Lauren Larkin, a New York City-based licensed mental health therapist, smiles into the camera as she dabs foundation across her face.
“Get ready with me while I share things I wish more people knew about complex trauma,” Larkin tells her 111k TikTok followers on her account @leltherapy.
TikTok influencers like Larkin — some licensed professionals and some not — are redefining how Generation Z views therapy: less as a one-on-one conversation with a professional and more of an edited video designed for quick consumption.
Felicia Carroll ’27, co-chair of the annual Out of the Darkness Walk at St. Joe’s, said social media platforms like TikTok help young people avoid the discomfort of seeking professional help in person.
“I think there is that barrier for a lot of people, just not feeling comfortable enough to be vulnerable in front of someone else,” Carroll said.
The rise of therapy TikTok began in 2019 and exploded during the early months of 2020 when users began turning to online content creators for comfort, community and care in the midst of the covid-19 pandemic. Five years later, the hashtag #therapytiktok is tacked onto more than 600k posts on the app, with hundreds of licensed therapists and medical doctors generating content everyday.
But this influx of mental health information swipe by swipe raises an important question: Has TikTok and #therapytiktok made mental health support more accessible, or is it flooding people with less credible information?
Gen Z and mental health statistics
Gen Z is reporting some of the highest rates of stress, anxiety and loneliness compared to previous generations. A 2023 Gallup and Walton Family Foundation poll found that less than half (47%) of Gen Z Americans say they’re “thriving,” one of the lowest rates across all generations, according to the study.
In contrast, the polls from 2004 and 2013 showed 52 and 55% of similarly aged Gen X and millennial adults, respectively, rating their mental health as “excellent,” a sharp decline in how Gen Z self-reports their mental health.
The paradox is that, despite these numbers, many in Gen Z still believe seeking therapy or professional help for mental health struggles makes them “mentally weak.”
Carroll said when it comes to breaking barriers, people still view mental health help as something to be ashamed of.
“It’s embarrassing to be struggling,” Carroll said. “That’s a really big problem that people are still trying to overcome.”
Additionally, Han Ren, Ph.D., licensed psychologist and founder of the TikTok account, @drhanren, which has over 150k followers, said there’s now a generational attitude of “nihilism” and “cynicism” that shapes how young people engage with mental health care.
“I think Gen Z is really jaded and with good reason, right?” Ren said. “There’s a lot of life that has been pretty extreme and intense in the past decade that has shaped the developing world views of a whole generation. And so, there’s a lot of like, ‘Well, why bother? What’s gonna benefit me?’”
Understanding Gen Z’s mental health
TikTok, along with platforms like Instagram Reels, YouTube Shorts and Snapchat private stories, has become a hub for mental health advice. Therapists, creators and everyday users are creating platforms and reaching viewers worldwide to discuss management of anxiety, ADHD, trauma, relationships, burnout and more.
The appeal of this content is rooted in edited videos, digestible language and parasocial effects, something young people have said alleviates the intimidation that comes with in-person therapy.
Carroll said anonymity is a major reason why Gen Z is turning to online spaces.
“I think the anonymous aspect of ‘Nobody knows it’s you, it’s in your own private space and only you know you’re doing it,’ I think that brings a lot of comfort to a lot of people,” Carroll said.
Tyler Nguyen ’28, DPT ’30, said private Snapchat stories have become an easier outlet for venting, providing a way to feel heard without the pressure of sitting face-to-face with a therapist.
“Just knowing that people will see it, people will hear it, brings a sense of comfort and a sense of vulnerability as well,” Nguyen said. “But it’s not as vulnerable. You don’t have to be as vulnerable and personal in this story compared to a sit-down therapist or a virtual therapist.”
Scott Sokoloski, Ph.D., director of St. Joe’s Counseling and Psychological Services, said it’s understandable many students feel more comfortable turning to online spaces rather than seeking out a therapist in real life.
“Online spaces remove many of the barriers that make in-person therapy feel intimidating and give students a sense of control,” Sokoloski wrote in an email to The Hawk. “They can choose what to watch, pause when they need to and stay anonymous.”
Sokoloski also said social media platforms like TikTok create unrealistic expectations that don’t always match the reality of therapy.
“Because mental health content online is so polished and simplified, some students expect therapy to feel instantly comfortable, when, in reality, it takes time to build trust,” Sokoloski said.
Barriers for mental health access
Access to support, whether financial or systemic, is the biggest barrier to therapy, especially in Philadelphia, according to Kyle Carter, Ed.D., CEO of the National Alliance on Mental Illness – Philadelphia.
“Looking at the social determinants of health with actual health equity, what are young folks’ access to it financially?” Carter said. “We’re seeing Medicare, Medicaid, a lot of things being cut. What is your actual access to that?”
Additionally, Ren said the cost of mental health care is becoming out of reach for most people.
“Therapy is becoming something that only the rich can afford,” Ren said. “It’s not accessible to everyday people, and that is tragic.”
Carter also said the historical mistrust between clinicians and communities of color makes it harder for people of color to feel safe seeking professional care.
Downsides to #therapytiktok
The accessibility of #tiktoktherapy has a potential downside. TikTok’s abundance of content can sometimes serve as a “double-edged sword,” according to Carroll, resulting in what she calls a “self-diagnose spiral.”
Carter stressed the importance of critically evaluating sources giving out information.
“The message is only as good as the person that is giving it,” Carter said. “You have to look at that person’s biases, their actual credentials and understanding it and how that their experience has shaped the information that they’re relaying.”
Ashley Murray, youth peer navigator of NAMI – Philadelphia, said a positive aspect of this effect on young people is the introduction of new vocabulary and ways to express themselves. The caveat is the misuse of that vocabulary.
“A lot of the kids would say, ‘I’m triggered right now, I’m triggered,’ and I’m like, ‘You’re not triggered by math,’” Murray said. “That [word] is for PTSD or anxiety or something like that; math is not triggering you. It might frustrate you, but that’s not the same thing.”
Ren also highlighted how the widespread use of therapy language on social media has shifted and sometimes distorted its meaning.
“It has normalized conversations about mental health, it has destigmatized therapy … [but] there has been a distortion of what a lot of these words mean,” Ren said.
Finding middle ground
While debate continues over whether therapy TikTok ultimately helps or harms, many experts and non-experts agree on at least one thing: While mental health content can open doors to important conversations, it can’t replace the work of actual therapy.
Creators like Ren have also become more aware of the influence their posts can have on the masses. Ren said she noticed this firsthand when her videos about symptoms and diagnoses were drawing the most engagement.
“People would really run off with that [content] and not have the clinical judgment or the nuance and start diagnosing themselves and each other and their family members,” Ren said. “Because of all that, I really, actually started veering away from things that are more clinical because it’s been so widely misused.”
That shift in approach led her to rethink not just what she shares but how she shares it.
“I’ve seen the way that this has evolved,” Ren said. “I feel responsibility to shift the way that I present my information but also educate the public around: ‘How do you consume social media content around mental health wisely?’”
Social media alone cannot replace what therapy offers and should not be viewed as a stand-in for professional help, Ren said.
“You’re not going to heal through the comfort of just observing your symptoms or your life through a screen,” Ren said. “You have to engage with it.”
Like Ren, most experts agree that healing takes more than a scroll — there’s something special between humans and genuine care that cannot be replicated through a screen.
Nguyen emphasized this through his own mental health journey and the one-on-one care he received.
“The difference [between therapy and social media] was growing a genuine connection with my therapist just because you won’t get that with a TikTok or Insta reel,” Nguyen said. “It’s just having that raw, genuine connection to another person … they’re there purposely to help you.”
Ren added that human connection and vulnerability are the most valuable parts of the healing process.
“There’s no substitute for the discomfort of being seen and being perceived in ways that you cannot choose, that you cannot control, and that is a necessity and requirement for human growth for everybody,” Ren said.
Members of the St. Joe’s community seeking support are encouraged to contact the following resources:
Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS), 610-660-1090
Campus Ministry, 610-660-1030
The Office of Student Outreach & Support, 610-660-1149
The Jesuit community, 610-660-1400
Employee Assistance Program, 866-799-2728