When Pain Goes Public: The Line Between Empathy and Accountability

By Severen “Sevy” Henderson. The journey of understanding begins when pain goes public.

In today’s world, there are moments when pain goes public, capturing the attention of communities and sparking widespread discussions.

I recently commented on a post about NBA star Kevin Durant. He expressed feeling depressed because he felt too tall and too skinny. It caught my attention. Not because I’m surprised that athletes struggle. I’ve seen and felt firsthand how pressure can eat a person alive. But in seeing his comments, I couldn’t help asking myself a question. It doesn’t get asked enough. Do I have to agree with every reason someone gives for being depressed?

We’ve turned depression into our cultural catchall—a word we reach for whenever we feel uncomfortable, inadequate, or just human. And in doing so, we’ve made it harder to recognize the real thing.

I know depression. I’ve sat in therapy. I’ve stared at ceilings. I’ve swallowed pills that help you get out of bed when nothing else does. I’ve felt guilty looking around at a good life—family, career, home—and still couldn’t feel joy. Depression isn’t sadness you can switch off. It’s a weight that drains your energy, depletes your common sense, and tries to take everything you love.

That’s precisely why I’m careful about how we use the word now.

The Problem With Validation Culture

Somewhere between genuine suffering and self-pity, we started labeling every emotion as depression. Social media rewards this conflation. Share your struggle, get called “brave.” Post your pain, collect your validation. Vulnerability has become currency, and diagnosis has become content.

But not every low moment is clinical depression. Sometimes it’s insecurity. Sometimes it’s burnout. Sometimes it’s the ordinary discomfort of being human and not feeling good enough. These feelings are real and they matter—but they’re not all the same thing.

When we lump everything together under one label, we cheapen the real thing. We create a world where depression becomes the default explanation for any discomfort. This change makes it harder to identify people who actually need help.

When Celebrities Share Their Pain

When I see a celebrity professional athlete with generational wealth and access to world-class care, I have questions. They attribute their depression to physical insecurities. Not because I think wealth protects anyone from mental illness, because it doesn’t. Not because I think their pain isn’t real, it might be. But I have sat across from people who can’t afford the help they desperately need. Their pain doesn’t come with fans cheering or doctors on speed dial.

Pain doesn’t need to be justified, but it should be grounded. Depression can absolutely affect the privileged—brain chemistry doesn’t check your bank account. But perspective matters. Not to invalidate feelings, but to keep them honest.

Empathy Is Not Agreement

Here’s what gets lost in our rush to validate everything: You can care about someone’s pain without co-signing its cause.

If someone says their leg hurts from standing, I’ll tell them to sit down. If they say something more serious is wrong, I’ll help them get proper care. Both responses show empathy; they’re just calibrated differently.

We need that same discernment with mental health. Not every form of sadness requires medication or a movement. Sometimes it needs reflection, perspective, or simply sitting with discomfort instead of immediately pathologizing it.

This isn’t cruelty. It’s the difference between supporting someone and enabling them between compassion and reflexive validation.

The Cost of Going Public

Social media doesn’t do nuance. You’re either completely supportive or you’re an enemy. There’s no middle ground for honest conversation.

But here’s the reality: When you make your pain public, you invite public response. Post your joy, you invite applause. Post your struggle, and you invite perspective. You can’t share your truth and then police how people receive it.

I’m not talking about trolling or cruelty. I’m talking about honest disagreement. This is the kind that says, “I hear that you’re struggling.” However, it questions if the cause you’re naming is proportional to the label you’re using.

That’s not low emotional intelligence. That’s discernment. And we’ve become so obsessed with validating emotions that we’ve stopped questioning them.

Why the Distinction Matters

When I was deep in depression, I needed professional help. Gratitude couldn’t cure me, but it gave my suffering context and helped me climb toward recovery. Through a healthy mix of mental and physical wellness techniques, I learned to fight back.

But I was fortunate. I had access to help when I finally mustered the energy to seek it. Some people don’t get that opportunity. For them, depression wins.

That’s why I’m protective of the word. Using “depression” for every rough day is incorrect. Labeling every moment of self-doubt as “depression” dilutes its meaning. It happens every time we feel less than our ideal selves. We make it harder for the people in genuine crisis to be heard and helped.

Clinical depression is a serious condition. It deserves serious language and serious resources. Confusing it with ordinary sadness or insecurity doesn’t foster more compassion. It makes us less precise when precision could save lives.

What Real Empathy Looks Like

Genuine empathy has boundaries. It listens fully but thinks critically. It offers support without surrendering discernment.

We can acknowledge that someone is hurting without agreeing that their stated cause rises to the level of clinical depression. We can offer compassion while also saying, “Maybe what you’re experiencing is something else—something real, but different.”

This isn’t gatekeeping mental health. It’s serious enough to use accurate language. It’s refusing to let “depression” become a catch-all for the human experience of sometimes feeling bad.

Moving Forward

Depression deserves respect. But so does honesty.

I’m not saying successful people can’t have depression. I’m not saying physical insecurity can’t contribute to mental health struggles. I’m saying we need to be more careful and more precise.

When pain goes public, it invites conversation. That’s not wrong, that’s the deal. And part of that conversation should be asking: Are we using the right words? Are we helping, or are we just validating?

Sometimes the kindest thing we can do—for ourselves and others—is to call things by their real name. Not to minimize pain, but to honor it with accuracy.

Because when everything is depression, nothing is. People who genuinely can’t get out of bed deserve more. They can’t see a way forward. They need more than validation. They deserve a word that hasn’t been worn thin by overuse.