Teen Advocates Are Changing The Conversation On Mental Health In Desi Families

This story was produced for the USC Center for Health Journalism’s Ethnic Media Collaborative.

Just suck it up and keep moving.  

For years, that was the basic rule South Asian children grew up with in the high-pressure world of Silicon Valley. It’s a sensibility rooted in desi immigrant fears that talking about mental health would ruin a family’s reputation, even if a child was struggling.

In fact, a Journal of Adolescent Health study on adolescent psychological distress found that nearly half of adolescents (45%) experiencing moderate-to-serious psychological distress felt they didn’t think they needed help. Bay Area psychiatrist Dr. Hari Nair, who works with adolescent mental health issues, says this disconnect reflects the pressure of the model-minority narrative and a tendency to express emotional distress through physical symptoms rather than psychological ones.

That attitude to mental health issues has left many young people with a deep sense of model minority-based “immigrant guilt.” Why weren’t they happy enjoying the benefits of their parents’ sacrifice?  

But in the Bay Area today, youth advocates are challenging that burden of immigrant guilt. For some young people, it’s heralding a new relationship to themselves, their families, and their peers as they aim to shatter the old-school silence around mental health.

A Ferrari Engine Needs Ferrari Brakes

Shreyas Jay, an 18-year-old heading to college this fall, has turned his own battle with depression into a leadership role as a “Changemaker” at high schools across the Bay Area. He tells his peers they don’t have to carry their burdens alone.

Seerat Dang,15, a rising junior in San Jose, has hosted nearly 50 podcast episodes to remind her peers that a “Ferrari engine” brain is useless without “Ferrari brakes” to keep from crashing.

Devika Eby, 15, a rising sophomore, applies deep breathing and reframing techniques she’s learned as a mental health care advocate to her competitive chess playing. “Before, I used to get really easily discouraged, but now I’ve realized that one mistake isn’t like the end of the world.”

These teens aren’t just volunteers at South Asian mental health advocacy organizations Taarika and Rcoz, they are the ones running the show.

An Escalating Mental Health Crisis

Dr. Leena Khanzode founded Taarika after her clinical practice as a child and adolescent psychiatrist revealed a disturbing trend of anxiety and depression in teens in the Bay Area. Her work reflected the alarming escalation in risk as youth transition into adulthood. Data from a recent JAMA Pediatrics study analyzing CDC mortality data found that the suicide rate for Indian American adults (ages 20–24) is 13.9 per 100,000, more than double the 6.9 rate found among Indian American teenagers (ages 15–19). 

Khanzode started Taarika because she felt that by the time patients reached her office, it was often “late in the game,” with patients requiring medication and long recovery times. Her mission was to “create education and awareness and build higher resilience” through mindfulness before crises escalated, she says.

Psychiatrist Dr. Hari Nair is an advisor at Rcoz, a Bay Area nonprofit founded to raise awareness and build acceptance of mental health issues among South Asians. He notes that he often only sees patients once situations have reached a “certain level of consequence,” such as failing grades or broken relationships. 

Unmet Needs in Mental Health

Referring to data on suicide mortality rates among Indian American youths, Dr. Nair explains that “South Asian youth carry a real and largely invisible mental health burden — one that unfortunately goes unmet at rates well above their white peers. That crucial number disappears entirely in aggregated data, which is exactly why these communities have often been excluded from youth suicide-prevention funding in California.”

Dr. Nair says he sees this reflected in his clinical practice as well, where many of the South Asian youth who come to him present at a higher acuity than others. “This suggests that families might be waiting until the need is very severe before seeking services. Sadly, the true need is likely even higher because so much of it never surfaces.”

Dr. Nair also sees the risk shifting across generations. Research finds that second-generation Asian adolescents, who make up a large share of California’s South Asian youth, face more than double the odds of mood and anxiety disorders compared to their peers. “Even when these youth do have a recognized need, they are far less likely to get care.”

Nationally, Asian children face roughly 2.6 times the adjusted odds of unmet mental healthcare needs specifically for anxiety. “Taken together, the data beautifully and heartbreakingly describes a community with real, generation-amplified needs — much of which is either never named, or once named, remains unaddressed,” says Dr. Nair.

A New Kind of Messaging

In the Bay Area, Rcoz and Taarika are trying to address the shortfall in unmet mental healthcare needs. Both community-led initiatives are trying to counter the stigma and taboos around mental health in the South Asian community, while offering safe spaces for teens and adults to learn and talk about mental health.  

At both these organizations, youth leaders serve as peer facilitators, hosting podcasts, community dialogs, and meditative art sessions.

Both Dr. Khanzode and Dr. Nair have observed an encouraging trend of teens who are skilled at translating complex clinical concepts into a language their peers actually want to hear. 

This movement is creating a “reverse prescription,” says Dr. Nair, where young people being vulnerable with each other is showing the older generations how to break a cycle of emotional repression. It’s a powerful new brand of leadership, teaching the South Asian community that speaking up can be a sign of strength.

From Silent Struggle to Leadership

In middle school, Shreyas says he experienced a period of deep depression but did not address it at that time.

Like other South Asian youth, Shreyas felt he had no right to complain. “I would feel very, very guilty when talking to my parents because I’d be like, ‘You did all this for me and yet I’m still struggling with my mental health.’ At the time it didn’t really feel like something I should have been complaining about.”

Parents have an innate desire to fix everything, says Dr. Hari, but they must learn to “stay quiet and listen,” because teenagers aren’t looking for a solution, but simply want to be heard.

When Shreyas finally did open up to friends and his brother, “they were very, very supportive; they were there for me every step of the way,” he recalls. 

What helped Shreyas was that they listened. “I think that’s really all that I needed and that a lot of people need — someone to reassure you, someone to provide support if they can.”

Opening up also helped Shreyas acknowledge his fears. “When I say it out loud, it’s really more like acceptance and getting ready to actually face the issue.”

Last summer, Shreyas took part in the Rcoz High School Changemaker program to learn about the multifaceted nature of mental health; it began with an acculturation session on how culture and “code-switching” influence identity and well-being. Another session explored the impact of digital habits, offering practical tools to recognize the hooks of social media algorithms. It helped Shreyas set strict time limits on his phone app use and replace scrolling with active behaviors like playing basketball or going for walks. 

Ultimately, these sessions helped Shreyas move past a sense of isolation and immigrant guilt that many of his peers experience in South Asian households. “The biggest ‘aha’ moment I had was realizing that we’ve all had similar experiences because for a long time I thought my problem was unique.” 

A Youth Ambassador for Rcoz, Shreyas serves as a relatable peer voice on expert panels, addressing sensitive community topics such as academic pressure and the communication gaps between parents and children, and leads presentations at local high schools.

Shreyas says he was gratified when his presentation at his competitive Bay Area high school sparked “mini conversations” about mental health, an environment where he says it’s rarely discussed.

Now he’s serving as a facilitator and mentor for this summer’s Changemaker program, providing the community with the mental health vocabulary it has historically lacked.

The Ferrari Engine with Bicycle Brakes

Seerat, a club volleyball player and student of Indian classical music with a strong academic record, started her journey with Taarika at just nine years old. As a child, she first learned to identify emotions with stuffed “Kimochi” animals and is now a seasoned leader and advocate who has hosted almost 50 podcast episodes over the last two and a half years on mental health and well-being.

Seerat researches and finds experts for her podcast, and specializes in translating complex theories from neuroscientists and educators into concepts that her peers can actually apply to their lives. For example, Seerat has interviewed clinical experts on how to map careers using behavioral science as well as how to manage social anxiety in everyday life.

“I feel like in Silicon Valley, a Ferrari engine is really valued and so everyone always focuses on having a Ferrari engine, but since all the energy goes there, we end up driving our car with bicycle brakes,” she says. “Upgrading the brakes” involves taking a few minutes each day to practice calming down and being mindful to manage the speed of academic and social stress, she explains.

Seerat and other youth leaders at Taarika also host “Unfiltered” podcasts, which feature raw, unedited conversations between two high schoolers who discuss day-to-day topics like school stress, social pressures, SAT preparation, and college applications. The series provides a platform for youth to share their “real” voices without the presence of professional experts, and helps listeners realize they are not alone by offering relatable strategies from peers navigating the same high-pressure environments.

Applying Mindfulness

In West San Jose, Devika balances a demanding academic and competitive life with a deep commitment to mental health advocacy. She is a nationally ranked chess player who also trains in Bharatanatyam and studies Carnatic music.

Her exposure to mindfulness started much earlier through Taarika’s workshops with “Leena Auntie” (Dr. Leena Khanzode); she was inspired by her older sister, one of the very first volunteers for Taarika. 

As a leader, Devika serves as Secretary, Podcast Editor, and Website Manager for Taarika’s digital infrastructure. She prepares scripts and publishes content on SoundCloud and YouTube to make guided mindfulness and parenting advice accessible to a wide audience.

At Taarika, Dr. Khanzode looks at the “whole child.” To make mental health education sustainable, she invites parents and younger children to participate in workshops together, turning mindfulness into a shared family value rather than a clinical chore. 

When events are framed differently, such as a career fair or the Five Senses Art Program, there is “much more willingness and openness,” to participate, says Dr. Khanzode. It helps overcome the social stigma associated with attending a mental health series or workshop that could imply a “problem” they wish to keep private. 

Devika helps organize these community events. At the Five Senses Art Program, she assists in teaching families to use creative outlets like art or baking as practical mindfulness tools to ground themselves against stress. 

When I teach a skill to a child, I want it to last, explains Dr. Khanzode. “If I teach it to the parents and it becomes a family ritual or value,” it’s more likely to continue, “and everybody’s going to benefit.”

A Peer-led Model

Taarika has intentionally transitioned from a mentor-led model to one where teenagers are the primary architects of the community’s mental health resources.

“Young people often find it easier to talk to a peer than an adult or therapist,” says Devika.

Dr. Khanzode is moving beyond education and prevention toward active intervention by training youth in mental health first aid. She is currently exploring a partnership to create a model where trained youth act as peer supervisors and counselors. By empowering youth to recognize crises in their friends and act as the first point of contact, she is transforming them into the essential front lines of community safety.

Taarika’s podcast has passed 39,000 plays since its launch, and their community Five Senses Art workshops regularly draw 100 to 150 attendees. Their school-based outreach has also expanded into East San Jose Title I schools, serving about 100 parents and children at a time. 

Every drop counts, says Dr. Khanzode. ”Even if we can change one or two youth’s lives, it’s a win.”

At the state level, California’s Children and Youth Behavioral Health Initiative (CYBHI) is rolling out a five-year, $550 million grant program to expand mental health services. Distributed by the Santa Clara County Office of Education in partnership with Sacramento, this program provides $400 million to K-12 schools and $150 million to higher education institutions to help schools prepare to offer and bill for school-linked mental health services.

With this funding, students will increasingly have access to free counseling and mental health services right where they go to school, bypassing many of the traditional barriers to care.

The Rcoz Changemaker Program

The Rcoz Changemaker offers a four-week “boot camp” for youth that normalizes mental health as a treatable part of human experience. The program culminates in the Chalo Baaten Karo community dialogue, a public forum where youth present their capstone projects, including raw vlogs and personal stories, to an audience of their parents and peers.

This program trains cohorts of 20 to 25 student leaders and their community dialogs reach about 100 people. Yet, advocates recognize that a vast landscape of mental health needs in the wider community remains unmet. Still, they push forward, driven by the belief that empowering youth to lead the conversation is the most meaningful way to start making a difference.

“When kids get educated, they start seeing things in their parents,” says Dr. Nair. “Parents come in for their kid’s appointment, fill out a survey, and realize, ‘Wait, this sounds like me.’”

Modern adolescence “is unreservedly” harder for teenagers than it was 20 years ago, says Dr. Nair. “When I grew up, home could be a sanctuary. That doesn’t exist for kids now…they are constantly berated with social dynamics even when at home. There is no break.”

The clinical model must shift to accommodate this high-pressure environment, he says. Clinicians should educate and empower youth as the front-line gatekeepers who can identify distress in their peers before it requires medical system intervention. “If we approach it in a didactic way, it’s a flag for youth to tune us out.” 

During one such community dialogue focused on bridging the generational communication gap, Shreyas recalls a question that forced everyone in the room to recognize that many youth actually crave mutual vulnerability rather than a one-sided conversation. 

While experts advised parents to be a “welcoming space” rather than “dumping” their own adult struggles onto their children, this young man interrupted the one-way flow of advice with a single, poignant question. 

 “Why would I want to open up to my parents if they don’t open up to me?”