okay”, we are not giving you permission to wallow; we are giving ourselves permission to stop running.
It is okay to be tired. It is okay to be overwhelmed by a workload that never gets lighter. But more importantly, it is okay to ask for help.
Reaching out is not a weakness. In a hollow, disconnected world, walking into a counsellor’s or a therapist’s office is the bravest act of rebellion there is. Hiding your pain requires immense, exhausting energy. Facing it? That frees energy.
To the men reading this: Vulnerability is not the enemy of strength. It is the source of courage. To everyone else: Stop waiting until you are broken. You don’t need a diagnosis to deserve a safe space; you just need to be human.
Ravi is still in counselling. He still parks a little further away sometimes but he is sleeping better. He is laughing again. And last week, he told me, “I wish I had come a year ago.”
Don’t wait until your engine explodes.
Dr Bhavani Krishna Iyer holds a doctorate in English literature. Her professional background encompasses teaching, journalism and public relations. She is currently pursuing a second master’s degree in counselling. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com
