The quiet weight we carry

In schools, laughter echoes through the halls.

But the apparent absence of pain does not mean that it isn’t there.

Behind perfect test scores and polite greetings lies a tapestry of interwoven threads of pain, neglect, and trauma.

In a culture where mental health is often neglected, wounds are masked by superficial strength, isolation, or silence.

Too often, resilience is demanded without regard for its cost.

This is more than a health issue—it is a quiet emergency that seeps into the foundations of our humanity, eroding joy, stealing voices, and dimming the light in young eyes.

It hides in students who never miss a deadline yet cry themselves to sleep. It lingers in boys taught to be tough and in girls taught to endure.

We don’t see it in stellar report cards or award ceremonies, yet it hides in the silence between “How are you?” and “I’m fine.”

Youth not okay

In 2020, a study found that among 405 senior high school students in Ghana, 58.5 per cent reported mental health challenges, with depression alone affecting seven out of 10 students, as compared to the global rate of one in seven.

This alarming gap highlights the need for extensive and adequate mental health support in schools, at home, and in our communities. Yet, despite the scale of suffering among Ghanaian youth, only about one in 50 seek professional help.

This silence is not accidental. It stems from a system where accomplishments are prioritised over well-being, and where silence is perceived as strength.

Barriers

But why do so many stay silent?

For many Ghanaian youth, the fear of being labelled as “overdramatic” or “weak” strangles their voices before they are even heard.

In a society where emotional pain is seen as a defect, as well as an unwelcome sign of imperfection and fragility, admitting to mental distress can be seen as betraying one’s upbringing.

Vulnerability isn’t encouraged- instead, it is misunderstood. So, we retreat into smaller and quieter versions of ourselves, hiding behind test scores and crisply ironed uniforms.

And when the ache becomes too painful to carry, we whisper to our pillows, and not people.

With no language to describe our pain and with no hands to hold us when we reach out for help, silence becomes both a sanctuary and a prison- a quiet place we run to, not knowing it’s locking us in.

Cost of silence

But silence does not stay still. It festers. It spills into schoolwork, manifests itself in quiet moments before sleep, and transforms into pain.

When pain is buried too long, it begins to rot, turning into rage, anxiety and depression. And sometimes, it takes lives.

A 2017 national survey revealed that roughly one in four senior high school students had attempted suicide.

More specifically, 18.25 per cent reported suicide ideation, 22.5 per cent had planned, and 22.2 per cent had attempted suicide.

Among younger students in junior high school, the story was no softer: 20.4 per cent had suicidal thoughts, 23.4  had planned, and a staggering 28.4per cent attempted to end their lives.

Behind every percentage is a pulse: a young soul suspended between reaching out and being ignored.

When the weight young people carry is ignored, the consequences are not just physical: they are fatal.

Tragically, the cost of silence is measured in lives lost too soon and futures that never had the chance to unfold.

Path to healing

To break the quiet weight we carry, spaces where students feel safe must be created and prioritised.

This begins in classrooms and staff rooms, where educators are not just trained to teach but to listen.

Schools should not just track academic performance but should monitor the emotional well-being of each student.

Every student deserves the undivided attention of a counsellor, not just in moments of crisis, but as a part of their everyday routine.

Peer support groups and mental health literacy must become an integral part of the school experience, helping students support each other and recognise that vulnerability is not a weakness, but the first step towards healing.

Rewriting narrative

To rewrite the story, we must first change what we celebrate.

True strength is not quiet suffering. Resilience is not the relentless push through pain without pause.

Success is not measured by flawless grades or perfect composure, but by the ability to honour our humanity: to feel, to falter, and still choose to keep going.

We are not meant to just survive our youth: we are meant to live it fully, embracing the myriad of emotions involved.

First, let’s talk. Let’s make mental health part of our everyday conversations.

Not something to be joked about or feared- but something we treat like any other part of our health.

Second, let’s listen. Truly listen.

When a friend says they’re tired, don’t just say “you’ll be fine.

”Ask them, “Why?” Be present. Be patient.

Lastly, let’s check in with ourselves.

Care for yourself as much as you care for your loved ones.

It’s okay to take a break, and it’s okay to ask for help from a friend, a teacher, or a professional.

Because healing starts when we allow ourselves to be human.

Mental health isn’t just about avoiding illness- it’s about building a life where we can thrive.

Where young people in Ghana are not just surviving, but growing, dreaming, and becoming.

The weight we carry is heavy because it is whispered.

But if we speak, we learn that we’re never truly alone.

The writer is a student of
International Community School, Accra.