The slogans are everywhere: “Protect your peace,” “Prioritize your mental health,” and “It’s okay to not be okay.” They’re printed on T-shirts, captioned in Instagram posts, and featured in self-care marketing campaigns. But for millions of people across the United States—especially in Missouri and Kansas—those messages now feel like hollow suggestions in a reality where the actual support systems are vanishing.
As social and political tensions escalate across the country, the ability to access meaningful behavioral health care is simultaneously being dismantled. While national conversations continue around trauma, stress, and burnout, federal leadership is proposing historic budget cuts to the very programs designed to address those exact issues.
In March 2025, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. announced the closure of the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), folding it into a new umbrella agency called the Administration for a Healthy America (AHA). Framed as a streamlining effort, the move also absorbed other key public health offices—including the Health Resources and Services Administration (HRSA) and the Office of the Assistant Secretary for Health. But many in the field say the reorganization weakens behavioral health infrastructure at a time when the need is growing. Programs once tailored for crisis response, early intervention, and marginalized populations are now at risk of being diluted—or disappearing entirely.
Mental health needs are rising while access remains unequal
According to the 2023 National Survey on Drug Use and Health, more than 58.7 million U.S. adults experienced any mental illness (AMI), representing nearly 23% of the adult population. Among adolescents aged 12 to 17, nearly one in five experienced a major depressive episode, with more than 3.4 million youth reporting severe impairment in school, home, or relationships.
That need is not declining—and states like Missouri and Kansas are already behind.
Missouri ranks near the bottom nationally for behavioral health workforce availability. The Missouri Department of Mental Health reports that more than 1.25 million adults in Missouri live with some form of mental illness. Of those, more than 300,000 have a serious mental illness, such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or major depression. Access issues are most acute in rural counties, where some residents must drive more than 90 minutes for a licensed therapist.
In Kansas, more than 147,000 residents received services through the state mental health agency in 2023. But that figure masks underlying instability. In March 2025, Kansas lost $49 million in federal health funding following the cancellation of HHS COVID-19 relief grants. State officials were notified that the clawback would include not only behavioral health initiatives but also programs supporting people with disabilities and complex medical needs.
Cara Sloan-Ramos, spokesperson for the Kansas Department for Aging and Disability Services (KDADS), called the funding clawback “a significant loss” and noted that the canceled grants had supported vital programs for behavioral health, developmental disability services, and long-term care.
But funding isn’t the only challenge. Language, too, has become a battleground.
New federal restrictions under the Trump administration have discouraged—or in some cases prohibited—the use of key terms in communications and grant proposals. Words such as “mental health,” “trauma,” “bias,” and “diversity” are being flagged in documents tied to federal funding. As a result, many health centers are sanitizing or self-censoring their public messaging to remain eligible for grants.
The impact has been chilling.
For individuals seeking care—especially those impacted by ongoing political unrest—this rhetorical shift has real consequences.
Black, Hispanic, and Indigenous communities are disproportionately affected by poverty, incarceration, and housing instability—all of which are linked to increased mental health burdens. Yet these same populations are less likely to receive behavioral health care, due in part to stigma, systemic racism, and logistical barriers like insurance or transportation.
Recent data expose significant racial disparities in both access to and utilization of mental health care. According to SAMHSA’s 2021–2023 NSDUH Race & Ethnicity Companion Report, only 40.6% of Black adults with any diagnosable mental illness received treatment in the past year, compared with 57.7% of white adults, a shortfall of 17.1 percentage points. The same report shows that American Indian and Alaska Native adults have the lowest treatment rates of all groups, despite shouldering the highest prevalence of serious mental illness.
According to SAMHSA, Black adults are more likely to report persistent feelings of sadness and hopelessness, but 40% less likely than white adults to receive mental health treatment. Native American communities, meanwhile, report some of the highest suicide rates in the nation.
For LGBTQ+ youth, especially those in conservative states, mental health risks are compounded. A 2023 report from The Trevor Project found that 41% of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered suicide in the previous year. Among transgender and nonbinary youth, that figure was even higher.
Despite this, school-based mental health services are under threat across Missouri and Kansas. In the face of DEI bans, banned book lists, and the politicization of gender-affirming care, several districts have severed contracts with outside mental health providers entirely.
“Politics has sort of turned into a sporting event instead of something being in the background of our lives,” said Bart Andrews, Ph.D., chief clinical officer at Behavioral Health Response, which operates Missouri’s 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline services. “If our lives are consumed with everyday conversations about politics where there’s lots of polarization, we’re going to be really unhappy folks every day.” He urged individuals to set clear boundaries—turn off the news or limit social media—to protect their emotional well-being.
That silence has grown louder for those on the frontlines of protest, too.
From organizers marching against Medicaid cuts to teachers rallying for curriculum transparency, the mental strain of civic engagement is escalating. Protesting comes with costs—lost income, public harassment, and emotional burnout. For many, the emotional load is compounded by a sense that the institutions meant to protect their health are no longer safe or reliable.
“I’ve been in back-to-back protests since January 2025, and I’ve never felt this tired,” said Cortney R., a member of the KC Protests 2025 Facebook group. “It’s not just that I’m tired. It’s that I can’t afford therapy, and the groups I used to count on for support lost their grants.”
While urban areas may still offer some mental health access through nonprofits or sliding-scale providers, rural communities in Missouri and Kansas have fewer options—and less political support.
In central Missouri, patients often endure wait times of six to eight months for behavioral health appointments at community health centers—assuming they can secure transportation and childcare—according to the Missouri Primary Care Association’s overview of statewide access challenges.
According to the Missouri Behavioral Health Council’s Year 7 Certified Community Behavioral Health Clinic Impact Infographic (December 2024), federally qualified health centers in central Missouri report waitlists stretching several months for a first behavioral health appointment, driven by workforce shortages, coverage gaps, and transportation barriers.
The irony, providers say, is that some of the same lawmakers pushing funding cuts are simultaneously calling for increased law enforcement, juvenile detention beds, and criminal penalties for behavioral symptoms that go untreated.
“It’s like we’re criminalizing the consequences of a broken system,” said Heather C., a member of the KC Protests 2025 Facebook group. “We’re telling people to cope on their own, and then punishing them when they can’t.”
Still, pockets of resistance remain.
New efforts to deliver care are not enough to meet demand
Community-based organizations in Kansas City and Topeka are exploring peer-led support groups, virtual drop-in spaces, and trauma-informed mutual aid networks that operate outside of traditional funding streams. In Missouri, telehealth partnerships and mobile therapy vans are beginning to serve rural counties with no brick-and-mortar clinics.
But none of these solutions are sustainable without structural support.
Advocates are now calling for reinvestment in mental health infrastructure at the federal level, including the full restoration of SAMHSA block grants and a reversal of language restrictions in public health communications. They also urge state legislatures to protect behavioral health programs from further political interference, particularly those serving youth, rural areas, and marginalized populations.
That call aligns with public sentiment: a March 2025 NAMI–Ipsos poll found that 60% of Americans believe Congress is doing too little to address the mental health crisis, and 61% say Medicaid should be a top priority—just ahead of the 60% who prioritize mental health care.
The stakes, experts warn, are as high as they’ve ever been.
“NAMI is deeply concerned by the proposed plans that would change the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) as we know it and reduce our nation’s capacity to improve care for people with mental illness. Having an agency focused on mental health and substance use conditions has elevated the national conversation and reduced stigma around these conditions. We fear that the changes proposed, along with cuts to other critically important HHS agencies, like the National Institutes of Health (NIH), could have disastrous implications for the tens of millions of Americans affected by mental illness,” said Daniel H. Gillison Jr., CEO of the National Alliance on Mental Illness.
Until then, slogans like “prioritize your mental health” will continue to echo—through protest signs, viral tweets, and public service announcements. But for the millions facing emotional strain, economic hardship, and political trauma, slogans aren’t enough.
What they need is care.
What they need is policy.
And what they’re getting is silence.
Mental health care won’t recover without intentional action
The systems meant to protect mental health are being dismantled. But individuals, providers, and organizers are finding ways to respond through collective action, local pressure, and sustained attention.
Here’s what that can look like:
- Join a movement that’s fighting back. From grassroots mental health coalitions to Medicaid defense groups, regional efforts in Missouri and Kansas are mobilizing to challenge cuts, protect crisis services, and keep care within reach. These movements need more than awareness—they need people.
- Push for funding transparency. Ask state lawmakers how they plan to maintain mental health services under the new federal agency structure. Demand clear answers for how youth programs, rural providers, and crisis hotlines will be funded going forward.
- Protect mental health in schools. Speak up at school board meetings. Advocate for contracts that keep licensed counselors in buildings and push back on rhetoric that politicizes care for students.
- Document the fallout. When programs close or services disappear, share verifiable information with local press, coalitions, or oversight bodies. Without documentation, defunding efforts often go unnoticed—and unchallenged.
The dismantling of mental health infrastructure is not abstract. It is active, ongoing, and deeply local. Rebuilding it will take more than self-care slogans. It will take people who are willing to show up, speak out, and refuse to settle for silence.
