When Kalu lost his father to cancer, he felt the weight of his family’s needs on him. He held back tears as they buried his father, unsure if he was grieving the love he missed or the heavy responsibilities as the first son.
“Look at the casket,” he thought.
He had borrowed money to give his father a decent burial, a final act of love. With a ₦200,000 salary, nearly 40 percent went to transport for work. Keeping his siblings in school and paying for his mother’s arthritis medication took another 40 percent.
What was left for him?
“It is well,” Aunty Ify said softly, as if she sensed his thoughts.
He nodded.
It is well.
Is it?
In Nigeria, “it is well” has become more than just a saying. It has turned into a way for us to cope.
We say it after kidnappings. We say it after losing jobs. We say it when hospitals fail us, when salaries vanish, and when another young Nigerian quietly reaches their breaking point.
Maybe that is why “it is well” is one of the most dangerous phrases we use. Not because it lacks faith, but because it lets us avoid asking tougher questions.
At some point, “it is well” changed from a message of hope to a way of ignoring our reality.
Yet, our understanding of mental health is still very limited.
Mental health is often talked about as if it only relates to biology, as if it happens to other people.
“Not in this family.”
“Not my portion.”
But after ten years of answering calls from Nigerians in distress, we have learned that “it is well” sounds very different on the other end of the line.
For a decade, She Writes Woman’s 24-hour mental health helpline has become a clear view into what it means to live in modern Nigeria.
In that time, over 25,000 Nigerians reached out to us. More than 80 percent were between the ages of 18 and 30.
Here’s the truth: We answered over 25,000 calls, but what we really heard was the sound of survival.
Very few callers start with,
“I have depression.”
Instead, they say:
“I’m tired.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I just need someone to listen.”
Their stories vary, but their cries for help are the same: isolation, exhaustion, loneliness, and fatigue.
By the time they call, they are not seeking a diagnosis, but relief.
Behind every statistic in this report is someone who reached a point where handling life alone felt impossible.
Kalu is one of them.
So are the thousands of Nigerians whose experiences shape the Decade of Impact report.
According to this report, nearly 55 percent of callers reported suicidal thoughts, while one in four crisis calls were about depression.
These numbers are not just statistics.
They are your neighbours.
They are in your office.
They are in your church.
They are in your family WhatsApp group.
And they are not unavoidable.
After ten years of listening, one clear thing emerged: psychological distress in Nigeria is rarely isolated. It is linked to economic uncertainty, caregiving duties, insecurity, unemployment, family problems, and daily survival pressures.
The Decade of Impact report doesn’t just show how many Nigerians are struggling. It asks why so many Nigerians are pushed to struggle in the first place.
The answer becomes clearer when we look beyond the numbers and see the conditions Nigerians live under.
Nigeria is one of the youngest countries in the world. More than 60 percent of its population is under 30. Yet over half of young Nigerians are unemployed or underemployed. Even for those who work, the minimum wage barely covers transport, food, and other basic needs.
According to the 2022 Nigeria Multidimensional Poverty Index Survey, 63 percent of Nigerians are multidimensionally poor, facing deprivation in healthcare, education, basic living standards, and social safety nets all at once.
About two in every three Nigerians have no real safety net.
Millions are just one emergency away from collapse.
In 2026, around ₦2.48 trillion of Nigeria’s budget was set aside for healthcare, about 6 percent of the national budget.
Less than 5 percent of that went to mental health, leaving countless Nigerians without affordable mental healthcare.
And perhaps that is the most troubling point.
While SWW continues its vital work responding to hundreds of distressed Nigerians each day, the Decade of Impact report forces us to tackle a bigger question: how much therapy can help if people must keep returning to the same conditions that cause their distress?
Therapy can help people process trauma and find healthier ways to cope.
But therapy alone cannot bring food prices down, create good jobs, make communities safer, or fix broken social systems.
We cannot keep treating distress while ignoring the causes behind it.
The issues are not just economic; they are also rooted in our culture. Family arguments and romantic relationship problems rank second and third among top sources of distress in Nigeria.
So what must we face?
First, we must recognize that mental health is shaped by the conditions people live in.
These issues show up in sleepless nights, anger in traffic, family violence, substance abuse, low productivity, and the quiet loss of hope.
Second, mental health is not just a healthcare issue.
It is a social issue that requires attention from both the government and the private sector.
It needs financial investment and cultural changes.
Most importantly, changes in therapy must not be undone by the stagnation, or even worse, decline of Nigerians' lived experiences.
Third, we must create a culture that sees seeking help and showing vulnerability as valid.
For too long, we have seen silence as strength and endurance as resilience.
Neither should be confused with wellbeing.
The culture that produces “it is well” is the same one that makes seeking help seem like weakness, especially for men.
Shame and stigma act as barriers. Kalu didn’t call 0800 800 2000 until he started having thoughts of taking his own life.
“It is well” can be a strong expression of resilience.
Faith should inspire hope.
It should never be a reason to look away.
The Decade of Impact report is not just recording a mental health crisis.
It is revealing the emotional toll of surviving in Nigeria.
Nigeria must stop pretending to be resilient and start building the systems that let people thrive.
Until then, it is not well.
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