“Just Get On With It” Why Mental Health Looks So Different Across Generations

I was indulging in a moment of stillness — sitting in a sauna, which seems to be all the rage here in South Devon — during my much-needed Christmas break. No emails. No to-do lists. No emotional labour. Just heat, quiet, and the faint hope my brain might power down for five minutes.

That peace didn’t last long.

A woman in her seventies struck up a conversation and asked what I did for work. When I told her, she nodded knowingly and said,“I bet you’re busy. Everyone’s got a mental health problem these days. What nonsense, people just need to get on with it.”

A bright red mug with the iconic slogan "KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON" invites reflection on the balance between maintaining composure and addressing underlying emotions.

My hackles rose almost instantly — not because I was shocked, but because in my years of counselling I’ve seen the profound relief that comes from working through both internal and external struggles, and how much effort and bravery that healing often requires.

Still, I wasn’t in the mood to defend an entire profession, a generation, or the legitimacy of people’s lived experiences while sitting half-naked in a sauna.

On another day, I might have leaned in. I might have talked about how awareness isn’t weakness. About how previous generations survived rather than healed. About how silence isn’t the same as resilience, and endurance doesn’t always equal health.

But not that day.

So I did something uncharacteristic: I opted out. I closed the conversation politely, calmly, and without explanation. This was my time.

Of course, even when we try to switch off, reflection has a way of creeping back in later. I found myself thinking about generational divides — about how easily mental health is dismissed when it makes people uncomfortable, and how “just getting on with it” has so often meant carrying things alone for far too long.

There’s a familiar refrain many younger people hear from older generations:“Everyone’s too sensitive these days.”“Back in my day, we didn’t need therapists.”“You just got on with it.”

To many older adults, today’s conversations around mental health can feel indulgent, even excessive. Therapy is discussed openly. Burnout is named. Boundaries are treated as necessities rather than luxuries. From the outside, it can look like fragility dressed up as self-care.

But these attitudes didn’t appear in a vacuum.

For many in older generations, survival required emotional endurance. They lived through war, economic instability, rigid social hierarchies, and limited opportunity. Work was often physically demanding, security was fragile, and vulnerability came with real consequences — job loss, social exclusion, or being seen as weak. Mental health struggles existed, of course, but there was little language for them and even less support. You coped because you had to.

So when someone says, “We didn’t have time to be depressed,” they’re often telling the truth — just not the whole truth. The absence of conversation didn’t mean the absence of pain. It meant pain was normalised, suppressed, or displaced into anger, addiction, stoicism, or lifelong stress-related illness.

Younger generations, by contrast, have grown up with language for their inner lives. Psychology is mainstream. Therapy is less stigmatised. Trauma, neurodivergence, burnout, and emotional neglect are part of everyday vocabulary. People are more willing to name when something isn’t right and to seek support rather than silently endure.

That doesn’t mean everyone needs a therapist. But it does mean fewer people are willing to suffer in silence simply because that’s what’s always been done. To older generations, this shift can look like over-analysis or fragility. To younger ones, it feels like responsibility.

The resilience, discipline, and sense of duty many older people carry are deeply valuable. Their ability to keep going through adversity is something worth respecting. But that resilience often came at a cost — one paid later through strained relationships, poor health, or unprocessed grief.

Likewise, younger generations’ openness around mental health has brought compassion and awareness, but it can sometimes tip into over-pathologising normal human discomfort. Not every hard day is a disorder. Not every struggle needs a diagnosis. Growth sometimes requires sitting with discomfort rather than immediately fixing or naming it.

The real progress lies somewhere in the middle.

We can acknowledge that life is hard and that resilience matters — while also recognising that suffering is not a moral badge of honour. We can value therapy as a tool, not a crutch. We can respect the strength of older generations without inheriting their silence.

Mental health isn’t about being tough or fragile. It’s about being honest enough to know when you need support, and strong enough to keep going when you don’t have it.

And maybe the real win that afternoon in the sauna had nothing to do with defending therapy.. Maybe it was about choosing to protect my own peace, and recognising that sometimes, that’s the healthiest choice we can make.