When we start therapy, some combination of factors has led us to a place where our suffering no longer feels bearable on our own. Many of us are looking for relief—whether we label it as a solution, remedy, or cure. We likely enter the process with a name for what’s wrong, hoping it will guide us toward a fix. “I’ve been feeling so depressed and unmotivated. I feel disconnected from everything and often don’t even feel like life is worth living.” Or perhaps, “I get so overwhelmed with worry over small things. It’s like there’s a switch in my brain I can’t turn off. This anxiety is so debilitating that it keeps me from getting things done, connecting with others, or enjoying life.”

Some therapists will see a new client, from one lens, as a set of symptoms. In certain contexts—such as when working with insurance or community mental health organizations—therapists are required to identify symptoms to justify treatment to the entities paying for it. Depression, anxiety, addiction, grief, psychosis, and disordered moods are all examples of how we categorize our suffering.

On the other hand, some of us might begin therapy without a clear understanding of the source of our pain. It might feel like a quiet but persistent sense that something is missing. Or it might be the overwhelming feeling of not being able to live the life we want, plagued by a fear of inadequacy or brokenness. What’s wrong with me? Why am I this way?

These ways of thinking don’t emerge in a vacuum, and they share a common assumption. They’re shaped by a dominant cultural narrative that tells us suffering is an individual problem—something wrong within us that needs fixing. But what if the problem isn’t us? What if our struggles aren’t pathological anomalies but reasonable responses to unreasonable conditions? Instead of fixing ourselves, what if we turned our gaze outward to the toxic social environment that leaves so many of us feeling untethered, isolated, and broken?

Pathology as a Cultural Lens

In our culture, mental health is often viewed through a narrow lens of pathology—focusing on individuals and their symptoms. Pain, disconnection, and despair are categorized into neat diagnoses—anxiety becomes a disorder, depression a chemical imbalance, burnout the result of poor self-management. These labels can provide temporary relief by naming what feels overwhelming, offering a sense of clarity about what is “wrong.” But this focus on individual symptoms is ultimately limiting, failing to acknowledge the broader social and cultural forces at play.

This isn’t to deny the neurochemical basis of psychological disorders or suggest that they are purely social constructs. Research does show that brain chemistry plays a role in mood, cognition, and behavior. However, the way we categorize and treat suffering is deeply shaped by our social and historical context. The symptoms we identify as “mental health issues” are often also expressions of something larger—a response to a cultural environment that exacerbates disconnection and alienation. 

Gabor Maté speaks of a “toxic social ecology,” where our sense of self, belonging, and meaning is steadily undermined by forces of commodification, individualism, and isolation. This social ecology creates the conditions in which suffering flourishes, yet remains largely unseen or misunderstood because we are encouraged to focus inwardly, more on the individual’s perceived flaws and symptoms, and less on the larger systems at play.

Cornel West offers a complementary perspective through his concept of spiritual blackout—a cultural condition where alienation and indifference become so ingrained that people no longer feel connected to one another or to the common good. This indifference, in turn, allows exploitation and injustice to thrive. In both cases, we see how the dominant cultural paradigm reinforces self-centeredness and individualism while eroding the importance of collective action, community engagement, and the critical discourse needed to challenge the toxic aspects of our society.

These frameworks point to a fundamental flaw in how we approach mental health. By focusing excessively on individual symptoms and diagnoses, we overlook the broader social context that shapes suffering. This isn’t an accident. A culture that pathologizes individual suffering makes it much less likely that we will question the material and ideological systems that give rise to much of our pain. If we believe that our anxiety stems primarily from a personal flaw or faulty neurobiological wiring, rather than from a system that isolates and exploits us, we are less likely to engage in critical discourse or work to change that system. If we internalize the idea that depression is simply a chemical imbalance, we may seek medication but miss the deeper need for transformative change in our world, our communities, and ourselves.

This narrowing of focus compounds our pain. We become preoccupied with managing symptoms—putting out fires—without looking at why those fires keep burning. We end up tending to a decaying psychological garden without considering the health of the soil. The unspoken message becomes clear: your suffering is your responsibility, and any difficulty in overcoming it likely means something is wrong with you. Instead of helping individuals address the roots of their suffering, it can reinforce the very systems that make such suffering inevitable.

The Soil of Suffering

Imagine a tree planted in contaminated soil. Its leaves turn yellow, its branches grow weak, and its fruit withers before it can ripen. In our culture, we would likely look at the tree and ask, "What’s wrong with this tree? How can we treat its symptoms?"

But this question misses the point. The tree is not defective. It is responding to its environment as best it can. The soil is the problem.

Human suffering works similarly. The anxiety that keeps us up at night, the burnout that leaves us numb, the disconnection that gnaws at our sense of belonging—these aren’t personal failures. They are responses to a social environment that prioritizes profit over people, individualism over community, and productivity over rest. Our soil—the conditions in which we are expected to live and grow—is dry, depleted, and toxic.

When we fail to address this, the focus of mental health care becomes symptom reduction. The goal shifts to getting us back to work, back to consuming, back to maintaining the status quo, rather than examining the deeper causes of our pain. In this frame, therapy risks becoming a tool for adjustment rather than transformation.

A Shift in Perspective

What if we shifted our perspective? What if we stopped asking, What’s wrong with me? and instead asked, What has happened to me? What is happening around me? This simple reframing moves us away from shame and toward curiosity, social engagement, and self-compassion. It invites us to see our struggles not as evidence of our brokenness but as signs of our humanity—a humanity that has been neglected, wounded, or silenced.

As a relational therapist, this shift is central to my work. I strive to create a space where clients feel empowered to not just put out fires, but to explore the contexts in which those fires started. Together, we examine the narratives they’ve internalized, the relationships that have shaped them, and the cultural forces that have left their mark. In doing so, we begin to tend to the soil—not just for the individual but for the broader web of relationships they inhabit.

Reconnecting: A Path to Healing

Clients often ask for tools and solutions, and while this is a wholesome desire I deeply resonate with, I believe that investigating the roots of our suffering with curiosity is an essential first step. If we decide that the problem is just our depression—a chemical imbalance, perhaps compounded by trauma or exacerbated by unhealthy coping mechanisms—our path to healing will focus on fixing perceived defects in ourselves, reinforcing the very feelings of brokenness we seek to overcome.

Healing, in a relational and sociocultural frame, is not about fixing ourselves. It’s about reconnecting—with ourselves, with others, and with the world. It’s about asking deeper questions: What kind of life feels meaningful to me? What values do I want to embody? What qualities of relationship and community do I desire? What kind of world do I want to help create?

This is a different kind of change, one that involves moving beyond the myths and values of a culture that tells us we are not enough. It’s a process of reclaiming our humanity—coming home to ourselves, exploring and nurturing the parts of us that long for connection, creativity, and rest. There are as many pathways to healing as there are people, but we can start finding our own path by reconnecting with ourselves, with others, and with the world around us.

Reconnecting with ourselves: Learning to listen to the wisdom of our bodies and emotions, rather than dismissing them as inconvenient or irrational.

Reconnecting with others: Building relationships that prioritize authenticity, mutual care, and vulnerability.

Reconnecting with the world: Engaging with community, activism, and practices that restore our sense of belonging to something larger than ourselves.

The questions we began with—What’s wrong with me? Why am I like this?—are unlikely to disappear completely. But perhaps they can transform. Instead of seeing them as accusations, we can meet them with curiosity, compassion, and a willingness to look beyond ourselves. Perhaps, rather than viewing the manifestations of suffering primarily as evidence of our brokenness, we can come to see them as messengers—cues and clues that point us toward what needs care and attention, not just within ourselves, but in the world around us. Our painful thoughts and feelings become less like enemies and more like vehicles for change, helping us see aspects of ourselves, our relationships, and our world that need nurturing.

Jesse Romo, AMFT, is a multi-racial associate marriage and family therapist who aims to break intergenerational cycles of addictions, abuse, and trauma while also revising narratives of distress and well-being. Creating music, taking rides on his motorcycle, and spending time with his partner and their trio of cats (Sakura, Amma-chi, and Simba) is how Jesse likes to connect with life.

GET HELP NOW

If you are interested in therapy with Kindman & Co. and would like to learn more about the services we have to help you, follow these quick & easy steps:

1. Schedule a free 20-minute phone consultation with our Care Coordinator.

2. Get matched with the therapist who’s right for you.

Start feeling more supported and fulfilled in your life and relationships!

THERAPY SERVICES AT KINDMAN & CO.

We are here for your diverse counseling needs. Our team of therapists provides lgbtqia+ affirmative therapy, couples therapy & premarital counseling, grief & loss counseling, group therapy, and more. We have specialists in trauma, women's issues, depression & anxiety, substance use, mindfulness & embodiment, and support for creatives. For therapists and practice owners, we also provide consultation and supervision services! We look forward to welcoming you for therapy in Highland Park and online.