Unspoken.

Daniela Martinez wishes she could express her struggles to her parents and how they're affecting her mental health. However, in her mind, she already knows what their response would be. “Tú no tienes nada, se te va a pasar” (“That’s nothing, it will pass”) would be her father’s way of waving her away. Her mother might assign her chores or tell her to pray. What she wanted was comfort and understanding. What she got instead was her pain reduced to “nada.”

That reaction is all too familiar in Latino families, says Katherine Montas, a Latina therapist at Brookside Community Health Center. In her practice, she often sees how cultural beliefs and stigma create invisible boundaries around mental health. “Especially with Latino men, there’s an added layer of culture -- they've been raised to not talk about emotions. The stereotype is ‘men don’t cry.’” Women, she adds, are often expected to "be strong" and push through. Older generations may dismiss therapy as unnecessary, while younger people are turning to TikTok and pop culture to find words for what they feel.

For teens, the challenges can be even more basic: without parental consent or a ride, they simply can’t get to therapy. Even young adults may hide their struggles when families reject the idea of seeking help. And with most providers being white and English-speaking, Montas explains, many Latino families struggle to feel understood. These boundaries leave young Latinos without support, reinforcing isolation instead of healing.

The Weight of Silence

Latino men are particularly affected by this silence. “They've been raised to not talk about their emotions: the stereotype is ‘men don’t cry,’” explains Montas. “It makes it much harder for them to express their emotions in general.” Women, meanwhile, are often told to "endure" and be the strong ones in the family, even at the expense of their own well-being.

That’s something students like Anyara Urbaez, a fourth-year psychology major At Bunker Hill Community College, know firsthand. "I've tried opening up to my parents about feeling stressed or lonely, but they don’t really take mental health seriously,” she says. “Whenever I told them I was sad or stressed, they'd just tell me to wash the dishes or clean the house. That was their way of distracting me, but it didn’t help. It just made me feel like they weren’t taking me seriously.” These dismissive reactions, Montas notes, are rooted in generational belief systems where therapy feels like an indulgence or even a weakness, rather than a necessary form of care.

A Generational Shift

Yet Montas has seen change among younger Latinos. Social media has helped normalize conversations about mental health. “Therapy has kind of become popularized… part of pop culture,” she says. “My [patients] tell me about what they see on TikTok, things like attachment styles have become buzzwords. Social media has opened up the dialogue, and young people have really leaned into the importance of mental health.”

Urbaez agrees. “This generation is very open when talking about mental health,” she says. “At my university, they even give us wellness days, which I'd never heard of in high school. If I mention being stressed, my professors and classmates take it seriously. My parents' generation never really knew what mental health was.”

For many young Latinos, platforms like Instagram and TikTok provide the first language to describe feelings like anxiety or trauma, offering a sense of connection in contrast to the silence at home.

“42.4% of Latino participants said they have watched health releted videos on social media several times a month or more, compared to 27.2% of non-Latino White particpants.”

- J Med Internet Research, 2025

Barriers to Care

The obstacles, Montas emphasizes, are not only cultural but also logistical. “If your parents are anti-mental health, they're not going to take you to your appointment. You literally can’t get there. That’s a huge barrier,” she says. Teens under 18 need parental consent to see a counselor and often depend on parents for transportation. Without that support, the option disappears.

Even for young adults, stigma lingers. “They can’t fully engage because they're shielding pieces of themselves away from their families,” Montas says. “If your family isn’t receptive, you can’t be your fullest self around them.”

Trust also plays a role. With most mental health providers being white and English-speaking, many Latinos hesitate to open up. “Sometimes people need someone from their own cultural background to feel seen,” Montas explains. Without that cultural connection, therapy can feel like another space where they don’t belong.

“Just 5.5% of U.S. psychologists say they can provide services in Spanish.”

- American Psychological Association, 2018

Breaking the Cycle

For Daniela and many like her, the struggle is twofold: dealing with their own emotional pain while navigating a family culture that discourages openness. Urbaez puts it plainly: “I really wish my parents could understand that mental health is a big issue. They sometimes think we're being dramatic or overthinking, but it’s not like that. Mental health can be very hard to control, and ignoring it can make things worse.” Despite these challenges, Montas believes shifting the narrative can spark change. “I wish people understood that mental health is just as important as physical health,” she says. “Talking to a therapist doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you. It’s the same as going to a doctor for a checkup- like brushing your teeth every day. It’s just taking care of yourself. It doesn’t happen overnight,” Montas says. “But every conversation, every story, is a step toward healing.”