Margaux Blanchard
“I was 14 when I first asked for help. I’m 17 now and still waiting.” That’s how Ava, a college student from Manchester, sums up her experience with the UK’s Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS). She’s one of thousands of young people caught in a crisis that mental health professionals, charities, and campaigners have been warning about for years — one that’s now impossible to ignore.
A widely felt crisis
Despite high-profile government pledges and glossy awareness campaigns, the UK’s youth mental health system is buckling under overwhelming demand. The numbers are damning. Referrals to CAMHS have surged by more than 50% in just five years. The pandemic intensified mental health issues among young people, but services remain drastically under-resourced. In many areas, waiting times for CAMHS exceed 18 months.
“It’s not just about the long waiting times — it’s about feeling invisible and forgotten by a system that’s supposed to help you. Every day you’re left questioning whether you’ll ever get the support you need or if you’ll just have to keep struggling on your own.” says Ava. “We need urgent change, because mental health isn’t something you can put on hold.” According to NHS Digital’s 2023 survey, one in five children and young people in England now has a probable mental health disorder — most of whom will never receive timely or sufficient care.
For those transitioning to early adult services, the handoff is often a cliff-edge — young people are forced to go private, self-manage, or slip through the cracks.
Gatekeeping support
“The system is gatekeeping support in ways that are actively dangerous,” says Dr. Amina Patel, a clinical psychologist and youth mental health advocate based in London. “We’ve medicalized distress, but rationed access to care. It's a perfect storm.”
Young people from marginalized communities suffer the worst. Those from working-class backgrounds, ethnic minorities, and LGBTQ+ identities face additional barriers, from cultural stigma to institutional neglect. For trans youth in particular, access pathways are not just delayed — they’re often retraumatizing.
For many, the personal cost is devastating. “By the time someone finally gets seen, they’ve often already self-harmed, dropped out of school, or worse,” says 19 year old Reuben from Birmingham. “CAMHS told me my anxiety wasn’t ‘severe’ enough. I attempted suicide three months later.”
Reuben’s story isn’t unique. Across the UK, similar accounts pile up — young people pleading for early help, and are denied until crisis erupts. When support eventually arrives, it’s typically shallow: a few CBT sessions, often via phone, with no follow-up. “It’s like applying for a lifeboat but being told to swim a little further first,” says Reuben. In other cases, it’s already too late.
A generation fights back
But this generation is not only suffering — it’s organizing. Grassroots campaigns like Students for CAMHS, Fund the Hubs, Mad Youth Organise and YoungMinds' Youth Panel are demanding systemic change. Their approach is unapologetically political, and their presence is growing - on social media, in the streets, and in parliament lobbies.
“We’re done being polite,” says Jamila Khan, 21, a youth organizer with Fund the Hubs and a former CAMHS patient. Fund The Hubs’ demands are clear: fully funded, community-based mental health hubs across the UK; culturally competent, trauma-informed care; and an end to exclusionary thresholds that deny support unless a young person is deemed ‘crisis-level.’ “Our generation is angry — and rightly so. Mental health isn’t a luxury. It’s infrastructure. It’s survival.”
Mad Youth Organise is another youth-led campaign fighting to advocate for young peoples’ mental health. Earlier this year, in time for Children’s Mental Health Week, they launched their manifesto, calling for radical changes to the mental health system. Their demands include an end to the medicalization of distress, greater accountability for corporations profiting from mental health crises, and a shift towards community-led, trauma-informed care.
The need for systemic change
It’s clear that this isn’t just about services — it’s about systems. Young people are reframing mental health as a matter of justice, deeply entangled with housing insecurity, climate anxiety, racism, and austerity-era cuts. “We talk about therapy, yeah,” says Reuben. “But we also talk about the cost of living. About police in schools. About trans healthcare. Mental health is political. We get that now.”
As institutions are in collapse, young people are building their own: peer support networks, mutual aid circles, and digital communities that offer the care they’ve been denied. In marches, zines, group chats, and community forums, the narrative is shifting. Young people are no longer passive recipients of care. They’re architects of a new framework for wellbeing — one that centres autonomy, accessibility, and collective resilience.
The UK’s youth mental health crisis isn’t just a health issue — it’s a generational reckoning. But out of this collapse, a movement is rising. It’s unpolished, unyielding, and deeply personal. Young people like Ava, Reuben and Jamila are no longer waiting for permission to be heard. They’re leading the conversation, shaping the demands, and forcing institutions to catch up.
And they won’t stop until mental health support isn’t just available — but guaranteed, equitable, and dignified.
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