PAKISTAN is standing at a quiet yet defining moment.

The seasons people once relied on no longer follow familiar patterns. Winters pass too quickly and too dry, heatwaves settle in for months and monsoons—once a source of life—now arrive earlier, heavier, longer and more erratic. Fields that once thrived are now bare or awash. Livelihoods falter, food prices rise and families already struggling with inflation and poverty feel the pressure mounting.

Changing weather patterns are no longer confined to climate models or policy debates; they spill into everyday life, shaping how people plan, worry, and hold on to hope. Alongside visible damage runs a quieter force: climate anxiety. It shows up in the questions young people ask about their future, in parents counting each rupee and in families forced to leave behind villages that once anchored them. Slowly but steadily, it unsettles minds as much as it disrupts land and water.

Dr. Mufti, speaking from years of frontline work through Horizon—including relief and rehabilitation services for flood victims—notes gently but firmly: “Extreme heat, floods, droughts and other natural disasters cause fear, anxiety, depression and in some cases, PTSD.” The psychological toll of climate change falls heaviest on those already carrying the most: women holding households together amid scarcity, children absorbing their parents’ silent worry, the elderly watching support networks weaken and rural communities far from professional care. When economic shocks hit, climate stress quickly turns into fear about survival.

Pakistan’s mental health system was fragile even before climate shocks intensified. WHO and national estimates suggest that one in four Pakistanis—over 50 million people—live with some form of mental health condition, yet the majority receive no formal treatment. “Strong mental health is not only essential for individual well-being; it strengthens community resilience and the ability to recover. When minds are not protected, recovery itself becomes fragile, Dr. Mufti points out.

Repeated floods, heatwaves, displacements and livelihood losses trap households in chronic uncertainty, turning stress into lasting trauma. Care remains scarce: fewer than 600 psychiatrists serve over 240 million people, mostly in major cities, while clinical psychologists, psychiatric nurses and trauma counsellors are similarly limited. Functional mental health units are rare at the district level and in many disaster-affected areas, support fades once emergency relief winds down.

Horizon’s telepsychiatry initiative in Bajaur illustrates how targeted services can reach remote communities, with a dedicated team equipped with medicines and essential equipment and arrangements to transfer patients needing advanced care to Peshawar. Such models point to the kind of integrated approach the government could adopt to embed mental health into climate planning.

As NDMA warnings point to an earlier and heavier monsoon ahead, the cost of delay is clear. Listening to voices like Dr. Mufti’s, and acting with urgency and care, can help Pakistan face a changing climate with steadier minds and stronger communities. Safeguarding mental health is not optional. It is essential to weather the challenges that lie ahead.

—The writer is a political analyst, based in Islamabad.

© Pakistan Observer