I left an abusive marriage. Four turbulent years later, their father abducted them, taking them out of the country and out of my reach for more than two years. When they finally came home, we were no longer the same people. In the aftermath, I began writing our story in the margins of my life, after work, before school events, and between counselling sessions, trying to make sense of what had happened to us.

I was called a survivor before I understood the word, and styled as a victim long after I stopped recognising myself in it. I am Srijani, a writer, poet and educator based in India. Being a neurodivergent survivor myself, I have expressed my thoughts on victimhood and the perspectives on it in my article. I hope this helps you understand and navigate what victimhood is and how it stands in the socio-cultural, emotional and psychological contexts we live in.

Israel did not allow foreign journalists into the Gaza Strip as it carried out its genocide. In their absence, every person with internet access became a war correspondent. Civilians filmed their ruined homes; fathers stood for photos holding plastic bags containing the remains of their children. A little girl named Renad shared Instagram Reels of recipes made from the rations received in aid packages.

Many of us would like to think that we always believe the survivors first. That we sympathise with them. But often, what we really believe in is the idea of the “perfect victim.” Victimhood, at least publicly, sometimes comes with unwritten rules. There are expectations people place upon survivors, things they expect to see that qualify someone as believable. You are expected to be visibly hurt, emotionally open and undeniably vulnerable. Your pain has to look recognisable bu

On a spring day in 2023, I was subbed on at half-time in a rugby game between my university team and the British Army. Two minutes into the second half, I clashed heads with a teammate and briefly lost consciousness. When I came to, I realised something felt very wrong. My first thought was about the exams I had in two months. In the end, the exams went smoothly, and I returned to rugby within 2 months.

Lifestyle advice has become almost inseparable from conversations about mental health. Open a newspaper, scroll through social media, or visit a health website, and the message is strikingly consistent: exercise regularly, eat well, sleep properly, reduce alcohol, stay connected. These recommendations are usually well-intentioned and evidence-based. Yet for people living with severe mental illness (SMI), they can feel strangely out of reach.

Amidst growing discourse surrounding mental health, there is one condition that, I feel, has been left out. That condition is obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). The condition has been discussed previously on Inspire The Mind, both in regard to avoidance and reproductive care and first-hand, lived experience. I strongly recommend reading these pieces to get a fuller understanding of the condition.

I want to ask you a question. How many close friends do you have? And I mean close friends - friends you could call at 11pm in an emergency and they’d pick-up the phone. Friends who know the things about you which you don’t post on social media. My name is Tom Stroud, and I’m the co-founder of the Shoulder to Shoulder men’s community. In this article, I talk about why feeling connected to others is the most important factor in long-term health and happiness.

Just a few weeks ago, before speaking on a panel for Black Inclusion Week, I suffered a major panic attack. From the outside, nobody would have known. The “Mental Health Jedi” public persona still worked perfectly well. But internally, I felt completely drained — anxious, overwhelmed, and emotionally flat. Not dramatic, not visibly distressed, just… absent. The strange thing is, that feeling wasn’t new to me. Over the years, I’ve become particularly good at performing while e

I’m eight years old and I receive my first phone. I am discovering social media, there is COVID, and I experience bursts of happiness in doing TikTok dances. Overthinking every comment and every “like”. “Will I get 100 likes today?” This dance, that routine, the lip sync, the newest trend. I am 10 years old, and I love seeing older girls posting makeup and hair tutorials. “I want to grow up to be just like them”. Looking at videos about beauty makes me curious and excited.

I was four years old when I was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder (a mental health condition characterised by anxiety about many different day-to-day situations). As an anxious kid, I became very good at performing competence, earning the “gifted kid” label. I was often bullied by my peers, so I found comfort in books, where I didn’t have to talk to anyone. I put all my efforts into academics and prided myself on being the one who always knew the answer.

With men combating loneliness, suicide and the rise of the manosphere, Men’s groups are providing an opportunity to explore masculinity and the pressure they feel. From prison support groups to men-only hikes in nature, from dad clubs to celebrity circles, men are turning to a growing number of communities and brotherhoods to explore their identity, connect with their emotions, and voice their concerns.

I am writing this piece as I believe that navigating addiction within a family is a unique experience that only those who have lived through it can truly understand. I hope these reflections offer some hope to others walking the same path. If anyone came across my family now, you would never be able to tell what we have been through. And although our bond is so unique and tight, our past cannot go unnoticed. In my case, things were different from the beginning. Even though, a

My name is Liam Virgo, and I am an advocate for functional neurological disorder (FND), pushing to raise awareness for this life-changing condition. For the past ten years, I have been fighting a quiet, gruelling war to reclaim my body and my identity after a sudden illness turned my teenage world upside down. While the physical realities of severe FND are devastating, the profound mental health struggles, emotional scars.

I’ve noticed something weird, the last few years: people think I’m friendly. I’m referred to as outgoing, and even, occasionally, extroverted. It feels like I’ve pulled off some magnificent con–because for much of my childhood, I was deeply lonely, and through my adolescence, that loneliness gave me terrible anxiety. This is a story of growth before it is anything else–mostly because I started, socially, around rock bottom.

No matter what, at least I have control. Or that’s what I used to think…When I was 14, I was admitted into hospital with an eating disorder; I left my home, my family, and my community all behind. Not knowing how long it would be until I was able to go home, I was scared and very alone.

Loneliness is sometimes sad and uncomfortable, and I think we like to pretend it isn’t happening when it is. We hide the feeling from people we know, like saying it out loud means something is wrong. I now reject this and would like to say: I need social connection, and I’m not afraid to say it anymore!

Overnight, at the age of nine, I went from an energetic, sociable child to housebound and isolated as Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME/CFS) and other comorbidities shrunk my world to my bedroom. ME is a chronic, fluctuating disease that causes symptoms such as severe fatigue, post-exertional malaise, pain, sleep problems, and brain fog. It can leave people bed or housebound, and there is currently no cure. As the years passed, I tried every form of low‐energy activity that I cou

Ever heard of picture perfect? Clicking posts, attracting attention, wanting to feel validated. Validated. Something so many teenage girls, like me, crave the feeling of. Ever looked at yourself in the mirror and not seen your true potential? All you see is what others want of you. All you see is a dysmorphic image of who you seem to be, a monster to you, and a so-called ‘perfect girl’ to others. My name is Joana.

Every year during Men’s Health Week, we see more conversations around mental health, wellbeing, cancer awareness and the importance of speaking up - which of course, should absolutely be applauded. But there’s still a long way to go when it comes to helping men feel genuinely comfortable talking about their health. This is especially true when it comes to topics that feel personal, embarrassing or vulnerable - like testicular cancer.

A perfect column of khaki moves across the concrete. 300 pairs of legs marching in unison, with military precision. If not for the basketball hoops on either end of our parade square, we would be indistinguishable from professional soldiers. The occasional adolescent voice crack of the parade sergeant not withstanding, we were that good, or at least so we all believed. I am right in the centre, where everyone can see.

Let me start by dispelling the obvious– there is no such thing as a “feminazi”. There are feminists, and then there are feminists who are so unapologetic and uncompromising about their pursuit of feminism that they are derogatorily branded “feminazi” by those who are discomfited by their pursuit of a fair and equal world. It follows, therefore, that there can be no such thing as a “male feminazi”. In my opinion and experience, this is a response from men who have not been ta

With porn consumption linked to increased anxiety, depression and loneliness among men, I reveal my own porn use and what led me to stop. After being single for most of my 30’s and finding my self-esteem and body confidence at an all-time low, I decided to quit porn. I had always struggled with my use, which had morphed from an exploration of my sexuality into an unhealthy habit. As a British writer with an interest in culture and men's wellness, I share my personal journey.

My mother and I have been estranged for twenty years, with a few exceptions. I saw her at the hospital when my niece was born. We spoke on the phone once in 2013, and a few times in 2016. I stopped sending my annual “Merry Christmas” text message in 2019. When we first became estranged, it felt like I was the only person in the world who couldn’t maintain a relationship with my mom.

The term hysteria has earned a bad rap for good reasons. Originally coined as a diagnosis to refer to physical symptoms without an identifiable cause, it was soon reframed as a female malady caused by a “wandering uterus”. Although hysteria ultimately became a dismissive and misogynistic label used to pathologise women’s emotional experiences, the original diagnosis behind this popular term – now known as conversion disorder or functional neurological disorder - is far more

In all our homes, we all have dining tables to serve our everyday needs, but if you know South Asians, we often have more than the selected number of people who can sit at the table. So, what do we do? A Dastarkhān, or dastarkhwān is the name used to refer to a dining spread on the ground, on top of gorgeous tablecloths, laid out with many different dishes. Found across Asia, this concept allows for many people to sit comfortably; ideal for when the gathering is large and spa

In my career as a researcher, I have heard the phrases “BPD patients are a hassle” and “don’t touch borderline with a bargepole”. They’re throwaway remarks, but they often are said from the mouths of people who I would otherwise describe as intelligent and deeply empathetic. As a researcher at King’s with roots in community mental health projects, documentary filmmaking and getting almost to the end of a sudoku then realising I’ve made a mistake a long time ago, I’m used to

For some people, the days before a period bring mild irritability or low mood. For others, the emotional shift is so intense it can feel like becoming a different person entirely. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD) is far more than the occasional premenstrual mood swing. It is a severe, cyclical mood disorder that can disrupt relationships, work, social life, and a person’s sense of self.

For me, OCD has always been about cycles, contradiction, and chaos. I’ve had OCD for as long as I can remember, but the first time anyone picked up on it properly, I was taken to the doctor for rashes on my hands around the age of eight. I remember trying to pass it off as something else. Dry skin, a reaction, anything but what it actually was. The doctor hardly even glanced at my hands before they said, quite plainly, that my cracked, oozing hands were likely from excessive

The last time I saw my grandfather, he didn't look like himself. Or maybe, he looked like a version of himself I hadn't been given enough time to get used to. That's the strange tax of distance. He lived in Bangalore, and I grew up in Texas, which meant I didn't watch his Parkinson's disease progress the way my cousins did: steadily, incrementally, in the daily way that allows you to adjust. I saw him in intervals. Years apart, sometimes.