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A coalition of state attorneys general recently announced a probe into TikTok to investigate how the platform harms young people's physical and mental health. President Joe Biden highlighted social media during his State of the Union address, calling for a ban of youth-targeted advertising, as well as enhanced data privacy protections. This issue has racked up bipartisan support, and for good reason. Recent security breaches have raised red flags about the potential for tech companies to exploit young people.
And yet, when it comes to Gen Z's social media use, we can't throw out the baby with the bathwater. Despite its potential for harm, social media platforms still fill an essential need in young people's mental health. For those with psychiatric disorders especially, social media provides on-demand community and resources for getting help. For many, it's their only chance to feel less alone. Trust me: I've been there.
At 8 years old, I began pulling out my hair. My urges were as irresistible as scratching a mosquito bite. Four, five, six hours passed in a daze as I plucked my eyebrows and scalp hair, mesmerized by the feeling of release. Trichotillomania, or compulsive hair pulling, is a body-focused repetitive behavior that affects one or two in 50 people. For years, I believed I was the only one.
That all changed when I finally Googled my disorder as a teenager. A search for "trichotillomania" returns almost 2 million hits. I pored over the clinical information, but most impactful by far were personal stories shared on social media. Despite its prevalence, there are no pharmacological treatments for trichotillomania. Remission rates are low, between 10 and 20 percent. There is no known cure. And yet, watching and reading other hair pullers' stories, I did know this for certain: I was not alone. That was something.
No—it was everything.
Social media has exploded in the years since that first Google search. Last year, 63 percent of Americans ages 12 to 17 used TikTok weekly. Gen Z'ers report poorer mental health than any other generation, with school shootings and political turmoil serving as major stressors. Meanwhile, social media platforms have become hot spots for young people to share and learn about mental health. TikTok videos containing hashtags like #borderlinepersonalitydisorder and #dissociativeidentitydisorder rack up hundreds of millions of views. Just as WebMD isn't a substitute for an actual M.D., social media can't replace mental health professionals. But that doesn't mean social media isn't an invaluable tool in its own right. For Gen Z, it might even be indispensable.
Mental disorders cause functional impairment—in my case, hours lost in a trance-like state of plucking my hair. Yet some of their biggest impacts are intangible: feelings of isolation, embarrassment and shame. Finding community is the only way out of this trap. Organizations like The TLC Foundation for Body-Focused Repetitive Behaviors hold in-person conferences and support groups for sufferers to connect. To many, though, these events are out of reach financially or geographically. In-person mental health communities aren't always accessible, but virtual ones help. Conditions like trichotillomania are not curable, but shame is—with the boom of social media, remedies to shame are literally at our fingertips.
Social media provides on-demand connection. Users have a degree of anonymity not possible during in-person events. Posts and videos encourage viewers to talk with therapists and guide them toward resources for finding support. Most importantly, social media offers sufferers proof of their own self-worth. The first time I saw a Facebook video of a hair puller shedding her wig, I questioned why I hid my own hair loss. I stopped wearing wigs soon after. No amount of therapy could have replicated that feeling—of seeing someone who looked and acted like me, being her full self.
When it comes to medical diagnoses, social media is just a starting point. Ultimately, young people must rely on mental health professionals for diagnosis and treatment. Some clinicians are seeing an increase in patients with self-diagnosed conditions, inspired by TikTok and Instagram content. Parents, too, may feel baffled when their children report self-diagnosed disorders derived from social media. Rather than dismissing young people's concerns, why not use them to jumpstart conversations about mental and emotional wellness? In a culture where mental health is shrouded in secrecy, shouldn't we embrace opportunities to check in with young people, especially on their own terms?
Gen Z's mental health crisis will not go away overnight, nor will its reliance on social media. This poses both a challenge and an opportunity. Social media should never supplant clinicians in diagnosing and treating mental health conditions. But these platforms can help assuage the emotional toll of mental health disorders. They also reduce barriers to seeking treatment by normalizing mental health and de-stigmatizing therapy.
For today's young people, social media provides crucial sources of connection. Instead of fighting battles over screen time, let's work with young people. Ask thoughtful questions about what your child saw on social media and why they responded the way they did. Offer ways to support them in finding a therapist. Engage in meaningful discussions about how to decide what information on social media is credible. Acknowledging a young person's experience can be a powerful source of healing.
Today, I watch #trichotillomania videos on TikTok (which have over 200 million views) and follow Instagram pages with hair pulling memes. I also see a therapist regularly. I attend annual conferences with hundreds of hair pullers. Social media continues to play a critical role in my day-to-day life. It provides regular reminders that I'm not the only one. That others who have bald spots and experience multi-hour plucking episodes are still worthy of love and happiness. That if I need support, I can find it.
If we embrace social media's role in managing mental health, we can help young people feel a little less alone. This by itself will not solve the mental health crisis of Gen Z. But it might be a start.
Katie Bannon is an essayist and mental health advocate.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
