The first issue of Clarity Quarterly cuts through the noise of wellness culture to offer practical, down-to-earth insights on mental health, balance, and everyday well-being. Expect thoughtful features, expert advice that actually feels useful, and real conversations about what it means to take care of yourself—without the fluff. Whether you're looking for small mindset shifts or a fresh perspective, this issue meets you where you are.
CLARITY QUARTERLY
WHY IS MENTAL ILLNESS PORTRAYED SO TERRIBLY IN TV AND MOVIES?
POSITIVE THINKING (EVEN FOR THE NATURAL-BORN HATER)
2025: THE YEAR TO GET OFFLINE AND TOUCH GRASS
ISSUE NO.01
WINTER 2025
WITH WORK BY:
DIRECTOR: LAURA JAYE CRAMER MANAGING EDITOR: NOAH SANDERS EVA BRONZINI ELIZABETH CAMPBELL RACHEL CLAIRE COTTONBRO STUDIO NICK FANCHER AGUSTÍN FARÍAS FANETTE GUILLOUD AYALA MARTIN
MATTHEW KOMATSU ARINA KRASNIKOVA SARAH MONK DANIK PRIHODKO IVAN SAMKOV WILLFRIED WENDE
COVERIMAGEBYCOTTONBROSSTUDIO.
IN THIS ISSUE
pg. 38
pg. 6
pg. 30
Surviving Almond Moms (And Other Weird Generational Hand-Me-Downs) (pg. 6) – A look at the bizarre, often toxic wellness advice passed down through generations and how to break the cycle. You Should Smile: Inside the Cult of Toxic Positivity (pg. 15) – How forced optimism can do more harm than good, and why acknowledging real emotions is key to true well-being. Positive Thinking (Even For the Natural Born Hater) (pg. 22) – A practical guide to embracing optimism without losing your edge—or your personality. The Self-Care Edit (pg. 28) – Wellness essentials that actually make a difference in your mental and emotional well-being. Why Is Mental Illness Portrayed So Terribly in TV and Movies? (pg. 30) – Examining Hollywood’s outdated, harmful depictions of mental health—and what needs to change. 2025: The Year To Get Offline and Touch Grass (pg. 38) – Why stepping away from screens and reconnecting with the real world might be the best resolution you make this year. Fresh Reads, No Skips (pg. 44) – A curated list of books worth your time—no fluff, just great reads.
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sierramadregolf.com
SURVIVING ALMOND MOMS (AND OTHER WEIRD GENERATIONAL HAND- ME-DOWNS)
08
GINYARD MAGAZINE
BY ELIZABETH CAMPBELL PHOTOGRAPHY BY NICK FANCHE
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The
year was 2013, and the show that spawned a thousand memes, horrified reactions, and the term “Almond Mom” was The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills —because of course it was. In the infamous clip, Gigi Hadid, the famous supermodel, tells her mother, Yolanda Hadid, that she’s hungry. In response, Yolanda tells her daughter to have a few almonds and that this will help her hunger go away. Although this origin story of almond mom behavior may sound innocuous and simple, it really shows the rather dark side of diet culture and problematic family dynamics, generally. Every generation has its quirks, sure, and every family has its hand-me- downs. But while some of us inherit our grandmother’s vintage jewelry or our dad’s questionable taste in music, others get stuck with something far less tangible— and far more complicated. Enter: the generational hand- me-down. These are the habits, beliefs, and behaviors passed down like heirlooms, often without a second thought. And let’s be honest, not all of them are treasures.
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Take the “Almond Mom,” for example. She’s the mom or dad (men can be Almond Moms, too!) who, when you say you’re hungry, suggests you eat a single almond. Or maybe she’s the one who casually comments on your weight over Thanksgiving dinner, as if passing the gravy boat absolves her of any guilt. The term “Almond Mom” went viral for a reason: it’s a specific archetype, but it’s also a universal experience. It’s the embodiment of a certain kind of generational quirk—one that’s equal parts absurd, frustrating, and oddly relatable. But this isn’t just about almonds, or even about moms. From emotional stoicism to workaholism to the inexplicable need to save every plastic container “just in case,” these generational hand-me-downs shape how we live, eat, and think. And while some of them are harmless (looking at you, Tupperware hoarders), others can leave a lasting impact—on our mental health, our relationships, and even our sense of self.
“NO ONE WAKES UP ONE DAY AND DECIDES, ‘I’M GOING TO PASS MY WEIRDEST HABITS ON TO MY KIDS.’ THEY’RE MORE LIKE EMOTIONAL HEIRLOOMS— PASSED DOWN WITHOUT MUCH THOUGHT, OFTEN WRAPPED IN GOOD INTENTIONS. ”
So, let’s talk about it.
The obvious: almonds. Specifically, the idea that a handful of them could somehow constitute a meal. If you’ve ever been told to “eat a few almonds and drink some water” when you’re hungry, you’ve met an Almond Mom. She’s the queen of portion control, the high priestess of calorie counting, and the unofficial spokesperson for the idea that thinness equals worthiness. But here’s the thing: Almond Moms aren’t villains. They’re products of their own time, shaped by the pressures and expectations of their generation. Many of them grew up in an era where diet culture reigned supreme, where women were bombarded with messages about shrinking themselves—literally and figuratively—to fit into a world that valued them more for their appearance than their accomplishments. For them, passing on these habits wasn’t about control or cruelty; it was about survival. That doesn’t make it okay, of course. The impact of growing up with an Almond Mom can be profound, from developing a fraught relationship with food to internalizing the idea that your worth is tied to your
weight. But understanding where these behaviors come from is the first step toward breaking the cycle. Because the Almond Mom is just the tip of the iceberg. She’s one example of a much larger phenomenon: the generational hand-me-down. These are the habits, beliefs, and behaviors we inherit, often without realizing it, that shape how we navigate the world. Some of them are harmless, like the compulsion to save every plastic bag “just in case.” Others, like the Almond Mom’s obsession with thinness, can leave lasting scars. Take emotional stoicism, another common inherited trait. This is the classic “boys don’t cry” or “suck it up” mentality, often passed down from fathers to sons (though not exclusively). It’s the idea that showing emotion is a sign of weakness, that vulnerability is something to be avoided at all costs. Then there’s workaholism, the glorification of overworking as a badge of honor. This one often comes with a side of guilt—because if you’re not constantly hustling, are
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you even trying? And who could forget hoarding tendencies? This is the “we might need this someday” mentality, manifested in basements full of old magazines, garages stuffed with broken appliances, and kitchen cabinets overflowing with expired condiments. It’s the belief that scarcity is just around the corner, so you’d better hold onto everything— just in case. “One theme that comes up often with patients is how well-meaning but misguided behaviors —like those of so-called ‘Almond Moms’—can deeply shape our relationships with food and body image,” says Ashley Peña, National Executive Director at Mission Connection Healthcare. “When parents model restrictive eating or fixate on appearance, it sends a message that worth is tied to how we look or what we eat. I’ve seen patients carry these messages into adulthood, struggling with guilt around food or feeling disconnected from their own bodies. Breaking these patterns starts with awareness and compassion, not blame.” Because obviously, no one wakes up one day and decides, “I’m going to pass my weirdest habits on to my kids.” Generational hand-me- downs aren’t usually intentional. They’re more like emotional heirlooms—passed down without much thought, often wrapped in good intentions. But why do they stick around? Why do we find ourselves repeating the same patterns, even when we know better? The answer lies in a mix of psychology, sociology, and good old-fashioned human nature. For starters, there’s modeling behavior. From the moment we’re born, we’re like little sponges, soaking up everything our parents do. If Mom diets obsessively, we learn that food is something to be controlled. If Dad never talks about his feelings, we learn that emotions are something to be hidden. These behaviors become our normal, even if they’re anything but.
“GENERATIONAL HAND- ME-DOWNS ARE JUST THAT: HAND-ME-DOWNS. THEY’RE NOT A LIFE SENTENCE, AND THEY DON’T DEFINE US.”
Every generation is shaped by the world it grows up in, and those norms don’t just disappear when the times change. The workaholism of the Baby Boomers? That’s a product of a post-war economy that valued productivity above all else. The emotional stoicism of older generations? That’s rooted in a time when vulnerability was seen as a liability, not a strength. These norms don’t just shape individuals—they shape families, and they’re hard to shake. But here’s the thing: understanding where these quirks come from doesn’t mean we’re off the hook. It just means we have the tools to do better. Because while we can’t change the past, we can change how we move forward. “One approach I encourage,” says Peña, “is replacing critical self-talk with curiosity: ‘What do I actually need right now—physically, emotionally?’ For parents, showing kids that all foods have a place and emphasizing health over appearance can set the foundation for resilience. I often tell families, ‘Your relationship with yourself is the blueprint for the next generation.’” Breaking the cycle of generational hand-me- downs isn’t easy. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and sometimes downright frustrating. But it’s also one of the most powerful things you can do—for yourself, for your family, and for the generations that come after you. At the end of the day, generational hand-me- downs are just that: hand-me-downs. They’re not a life sentence, and they don’t define us. We get to decide what to do with them. So, whether you’re tossing out the Tupperware, unlearning the almond mentality, or simply laughing at the absurdity of it all, remember this: you’re not just breaking the cycle. You’re rewriting the script. ●
Then there’s intergenerational trauma, a fancy term for the idea that trauma doesn’t just affect the person who experiences it—it ripples through generations. A parent who grew up during a time of scarcity might hoard food or save every penny, even if their kids have never known hunger. A parent who was taught to equate thinness with worth might pass on those same beliefs, even if they don’t mean to. Trauma has a way of embedding itself in our DNA, showing up in ways we don’t always recognize.
And let’s not forget cultural norms.
WORDS BY AYALA MARTIN PHOTOGRAPHY BY AGUSTÍN FARÍAS
SHO
INSIDE THE CULT OF
Welcome to the emotional Ponzi scheme of toxic positivity—where grief is a glitch, sadness is a sin, and your trauma is just a “lesson” you haven’t reframed into a TED Talk yet.
OULD
POSITIVITY.
It’s a cult that’s equal parts absurd and sinister. This isn’t about hating happiness: It’s about hating the lie that you should be able to move on from anything with a smile.
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platitudes like “good vibes only” and “everything happens for a reason”—phrases so empty they’d make a fortune cookie blush. But forced positivity isn’t resilience. It’s emotional repression. wheels. It’s the reason we’re drowning in IF TOXIC positivity had a mascot, it would be a glitter-covered bulldozer—crushing grief, anger, and nuance under its rhinestone
Kara’s story isn’t unique. A woman with terminal metastatic breast cancer recounted strangers telling her to “just stay positive!”—as if her attitude, not her disease, dictated her survival. “It’s so condescending,” she says. “They would act like I’m not already fighting for my life, or like I’m the one affecting the outcome by how outwardly bubbly I am.” These aren’t comfort tactics. They’re emotional silencing.
WHEN POSITIVITY BECOMES VIOLENCE
Kara’s world shattered in 2024. Eight months pregnant, she went to the hospital after not feeling her baby move. The news was unthinkable: her son was gone. In the weeks that followed, Kara’s grief was met with a barrage of toxic positivity. “At least you have another child!” one person said. “Everything happens for a reason,” offered another. Even her first trip out of the house ended in disaster when an acquaintance chirped, “Two kids is so much work, anyway! You should keep it the way it is!” “It felt like they were erasing my son’s very existence,” Kara recalls. “I taught myself to stop sharing my grief because their responses made me feel embarrassed or like “too much” for feeling it at all. It was easier for my friends if I just smiled and pretended to move on, but it was so painful for me to have to pretend.”
WHY WE DO IT
So why do we default to toxic positivity? According to Ardenna Downing, a Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor at Callery Counseling PLLC, it’s often about avoiding discomfort. “A function of toxic positivity is to minimize, deny, and ignore pain as a means to survive circumstances,” she says. “It is also an adaptive response to a lack of support and understanding from others, along with the human body and psyche’s desire under some circumstances to avoid further pain. 16
“MANIFEST A MILLION DOLLARS!” “GOOD VIBES ONLY!”
THING HAPPENS FOR A REASON!” “STAY POSITIVE!” “SMILE.” Realistically, if a person has experienced pain that has debilitated them, they may want to avoid this from happening again.”
For Kara, toxic positivity didn’t just invalidate her grief, it isolated her. “I stopped talking to people who couldn’t ‘handle me’— which turned out to be most people,” she says. “I thought it would be easier or safer—or something!—just to be alone. Alone felt better than to feel erased.” The cancer patient we spoke to puts it even more bluntly: “If someone calls me a ‘fighter’ at my funeral, I’ll haunt the f— out of them.” As Downing puts it, “If we have experienced trauma for instance, one of the responses may be ‘fawning,’ which refers to appeasing and pleasing in order to survive a situation.” “This in turn may influence denying one’s true mental, emotional, and physiological response to pain,” she says. “If this experience continues in excess, dissociation may occur. Dissociation is a process where, due to trauma and crisis, our minds and bodies naturally separate from harmful and hurtful thoughts, feelings, and body sensations. We may also begin to disassociate ,
But this avoidance comes at a cost. When we prioritize positivity over authenticity, we create a culture where people feel ashamed of their emotions. We teach them that their pain is a burden, their sadness is a failure, and their vulnerability is a liability.
THE DARK SIDE OF “GOOD VIBES ONLY”
Toxic positivity isn’t just annoying. It’s a form of emotional gaslighting—a cultural sleight of hand that convinces us our pain isn’t real. Take social media: We curate highlight reels of vacations, promotions, and #blessings, scrubbing away anything messy or sad. The result? A collective delusion that life should be a nonstop victory lap. Meanwhile, grief, anger, or frustration get labeled as “toxic” emotions— problems to fix, not feelings to process.
“THE UNIVERSE HAS A PLAN!” “LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE!” “
which compared to dissociation, is an intentional choice to separate ourselves from our mental and emotional pain, denying our ability to truly process our experiences and circumstances.” “Experiencing some emotional shutdown and numbness is considered a natural response to significant distress and is protective in survival mode,” notes Downing. “However over time this response can be damaging to healing and unhelpful when we are not in survival mode.”
“Two opposing thoughts can be true,” says Downing. “For example, if after experiencing something distressing a person instead of thinking “I can never think about this again, I must remain positive,” they can reframe their thought to “This is really difficult and I am grateful to have made it through the situation,” or “It’s okay to acknowledge both my strength and difficulties with this situation, it’s okay to be sad it happened.” This provides the opportunity to acknowledge both pain and resilience.” Elizabeth Campbell, a writer who lost her brother, initially coped by telling herself, “At least I had time with him at all!”—a textbook toxic positivity reflex. But burying her grief led to PTSD. “I was kidding myself,” she says. “Pretending I was okay made everything worse. I was so, so beyond sad. I wish I had just let myself feel that. Instead I tried to move on from him and look optimistically forward, which in retrospect is kind of messed up—like I feel I was trying too hard to
HOW TO DO BETTER
Let’s be so clear here: The antidote is not pessimism.
The antidote is not pessimism!
Instead look to tragic optimism, a term coined by Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl, an effort to find meaning alongside suffering, not instead of it.
“JUST BE GRATEFUL!”“THE UNIVERSE HAS A PLAN!” “LOOK ON
‘be better.’ I didn't allow myself to truly sit with and hold onto his memory.”
LET LIFE BE COMPLICATED
TA
Toxic positivity is emotional fast food—addictive and ultimately hollow. But true resilience isn’t about slapping a smile over sorrow. It’s about letting life be messy, contradictory, and gloriously human. So the next time someone tells you to “smile more,” feel free to ignore them. Your face—and your heart—know better. Because here’s the truth: You don’t have to vibrate high to be worthy. You don’t have to manifest a million dollars to matter. And you don’t have to “look on the bright side” to be strong. Sometimes, strength looks like saying, “This sucks,” and planting a garden anyway. ●
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bloomersintimates.com
POSITIVE THINKING (EVEN FOR THE NATURAL-BORN HATER)
“
If you’re someone who’s naturally skeptical of positivity, building resilience and fostering personal growth doesn’t mean you have to let go of your skepticism or sense of humor. Positivity doesn’t have to feel fake or forced—it can be approached as a practical way to brainstorm solutions or see challenges from a different angle.
ADV I CE
ANYONE
( REAL LY ANYONE )
CAN USE.
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WORDS BY LAURA JAYE CRAMER PHOTOGRAPHY BY RACHEL CLAIRE
LAST WINTER, AFTER A FAIRLY MISERABLE EVENT LEFT ME DEJECTED AND DRAFTING ANGRY TEXTS I’D NEVER SEND, A FRIEND SIGNED ME UP FOR A COMMUNITY GARDEN PLOT. “You need a hobby that isn’t rage-texting,” she said, sliding the key to Plot #14 across the table. I showed up the first day in thrifted boots still caked with someone else’s dirt, half- expecting it to be another failed experiment in self- improvement. The plot was six feet of stubborn clay and crabgrass. The garden manager, a retiree named Susan who wore a “Weed Queen” embroidered sun hat, handed me a trowel and said, “Start with the radishes. They’re hard to kill.” I stabbed at stubborn root systems that felt like a metaphor. What I learned: Radishes are hard to kill. But they’re also hard to love—all sharp greens and underwhelming bulbs. By June, my radishes—my darling, unloveable radishes—were
bolting, stretching toward the sun like desperate actors mid- monologue. I’d sit on the bench Susan salvaged from a church rummage sale, watching bees bob between zinnias, and think: This is what people mean by mindfulness, isn’t it? Not serenity. Not gratitude. Just the slow, stubborn act of tending to something you don’t yet hate.
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Cynicism is a thistle —prickly, persistent, convinced it’s protecting the garden. But left unchecked, it takes over.
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GROWTH
ISN’T MAGIC,
JUST
ACT I ON—
SHOW UP,
TRY ,
BEG I N
AGA I N .
I
panic button—by giving the mind a non- threatening anchor.
Positive thinking, for people like me, feels like a scam. It’s the emotional equivalent of those “Live, Laugh, Love” signs sold at Michaels— bright, hollow, and condescending. But Susan, who’d survived two husbands and a hip replacement, had a different take: “You don’t have to love the radishes. Just water the damn radishes.”
You don’t need to believe in growth to benefit from it. You just have to do something small, over and over, and let your brain catch up. To me, cynicism naturally feels good. It’s the emotional equivalent of wearing noise-canceling headphones in a world full of TikTok soundbites about living your truth. Snarking on toxic optimism? Valid. Rolling your eyes at corporate wellness seminars titled Embrace Your Inner Light? A civic duty.
Turns out, she was onto something.
A 2023 study in Behavioral Neuroscience found that repetitive, low-stakes tasks (like weeding) reduce activity in the amygdala—the brain’s
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I
I focusing on small, achievable goals, or just paying attention to what actually helps instead of what just feels satisfying in the moment. The problem is, cynicism tricks you into thinking you’re protecting yourself, when really, you’re just making sure nothing grows. It’s like refusing to eat cake because some weird, health- obsessed auntie once told you dessert is a moral failing—you’re not sticking it to the system; you’re just depriving yourself of cake. Cynicism isn’t wisdom—it’s emotional arthritis. It stiffens your capacity to feel anything but disdain. I don’t blame you for mistrusting optimism. But here’s what the radishes taught me: Growth isn’t about believing in sunshine—it’s about tolerating the mud. A recent study in Psychological Science found that people who practiced pragmatic optimism — planting seeds while keeping a trowel nearby for the inevitable rocks—had 23% lower stress levels than those waiting for the sky to fall. Cynicism, it turns out, is just another kind of fertilizer: potent but corrosive, burning holes in roots before they can take hold. I spent a lot of time—too much time—muttering What’s the point? to my radishes. Eventually, Susan poked me in the ribs and snapped, “Just poke holes in the dirt. We’ll lie to each other about the results later.” So I did. Some radishes came up misshapen, others downright ugly. But by harvest, I’d at least stopped flinching at the word “future.”
“If you’re someone who’s naturally skeptical of positivity, building resilience and fostering personal growth doesn’t mean you have to let go of your skepticism or sense of humor,” says Julie Hingsbergen, LMFT, psychotherapist and founder of Reframe CBT, a cognitive behavioral therapy practice in California. “In fact,” she adds, “these can be powerful tools for creating balance in your thinking. Skepticism, when paired with realistic thinking, can help you step back and question overly negative or unhelpful thoughts. Positivity doesn’t have to feel fake or forced—it can be approached as a practical way to brainstorm solutions or see challenges from a different angle.” That’s the shift—thinking of optimism as a tool rather than a personality trait. It’s not about forcing a smile through gritted teeth; it’s about noticing when cynicism becomes a reflex rather than a reasoned response. As Hingsbergen explains, spotting unhelpful patterns is the first step: Are you assuming the worst without actual evidence? Are you dismissing something as impossible instead of considering a realistic middle ground? Balanced thinking isn’t about pretending everything is fine—it’s about seeing situations as they are, rather than as catastrophes-in-waiting. And if positivity feels unnatural, start where you already have an advantage. “Humor is a great way to release tension and gain perspective without ignoring reality,” Hingsbergen notes. Instead of weaponizing sarcasm against yourself, use it to break rigid thinking. Let your skepticism work for you instead of against you. Maybe it’s reframing setbacks as plot twists rather than personal failures. Maybe it’s building a mental toolkit—reality-checking your thoughts,
You don’t have to believe in miracles. I sure don’t! Just in the faint, stubborn magic of a plant
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doing what it’s built to do.
HACKS FOR HATERS
Cynicism is a thistle—prickly, persistent, convinced it’s protecting the garden. But left unchecked, it takes over. Like all habits, though, it can be hacked. You don’t have to believe in manifesting, mantras, or the healing power of kale smoothies. You just have to believe in your capacity to be 1% better today than you were yesterday. ●
REPLACE GRAND GESTURES WITH MICRO-SHIFTS. THE 1% RULE Instead of: “I’ll journal three things I’m
grateful for every morning!”—Try: “I’ll notice one non-awful thing today.” (Example: “My coffee didn’t taste like dishwater. Cool.”)
SEIZE A“GOOD ENOUGH”WIN IF “RAH-RAH SUCCESS” STORIES FEEL GOOFY, REFRAME PROGRESS.
“Did I survive today without fantasizing about moving to a cabin in the woods? Good enough.”
THE “F*CK EM” FUND BUDGET FOR SMALL REBELLIONS AGAINST DESPAIR. “I’ll donate $5 to counter something I detest… just out of spite.”
PESSIMISM WITH A TIME LIMIT
LET YOURSELF CATASTROPHIZE—BUT SET AN ALARM. “I’ll spiral about the state of the world for 10 minutes, then I get to go pet my dog for at least that long.”
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A DEEPER LOOK AT RESILIENCE
Positivity doesn’t have to equal blind faith. Stephanie Lewis, LICSW, LCSW, LSW, and Executive Director of Epiphany Wellness, shares how skeptics can build resilience without faking enthusiasm.
“Your skepticism isn’t a flaw—it’s a strength,” says Lewis. “It allows you to ask questions, think critically, and avoid unquestioning optimism.” The key is using it to problem-solve, not spiral. Ask yourself: What’s realistic here? What’s one thing I can do to move forward?
USE SKEPTICISM AS A STRENGTH
Reframing isn’t denial—it’s perspective. Instead of “This is terrible, and nothing will get better,” try “This is hard, but I’ve faced challenges before, and I’ll figure this out too.” This shift keeps you grounded without getting stuck.
REFRAME WITHOUT PRETENDING
SMALL ACTIONS BREAK THE CYCLE
“If you’re thinking, ‘This is an impossible situation,’ shift to, ‘What’s one thing I can do right now to make this a little better?’” says Lewis. Even minor actions—organizing thoughts, tackling one small task—can restore a sense of control.
“Resilience doesn’t require choosing between positivity and skepticism—you can hold both simultaneously,” Lewis explains. This dialectical thinking allows space for: ✔ This situation is tough, and I can handle it. ✔ I feel frustrated, and I’m also grateful for support.
YOU CAN HOLD TWO TRUTHS AT ONCE
CURIOSITY OVER CYNICISM
Instead of fixating on what’s wrong, ask: What can I learn from this? What strengths am I using? Curiosity shifts your focus from obstacles to opportunities.
STAY GROUNDED IN GRATITUDE
Gratitude isn’t about ignoring reality—it’s noticing small, genuine positives. “Today was tough, but I’m grateful I had a moment to enjoy my coffee.” Recognizing good doesn’t erase hardship—it simply gives you more to work with.
Resilience isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about using who you already are— skepticism included—to navigate challenges. ●
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Whether you’re a data-driven optimizer, a chaotic creative, or just trying to survive Monday, this list bridges science and soul with products that actually do something. Sure, the wellness world has its standbys, but we’re SHOP OUR FEEL-GOOD WISHLIST The Self-Care Edit
diving into stress-tracking jewelry, cozy essentials, and game-changing home upgrades. Whatever your version of zen looks like, we’ve got the tools to help you recharge—no PhD in crystals required. ● By Clarity Quarterly Staff
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BY ELIZABETH CAMPBELL PHOTOGRAPHY BY NICK FANCHER
WHY IS MENTAL ILLNESS PORTRAYED SO TERRIBLY IN TV AND MOVIES?
to life: a villain’s eyes glint with malice as ominous music crescendos. He’s dangerous, deranged, and… diagnosed. It’s a trope we’ve all seen, from American Psycho to Joker, where mental illness is the ultimate explanation for violence and villainy. But why does Hollywood so often paint illness in these harsh, one-dimensional strokes? THE SCREEN FLICKERS
Dissociative Identity Disorder, painting those who live with the condition as dangerous and untrustworthy. Television, too, contributes to these harmful patterns. Both Glee and Grey’s Anatomy briefly portray main characters (Kurt and Miranda, respectively) struggling with OCD, only to drop the storyline after an episode or two—an inaccurate depiction that ignores the persistent and often lifelong nature of the condition.
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The answer, it seems, lies in a mix of cultural and industry-driven biases that have shaped harmful portrayals for decades. Dr. Carolina Estevez, Psy.D., a licensed clinical psychologist at Austin’s Crestone Wellness, points out that these portrayals are deeply rooted in cultural stigma, often depicting individuals with mental illnesses as dangerous, unpredictable, or helpless. “Mental health conditions are complex,” she explains, “but they’re often reduced to a single exaggerated trait for dramatic effect—such as equating schizophrenia with violence or depression with constant sadness. These portrayals miss the nuanced reality of living with a mental health condition.” The oversimplification of complex conditions only worsens the problem. Hollywood’s portrayal often reduces mental illness to a single exaggerated trait—the violent schizophrenic, the depressed loner. The Shining (1980) uses Jack Torrance’s deteriorating mental state to turn him into the ultimate monster, making his illness the true “villian”
This reduction of mental illness into one-dimensional traits isn’t confined to a single era of storytelling, it’s a throughline from classic films to contemporary hits. The sheer volume of examples is overwhelming, a reminder that this problem has been baked into Hollywood’s DNA for decades. “Mental health struggles are often exaggerated for drama or shock value, prioritizing entertainment over accuracy,” says Dr. Estevez. “This approach can perpetuate harmful misconceptions.” And let’s be clear, here. These movies aren’t necessarily bad artistically—some are masterpieces! But that’s what makes it even more frustrating: their mental health inconsistencies or outright lies become believable, cementing harmful stereotypes in the cultural imagination. What’s worse is that these narratives strip away the humanity of those living with mental health challenges, reducing them to caricatures instead of fully realized characters. It begs the question: wouldn’t these movies be even more compelling, resonant, and
MENTAL
HEALTH STRUGGLES ARE NOT A CHARACTER FLAW, THEY’RE A PART OF THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE. PORTRAYING THAT TRUTH CAN FOSTER UNDER- STANDING AND COM- PASSION IN WAYS NO PSA EVER COULD.
”
of the story. 2017’s To the Bone perpetuates the idea that eating disorders only affect those who appear stick-thin and visibly “sick,” reinforcing harmful misconceptions about who deserves treatment. 2016’s Split demonizes Dissociative Identity Disorder, painting those who live with the condition as dangerous appear stick-thin and visibly “sick,” reinforcing harmful misconceptions about who deserves treatment. 2016’s Split demonizes
impactful with thoughtful, accurate representations at their core?
But the entertainment industry’s priority isn’t accuracy, it’s entertainment. Sensationalism sells, and mental illness is often exaggerated for shock value—sometimes only to be dropped when it no longer serves the plot. Dr. Estevez points to the prevalence of “quick-fix” storylines: “Recovery from
mental health challenges is often depicted as quick or effortless in movies and TV,” she says, “which can set unrealistic expectations for audiences navigating their journeys.” Compounding this issue is the industry’s lack of diverse representation. Many portrayals of mental illness ignore cultural, racial, and socioeconomic nuances, presenting a narrow and incomplete picture of what living with a mental health condition truly looks like. The lack of diverse representation in mental health portrayals often limits the conversation to narrow, privileged perspectives. While Silver Linings Playbook (2012) earned praise for its depiction of bipolar disorder, its focus on white, middle-class characters fails to explore how cultural or socioeconomic factors shape access to care. Similarly, Shutter Island (2010) dramatizes institutionalization without addressing the racial and economic disparities of the time, erasing the lived experiences of
MENTAL HEALTH
CONDITIONS COMPLEX, THEY’RE REDUCED
ARE BUT
OFTEN
TO
A
SINGLE EXAGGERATED TRAIT FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT. THESE PORTRAYALS MISS THE NUANCED REALITY OF LIVING WITH A MENTAL HEALTH CONDITION.
Mission Connection Healthcare, puts it simply: “Mental health struggles are not a character flaw, they’re a part of the human experience,” she says. “Portraying that truth can foster understanding and compassion in ways no PSA ever could.” “One of the biggest issues I see is that entertainment often simplifies mental illness into clichés: the “dangerous villain” or the “tragic but ”
marginalized communities. These omissions create an incomplete picture, making it harder for underrepresented audiences to feel seen or understood in stories about mental illness.
The result? An audience that feels unseen and a missed opportunity to expand the conversation beyond harmful stereotypes. Which, let’s be real, is a real blow. Because accurate storytelling has the power to shift cultural narratives and reduce stigma.
Ashley Peña, National Executive Director of
genius loner,” Peña says. “These portrayals not only stigmatize, but they also ignore the everyday resilience of people managing their mental health challenges. I’ve worked with countless individuals who are thriving with therapy and support, and it’s their stories that rarely make it to the screen.”
professionals and individuals with lived experiences to ensure characters are nuanced and relatable. Consulting experts, as Peña suggests, can add depth and realism to narratives that might otherwise fall into harmful tropes. Fixing how mental illness is portrayed in Hollywood might sound like a lofty goal, and let’s not kid ourselves—not every screenwriter is interested in
Improving portrayals of mental illness on screen can (and should) start with collaborating with
RECOVERY ISN’T A TIDY MONTA TO INSPIRATIONAL MUSIC. COMPLICATED, AND SOMETIMES BORING—A LOT OF TRYING, TRYING AGAIN. ” 34
moonlighting as a psychiatrist. Still, small shifts could go a long way. Imagine if more productions treated mental health with the same care they give to CGI budgets. Partnering with mental health professionals and people who’ve actually lived these experiences isn’t a radical idea; it’s common sense. Because, honestly, enough with the obsession with neat endings. Recovery isn’t a tidy montage set to inspirational music. It’s messy, complicated, and sometimes downright boring—a lot of trying, failing, and trying again. Films that dare to leave things unresolved wouldn’t just be more honest; they’d probably resonate with audiences who know life doesn’t tie itself up with a bow. A nuanced character navigating therapy or showing resilience while managing symptoms would not only feel more human—it might actually be more interesting than yet another Joker clone. Mental health doesn’t look the same across every culture, race, or income bracket, and yet we get the same old stories over and over again. Including more perspectives wouldn’t just make movies better—it would make them feel real. And who wouldn’t want a little more of that on screen?
——————
As much as we’d like to rewrite every harmful depiction of mental illness, the reality is we can’t control the entertainment industry. What we can do, however, is recognize that these portrayals are far from the truth. Mental health struggles do not define a person, they’re part of a much bigger story. You are not flawed, and your condition doesn’t make you a villain. Entertainment shapes how we see the world, but let’s not take it at face value. It’s worth asking why certain stories keep getting told, and who benefits from them. Accurate, empathetic portrayals aren’t just a nice idea; they’re a chance to push back against tired tropes that have overstayed their welcome. When mental illness is portrayed as it truly is—messy, human, and far from a horror movie trope—we get richer stories that reflect life’s complexity, leaving us more connected and less alone. ●
AGE SET IT’S MESSY, S DOWNRIGHT FAILING, AND
BY PHYLLIS SCHWAIGER PHOTOGRAPHY BY JIN AE SOO THE YEAR TO GET OFFLINE AND TOUCH GRASS.
WORDS BY AYALA MARTIN PHOTOGRAPHY BY COTTONBRO STUDIO & FANETTE GUILLOUD
T
here is a stretch of forest in Oregon’s Willamette Valley where the Douglas firs grow so dense they swallow sound. No cell signals pierce the canopy. No Wi-Fi passwords hum in the underbrush. The only notifications here come from woodpecker Morse code and the creak of branches bowing under their own weight. This place isn’t remote—it’s 90 minutes from Portland—but it feels like a glitch in the algorithm of modern life. Scientists call these zones “quiet areas,” pockets of land where human noise pollution drops below 30 decibels. In 2024, researchers found something unsettling: Over 60% of people under 35 reported feeling visceral unease in such silence. Their brains, wired for the fractal chaos of apps and alerts, misfired in the absence of input. One participant described it as “hearing my own pulse for the first time. It freaked me out.”
But how’s this for a paradox: What terrifies us might also save us.
Shari B. Kaplan LCSW, a clinical director with 30 years of experience and creator of integrative mental health programs at Cannectd Wellness, puts it plainly: “In a fast-paced world dominated by screens and urban living, the call of nature has become more than a longing—it’s a necessity.”
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THE
ALGORITHM
OF
Kaplan sees this shift all the time. “Begin the day with a walk in your neighborhood or nearby park. This simple act not only invigorates the body but also calms the mind, setting a positive tone for the day ahead.” The trick isn’t finding untouched wilderness; it’s learning to move through familiar spaces with new attention. The way the early light pools on the sidewalk, the rhythm of your own footsteps, the sound of birds mapping their territories overhead—it all counts. The same recalibration happens when you engage your senses with intention. Kaplan suggests merging mindfulness with the outdoors: “Focusing on the sights, sounds, and smells around you—the rustling of leaves or the scent of blooming flowers —can ground your senses and enhance present- moment awareness.” If silence unnerves you, try listening instead of bracing against it. If stillness feels unnatural, notice what in you wants to move. Even in the smallest spaces, nature asserts itself. A basil plant reaching for light on a kitchen windowsill, a single vine threading its way along a balcony railing. Kaplan reminds us that tending to plants, even in urban spaces, creates a direct connection to nature’s cycles: “Watching plants grow and thrive reinforces a sense of purpose and continuity.” Growth happens in increments. So does awareness. And sometimes, you need more than the edges of nature—you need immersion. “Periodic retreats into more immersive natural settings, such as forests or mountains, can rejuvenate your mind and spirit, offering deeper moments of clarity and inspiration.” Maybe it’s an afternoon by the ocean, an overnight in the quiet geometry of the desert. Maybe it’s stepping into a place where the sky feels wider, where you can hear yourself think without interference. It’s easy to dismiss this as sentimentalism—a wistful lunge for some pastoral fantasy that never existed. But this isn’t about rewinding to a simpler time. It’s about rewiring a fractured present. THIS ISN’T NOSTALGIA. IT’S SURVIVAL.
DISCONNECTION
In 2024, a team of neuroscientists at Stanford discovered something peculiar: The brains of frequent smartphone users had begun to mimic the very devices they depended on. Neural pathways once reserved for creativity and deep focus now fired in rapid, fragmented bursts—like apps refreshing in the background. One researcher likened it to “cognitive popcorn brain,” where sustained attention dissolved into a constant crackle of micro-stimuli.
But the brain, unlike a smartphone, has no “off” button.
By 2025, this neurological dissonance has reached a tipping point. Burnout is no longer a buzzword but a clinical epidemic, with ERs reporting spikes in patients whose symptoms—dizziness, phantom vibrations, insomnia—defy traditional diagnoses. A nurse in Seattle coined the term “digital vertigo” after treating a programmer who hallucinated Slack notifications during a power outage. “Reconnecting with nature has emerged as a pivotal trend in mental health and resilience because it addresses a fundamental human need to be grounded in our environment,” says Kaplan. “Nature therapy, or ‘eco-therapy,’ taps into the intrinsic bond we share with the natural world, offering profound benefits for mental health and well-being.” There’s a difference between stepping outside and actually being there. Most people don’t notice the weight of the air on their skin, the way leaves shift their language with the wind, the scent of soil deepening after rain. We’ve trained ourselves to tune it out, to walk fast, to keep our heads down, eyes locked on a glowing rectangle. But if you strip away the distractions, something else emerges—a kind of quiet recognition. LEARNING TO LISTEN TO THE EARTH AGAIN
As Kaplan sees it: “Nature has always been an ally in healing. By making it a regular part of our lives, we empower ourselves to live more balanced, resilient, and joyful lives.” We call it “woo-woo,” “granola,” “unrealistic.” But what’s unrealistic is expecting a species that evolved alongside birdsong and rainfall to thrive under fluorescent lights and Slack pings. In 2025, touch grass stops being a meme and starts being a lifeline. Not because we’re rejecting technology, but because we’re remembering what it means to exist without it. So, step outside. Breathe air that isn’t forced through a vent. Let the sun find your face, even for a second. Listen. Not to a notification, not to a feed. To the world turning in its slow, deliberate way. It’s been doing that all along. We just forgot how to notice. ●
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From brain-bending nonfiction to fiction that rewires reality, this season’s reads defy the obvious. Crave intellectual adrenaline, narrative curveballs, or prose that lingers like a bruise? Consider this your literary defibrillator. Shelf space: cleared. TBR pile: doomed. FRESH READS, NO SKIPS THE NEW BOOKS WORTH YOUR SHELF SPACE.
Katie Kitamura’s Audition charts the shifting dynamics between an actress and a young man in her most experimental novel yet; Cristina Rivera Garza’s Death Takes Me follows a professor aiding a detective tracking a poetic serial killer; Michel Nieva’s Dengue Boy unfolds in a flooded 23rd-century Argentina; Nicholas Binge’s Dissolution reveals memory theft through an elderly woman’s interrogation; Laila Lalami’s The Dream Hotel sees a woman detained after an algorithm predicts she’ll kill her husband; Ocean Vuong’s The Emperor of Gladness finds a Vietnamese man forming a chosen family in rural Connecticut; Aria Aber’s Good Girl follows Nila, the daughter of Afghan parents, through Berlin’s underground club and literary scenes; Bridget Read’s Little Bosses Everywhere questions the legality of MLM schemes like Mary Kay and Herbalife; Claire Baglin’s On the Clock captures the monotony of a fast-food job and the narrator’s complicated love for her electrician father; Andrew Lipstein’s Something Rotten sees disgraced NPR host Reuben in Copenhagen, entangled with his wife’s old friends and her terminally ill ex; In Stag Dance, Torrey Peters explores insecurity and desire through tales of romance and pandemic horror; Jamie Hood’s Trauma Plot examines how society makes survivors atone for past violence; Erika Swyler’s We Lived on the Horizon imagines AI blurring reality even further in the future; Colette Shade’s Y2K revisits the 2000s: fun tech, Starbucks luxury, and post-9/11 anxiety. ● - By Clarity Quarterly Staff
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