Navigating the minefield of discussing mental illness at Harvard requires extreme acrobatics.

It’s okay to joke about having depression due to courses and extracurriculars that drain energy and free time. It’s okay to talk about coping mechanisms, like chocolate-fueled movie marathons. It’s okay — and even encouraged, in order to humanize yourself and reduce others’ impostor syndrome — to poke holes in Harvard’s pervasive perfectionism by saying that your anxiety is keeping you up at night.

What’s not okay is mentioning an official diagnosis.

With that admission comes a change in social perception. You won’t be cut off — hopefully — but your friends will start being cautious. Gone are emergency conclaves to de-escalate minor exam anxiety. Gone is exaggerated ‘depression’ after romantic disappointment.

Your friends’ behavioral adjustment could stem from fear of sounding insensitive and undervaluing your struggle. But more likely, it’s because you’re now seen as a ticking tear bomb that could explode at any second — especially if provoked with unknown triggering topics or mentions of negative feelings.

Behind these rolls of yellow caution tape, however, are prejudices that most students deliberately ignore.

As Harvard students, we like to see ourselves as universal allies. But in reality, many of us are ignorant about the truth of mental illness.

Getting accepted into Harvard, let alone distinguishing yourself once you get here, requires tremendous effort that often comes at the cost of your overall well-being. The sacrifices that you make along the way are painful, and that anguish often lends itself to toxic comparison; everyone else, after all, is going through the same thing, yet many of them do not have depression.

This idea of toxic productivity — the notion that you must overwork yourself in every aspect of your life to be deserving of a Harvard success story — leads to people struggling with mental illness being perceived as weak, demanding special treatment because they are unable to handle the pressure of Harvard life.

Hence, in an environment where your social currency is often the combination of charisma and perceived potential for success, admitting that you are mentally ill seems like a self-imposed scarlet letter, an intimidating red button that you would be prudent to avoid.

It appears that the greatest hurdle to helping mental health at Harvard is reducing the stigma around mental illness perpetuated between College students. While Harvard provides mental health services, like TimelyCare and the CAMHS Cares 24/7 hotline, and students have organized peer support groups, artistic demonstrations, and well-being weeks, these initiatives have yet to meaningfully reduce the social barriers and misconceptions that come with mental illness.

Student advocates can push for change. However, to do so, they must find the bravery to tell their own stories of mental health struggles — an unfair and emotionally taxing request. Such vulnerability should be nobody’s responsibility.

But if some of us can find the courage to stand up, we can make a real impact. As the number of students who share their struggles increases, as more students understand just how many of their brilliant, accomplished friends are struggling with serious anxiety and depression, it becomes harder to sustain ignorant and harmful behaviors, both explicitly and implicitly.

But I suppose it would be hypocritical not to practice what I preach.

Hi, I am Alexandra. I have been struggling with depression for two years and anxiety for about five. No, that does not mean that I spend my days hysterically crying every five minutes, or having panic attacks over getting Bs — although it shouldn’t change the calculus if I did.

Regardless, I think I am doing a pretty good job at being a Harvard student. I don’t want overcompensation-fueled ‘support.’ But I do want you to start thinking about the reasons behind the assumptions you might have made about me when you read this paragraph.

In spite of the kind intentions behind your potential pity, it’s not productive; instead, such pity often strengthens a patronizing perception of people like me as immobilized individuals instead of competent adults.

Finally, if the thought that I could be leveraging my mental illness to feel special even crossed your mind, I plead with you: Why would someone choose a condition that puts them in danger of alienating their loved ones solely as a mechanism to garner sympathy?

I’ll end this piece with a call, not to action, but to deep introspection. Think about the role each one of us plays in the fear that our fellow students on this campus feel when they contemplate revealing to their friends the real reason behind unusual silence during dinner. About our contributions to Harvard’s hyper-competitive culture, a culture that promotes the internalization of negative feelings to avoid being labeled by others as ‘weak.’

And think about the ways that we can stop mental illness from only being allowed to exist as a bad word or a joke — within this campus and beyond.

Alexandra P. Oikonomou ’26, a Crimson Editorial editor, lives in Dunster House.