How Family Dynamics, Burnout and ‘Adjust Kar Lo’ Culture Impact Emotional Health of India’s Youth: Dr Devanshi Desai Explains

India’s young adults are navigating an emotional landscape shaped by rising burnout, generational shifts in family expectations, and persistent cultural norms that discourage open conversations about distress. As academic pressure intensifies and family dynamics grow more complex, many young Indians are carrying invisible emotional burdens that quietly shape their long-term wellbeing.

In this wide-ranging conversation, Dr Devanshi Desai, a UK- and India-trained counselling psychologist and couples therapist, unpacks the lasting impact of growing up around interparental conflict, the early red flags of anxiety and burnout, and the cultural nuances that influence how Indians express — and suppress — emotional pain.

Dr Desai also explores why academic achievement is often mistaken for emotional resilience, how parents can maintain discipline while nurturing psychological safety, and what everyday trauma looks like in a society built on the mantra of ‘adjust kar lo’.

Edited excerpts:

Your upcoming research explores the lived experiences of Indian adults who grew up with interparental conflict. What did you uncover about how family dynamics—often considered ‘normal’ in Indian households—shape long-term mental health?

What stood out most is how complex family life becomes when the environment meant to be safe turns unpredictable. Participants described the conflict between their parents as constant and overwhelming. Many coped by finding ways to escape—either physically distancing themselves or emotionally shutting down.

Persistent exposure created a quiet, lingering fear that their parents might separate. Their feelings about this were mixed: some were terrified, while others hoped separation would reduce the chaos at home.

These dynamics also forced many children into roles that weren’t age-appropriate—taking sides, managing tensions or becoming the ‘responsible one’. They spoke of childhoods marked by emotional unfulfillment and a longing for an “ideal family” they never had. The absence of a steady, supportive adult presence during formative years left a clear mark.

The imprint of interparental conflict (IPC) carried into adulthood. For some, it emerged as anxiety, depression or relational difficulties. For others, the adversity cultivated deep insight and a determination to build healthier patterns in their own lives.

Anxiety and burnout are rising among India’s urban youth. What early emotional ‘red flags’ should young people recognise before things reach a breaking point?

The earliest signs are often subtle. Persistent sleep disruptions, declining motivation or concentration, irritability, withdrawal from friends, loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities and constant fatigue are important signals—not diagnoses, but cues to pause.

Burnout rarely begins with a dramatic collapse. It begins with everyday compromises: pushing through exhaustion, ignoring emotional cues, missing deadlines or repeatedly delaying rest. Noticing these patterns early and seeking support makes intervention much gentler and far more effective.

You’ve worked in both the NHS and private practice in India. What key differences do you see in how Indian clients express distress or seek help compared to clients in the UK?

In India, distress is often narrated relationally rather than internally—people explain their feelings through family or relationship dynamics because many grew up without a strong emotional vocabulary. This is changing in newer generations, but the pattern persists. In contrast, UK clients tend to use more direct emotional language and describe distress from an internal standpoint.

Mental health in India is frequently treated as a family issue, not an individual one. Many hear, “Just talk to us, you don’t need a psychologist,” which unintentionally silences more complex emotional needs. Because interdependence is valued, seeking professional help may feel unfamiliar or even disloyal.

Stigma influences help-seeking too. Clients in India often wait until problems seriously disrupt daily life, whereas therapy is normalised and more accessible in the UK through public mental healthcare.

Indian clients also tend to expect a more directive, problem-solving style of therapy—“tell me what to do”—while therapy in the UK is largely collaborative and exploratory. Family involvement is more common in India and can be both useful and complicated.

Access also plays a role: private care in India is fast but expensive, while NHS support in the UK is affordable but slower. These are broad tendencies; individual experiences vary widely.

Many Indian parents still believe academic success solves all problems. How can families nurture emotional safety without giving up discipline or expectations?

Emotional safety doesn’t mean lowering standards—it means creating a relationship in which children feel secure enough to meet those standards. Discipline and warmth can absolutely coexist.

Simple shifts make a big difference: praising effort rather than only outcomes, offering clear reasoning for rules, and giving choices within limits – for example: “Your study time is fixed; you can choose when to do it”. A weekly “no grades talk” evening—focusing only on life, feelings and small joys—can be transformative.

Normalising failure is central to emotional safety. When parents respond to mistakes with curiosity rather than shame, children develop resilience. Structure, boundaries and emotional attunement work best together.

You often speak about trauma-informed care. In a culture that says “adjust kar lo,” what does everyday trauma look like, and how can people begin healing without feeling overwhelmed?

“Adjust kar lo” becomes a way of life for many—pushing through discomfort, suppressing emotions and maintaining peace at any cost. It teaches people to tolerate situations that are actually harmful.

Everyday trauma hides in repeated moments of emotional neglect, humiliation, invalidation, constant criticism, routine conflict or silent treatment, and lack of privacy or agency. These experiences don’t look dramatic, so people minimise them. But the nervous system remembers.

Healing begins with doing the opposite of adjustment.

• Name the pain: “This hurt me.” “This wasn’t okay.”
• Set micro-boundaries: “I need a break.” “I’ll talk later.”
• Create pockets of safety: grounding exercises, walks, breathwork.
• Seek validating relationships: even one supportive listener matters.
• Take therapy stepwise: begin with a couple of trauma-informed sessions—support can be gradual.

Healing is the shift from “I must adjust” to “I’m allowed to have needs, limits and support.”