Is he really a narcissist, or did he just not like you?
Pro tip: Anyone who wants to avoid the steep price of a therapy session in this economy might want to consider consulting their friendly neighborhood Gen Z.
Us self-proclaimed mental health gurus can evaluate and pathologize everyday phenomena, with nothing but a single screenshot or conversation excerpt as basis. The guy who cut us off with no warning isn’t mean, he’s a "raging narcissist." Our arguments with friends don’t stay mere disagreements, they become "evidence" of emotional abuse. We’re no longer shy in social situations, it’s a "symptom" of an undiagnosed disease. Maybe we should blame our primary caregivers.
This case of concept creep isn’t new: Coined by psychologist Nick Haslam, it describes the gradual expansion of harm-related concepts to include less severe, sometimes unrelated experiences. “This explains why psychological terms are now being used to describe commonplace discomforts that don’t necessarily meet clinical thresholds,” Professor Karen Ann Macalinao, faculty at Far Eastern University’s Department of Psychology, shares with PhilSTAR L!fe.
Think of how trauma, once used exclusively for physical injuries, now accommodates emotional and psychological wounds; or how codependency encompasses both suffocating partners and clingy friends. Previous generations did not have this luxury—more often than not, they were told to cling to the power of prayer in lieu of actual diagnosis and treatment.
And while mental health services and education still leave much to be desired, us Zers no longer have to suffer in confusion. “I reckon the first reason why the meaning of these labels has evolved is because people can go online instead of speaking to an actual professional, because it’s free,” Dr. Shayne Polias of De La Salle University’s psychology department tells L!fe. As a result, we can talk about what they’re going through with ease and even seek professional help or establish support systems when needed.
Concept creep, in that sense, can be seen as a step forward—a liberation of sorts. Having the language required to articulate our struggles is not only crucial to our survival—it affirms and grounds our personal experience in the communal. How comforting it must be to lend some legitimacy to our emptiness, and be reminded that it exists outside of us, too.
However, we’re operating under the assumption that all discussions that deploy therapy speak are productive or happen within the proper context. An analysis conducted by virtual healthcare company PlushCare found that “majority of TikTok videos offering mental health advice were misleading, potentially harmful, or provided by unqualified content creators.”
It’s no surprise, then, that therapy terminologies are reduced to buzzwords or watered down for the sake of some viral soundbites. We apply an almost forensic lens to every aspect of our personality, every second of our interactions, every single decision. It always comes down to a trauma response or an attachment style. But, does it all have to be a medical issue?
The more we distort their meanings, Polias claims we run the risk of depriving them of relevance. “In a society where mental health is somehow still a myth, continuously using certain words beyond what they are intended to convey will not help in advocating for those who experience them.”
Macalinao also warns that this knack could lead to a lack of personal accountability: “Instead of reflecting on our actions or circumstances, we might fall into the habit of using these mental health-related expressions as excuses, [which could cause them] to lose their depth and clinical significance,” she says.
In the heat of a hypothetical argument, we might be tempted to accuse our aggressor of gaslighting us. But there’s a chance that they aren’t causing us to doubt our sanity or perception of reality: They’re simply bringing up an uncomfortable truth. This type of moral typecasting classifies us as the victim in all situations. But do we ever stop to consider that we are also capable of inconveniencing or injuring others?
Like other issues brought up in this column, I’d rather advocate for a bit of balance. Today’s problem of potentially misusing therapy speak is still preferable to a culture of fear, shame, and stigma. Academics, mental health professionals, and even content creators simply have to work together to promote responsible psychoeducation.
“This means ensuring that the information we share is scientific, accurate, and most importantly, contextualized,” Macalinao explains. She acknowledges that language cannot be gatekept and shouldn’t be policed. Instead, we must “foster clarity and critical thinking.”
For us, on the other hand, some level of self-awareness is necessary. Therapy speak is supposed to give us the tools to interact with the world, not shy away from it or fall into self-fulfilling prophecies. Sometimes, it’s fine to reduce to simplest terms: We can be sad without being depressed, or feel betrayed without feeling traumatized. These words may not carry the weight of professional jargon, but they’re just as valid—because they’re ours.
