AS Self-Harm Awareness Month ends, we must take a long, hard look at a crisis often hidden in plain sight: the rising epidemic of self-harm and suicide in Pakistan.
According to reports, suicide rates rose from 7.3 to 9.7 per 100,000 people in 2022.
Experts believe the true figures are likely even higher—masked by stigma, denial and a lack of official tracking mechanisms.
But statistics don’t tell the whole story.
Have you ever wondered what pushes someone—an otherwise successful, independent, even cheerful person—to end their life?
A person with a good job, a loving family and a smile that fooled everyone?
Self-harm and suicide rarely make “sense” to those on the outside.
But these are not random decisions made in moments of weakness—they’re often the result of long-standing emotional battles, unresolved traumas, loneliness and mental illnesses that society prefers to ignore.
It’s not about being “too weak to cope.
” It’s about being too burdened to carry the pain alone.
Our culture glorifies independence and self-sufficiency, so much so that asking for help is seen as a weakness.
We are taught to hold it all together, to be “strong,” to cry behind closed doors.
But needing help does not make someone weak—it makes them human.
And asking for help is not dependency—it is a powerful act of self-preservation.
Sadly, many suffer in silence, unaware that there are doors of hope still open.
Unknowingly, we close them ourselves—believing that crying makes us a burden, or that vulnerability is failure.
We live in a time that celebrates self-love on the surface.
Social media is flooded with curated pictures, polished reels, filtered happiness and endless snaps of perfection.
But deep down, many of us are silently battling self-loathing, poor self-worth and broken self-images.
We spend hours on personal grooming and chasing external validation because our internal dialogue is too brutal to face.
Our self-worth is often so fragile that we rely on the constant reassurance of others to believe we matter.
And when that reassurance doesn’t come—or when our loved ones fail to respond the way we expect—we begin to spiral.
We start to believe that we are only as good as what people tell us we are.
But here’s the truth: You are not what people say you are.
You are not your worst day.
You are not alone.
As we step into April, let’s not leave the lessons of March behind.
Let’s continue the conversation—not just during awareness months, but every single day.
Talk about mental health.
Check in on your friends.
Challenge the idea that silence equals strength.
Remind those around you that help is not just available—it’s okay to ask for it.
Hope doesn’t disappear.
Sometimes, it just needs a voice to call it back.
—The writer is Clinical Psychologist and Lecturer, Psychiatry and Education. (javeriaarshad40@gmail.com)
