Beneath headlines and deadlines: Mental health crisis facing female journalists

Journalism is a calling grounded in courage, curiosity, and public duty. For many female journalists, however, it comes at a deeply personal cost—the cost of safety, sanity, and selfhood. The threat is often not just physical or professional, but also psychological.

Research shows that men and women experience mental health challenges at comparable rates, but their cases and expressions differ from person to person. These patterns are shaped by more than biology; they are shaped by cultural norms around gender roles, emotional capacity, and help-seeking behaviours. Men often externalise through anger, substance use, or risk-taking, while women tend to internalise through anxiety, depression, withdrawal, or silence.

While every individual case is unique, for female journalists, the silence is indeed loudest in newsrooms.

In 2017, the International Federation of Journalists surveyed nearly 400 women journalists across 50 countries. It found that 48 percent had experienced gender-based violence in their professional lives, yet two-thirds (66 percent) did not file formal complaints. In a 2020 survey by UNESCO and the International Centre for Journalists, 73 percent of 714 women-identifying participants reported experiencing online violence during their careers. However, only 25 percent reported these incidents to their employers.

Many newsrooms still carry a deeply ingrained masculine culture, where senior decision-making roles are predominantly held by men. Consequently, the environments in which journalists work, the policies that govern them, and the institutional responses to harassment often reflect male-centric experiences and blind spots. Women journalists are made to feel they must either toughen up or stay silent. Many choose silence, fearing professional repercussions or the loss of hard-earned assignments.

Freelancers and junior reporters face the greatest risks with the least protection. The absence of clear, safe reporting mechanisms means that incidents of abuse are swept under the rug. Even when procedures exist, they are rarely victim-centred.

Against this backdrop, we must reimagine the newsroom not only as a space that produces stories but also as one that safeguards the storytellers. Building a safe and inclusive environment begins with recognising that women journalists experience challenges and realities distinct from those of their male counterparts. Their safety needs are shaped not only by gender but also by intersecting identities such as race, religion, class, sexuality, and disability. The impacts of violence are deeper and longer-lasting for those who stand at these intersections.

Safety and support must be embedded into newsroom culture, not offered as afterthoughts. This means developing clear anti-harassment policies that define unacceptable behaviours in everyday language and are easily accessible in both digital and print forms. These policies must be backed by trained managers who are prepared to respond appropriately when violations occur. A functional and confidential reporting system must be available, with the option for anonymous submissions and escalation routes that remain safe even when the perpetrator holds power.

Any journalist who reports abuse—physical, psychological, or digital—should be treated with dignity and respect. They must never be pressured to confront their perpetrator or forced into a public legal battle for which they are unprepared. Instead, they should have immediate access to psychological support, medical care, and legal information. Long-term recovery should also be considered part of the newsroom's responsibility, with phased reintegration into work if needed, and a commitment to ensuring that survivors are never further harmed or isolated.

Mental health support should be normalised in all media spaces. Counselling should not be reserved for crises but encouraged as part of everyday wellbeing. Journalists should feel comfortable attending therapy sessions during work hours without fear of judgement. Media managers should be trained not only to handle trauma but also to foster peer support networks where colleagues can look out for each other and share burdens without shame.

Journalists who investigate gender-based violence deserve the same protection as those who cover conflict or politics. When a woman journalist faces abuse, it should not be treated as a side issue but as a newsroom crisis, because it affects productivity, team trust, and institutional credibility. Studies show that unchecked harassment leads to higher turnover, reduced morale, and reputational damage to media outlets. The economic cost of replacing talent is only a fraction of the human cost when voices go silent and stories remain untold.

Ultimately, this is not just a matter of risk management. It is a matter of moral clarity.

When a woman journalist is told to "be strong" or "grow a thick skin," the problem is not her fragility; it is the fragility of the newsroom itself. When she leaves the profession because of abuse, we lose more than a reporter. We lose a perspective, a voice, and a possibility for change.

What we need is a nuanced, gender-responsive framework that recognises pain in its many forms and supports people where they are, not where we expect them to be. In the end, journalism's power lies not only in exposing injustice but also in refusing to replicate it within its own walls. A safe newsroom is not a privilege. It is a prerequisite.

Promiti Prova Chowdhury is project manager at Voices for Interactive Choice and Empowerment (VOICE). She can be reached at [email protected].

Views expressed in this article are the author's own. 

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