four letters and a question mark
r u ok? well, it depends.
In what has been yet another frankly bizarre week on this planet we’re meant to be looking after, it twigged to me that this year’s R U OK? Day was a ‘blink and you’d miss it’ moment on the calendar.
I’m far from the first writer to point out that what started as a genuine attempt to spur conversations about mental health in Australia has long turned into another insincere, corporatised email thread and cupcakes bonanza—because as we all know, nothing spurs on a conversation about Jonathan from finance’s crippling depression like a few paper plates and some hedgehog slice. But for all the noise the movement has made in previous years—the fundraising efforts, the celebrity endorsements, the plentiful office stationery—the normally ubiquitous shade of yellow that appears on the second Thursday in September seemed to be anything but this year.
Perhaps we’ve become so numbed to the constant footage of genocides, protests and political assassinations on our social media feeds that we’ve agreed—silently and collectively—never to speak of the day again.
Or, maybe it was because this year’s event fell on the anniversary of 9/11, and so seemed a bit on the nose.
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It’s far from my intention, but I do have somewhat of a track record in talking down community initiatives here. For the sake of my image, and to ensure I still maintain a base level of respect among you, the reader, I need to try and turn this around.
I’ll start by looking at the positives. Anecdotally, at least, we are talking about mental health.
By and large, Australian society is slowly becoming more understanding and accepting that mental ill health is something that most of us are faced with personally, or experience through supporting someone in our lives. That is not to say that stigmas don’t still exist, and in some communities it remains a significant taboo to even acknowledge. Broadly speaking, however, I’d argue mental health and neurodivergence has never been so openly and so widely discussed as it is in 2025. So that’s a tick.
It does become difficult, though, to park to one side the major flaw with R U OK? Day, and how it opens colleagues, students, educators, friends and family up to conversations that they are ill-equipped to guide and support people through. While the campaign itself is not crisis support (nor does it claim to be; while it does share some useful resources online, it directs anyone in crisis to Lifeline), the concern is that you don't know how someone is doing when you bump into them at the watercooler, barge into their cubicle or bombard their Teams messages with four letters and a question mark. Even as someone with lived experience of mental illness, who has navigated enough difficult conversations for several lifetimes, I shudder at the thought of finding myself in a situation where my good intentions have unintended consequences.
To be extremely clear, I am not saying “don't talk about mental health”. My contention is quite the opposite, certainly among people that you know well. It is entirely possible to have safe, respectful and constructive conversations in the workplace or the schoolyard, but before you approach someone less familiar it’s probably best to come down from the yellow icing-induced sugar high first.
Besides, the need for initiatives like R U OK? Day would largely be redundant if we actually looked out for one another.
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Our lives are becoming increasingly self-important, individualistic and isolated, and all of us are to blame.
The rise of ideologies that thrive on division and stoking hatred of others can attribute their success, at least in part, to a culture that cannot reckon with two fundamental truths: firstly, that we come from a place of difference, with our personal experiences rooted in race, gender, sexuality and class; and that second, we are more alike with our fellow man—the “other”—in spite of this.
Anger, resentment and loathing—of ourselves, and at others—are now commodities for the media to sell to the highest bidder. In return, it sells us self-improvement as a magic bullet; if only we read more or spent more time at the gym, or went for that hike or picked up that long abandoned crochet project… then maybe we’d be happier. All the while, it continues to offer someone or something else to get angry at, an ever persistent waiter offering Mr Creosote a wafer-thin mint.
We’re more wired than ever. We’re busier than ever. And until there’s a way to increase the length of our days beyond 24 mere Earth hours, we will continue to let things go out of sheer necessity. With all things considered, it’s hardly a surprise that our sense of community is one of them. I wish it hadn’t.
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Meanwhile, the safety net that is our healthcare system is riddled with so many holes that you question whether there was any rope involved in the construction of it in the first place.
During the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic, the Morrison Government doubled the number of Medicare-subsidised mental health sessions from 10 to 20 per year. At the time, this was well-celebrated, yet just two years later the policy was wound down—because the then-new Albanese government found it had vastly favoured those already in the system—people in the inner cities with sufficient access to support services—and that despite the increase in subsidies, the real number of new patients had declined “by 7%”. In January 2025, the Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists warned that 29% of specialist psychiatry positions in New South Wales are now vacant.
While it is too early to tell what impact the government’s $1bn election pledge to invest in upgrading the public mental health system will have, for many it is too little, too late. It is impossible to measure the impact that a lack of investment in mental health by successive governments has had on the wellbeing of Australians, but amidst the backdrop of a global pandemic and a cost of living crisis, I can imagine it isn’t pretty.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a good band-aid. Like banning social media for under-16s.
Sure, banning Tiktok probably won't actually work, and will leave most of us less safe online by forcing companies to store ever more personal details about us. Nor will it create a single new job for a trained mental health practitioner. But on the plus side, it’s an undeniable dopamine hit for the Government, and allows them to shift the blame from an under-resourced healthcare system onto those unruly overseas social media platforms that what done made the kids sad, as though the behaviour that leads to poor mental health outcomes in young people exists in a vacuum.
As for the rest of us, those who grew up on MSN Messenger and internet forums? The damage is already done, and we need to move on.
Besides, everyone else in power has.
…but are you actually okay?
Thank you for asking. I’m doing okay.
We’re into the back stretch of 2025, a year that has managed to both fly by as well as drag its feet at every possible opportunity. There’s been a job change, endless rental inspections, a bitterly cold Bendigo winter (and two insane gas bills as a result), a gym membership going to waste… and despite it all, I’m okay.
And if I wasn’t, there was leftover birthday cake in the office fridge this week.
What do you mean you’re not okay? We brought cake!
Help is available if you or someone you know needs support:
Lifeline: 13 11 14
Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636
Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800
1800 RESPECT: 1800 737 732
If you are in need of immediate assistance, call Triple Zero (000)