Have you ever felt truly down? Not just under the weather with a cold or a headache, but weighed down by frustration, heartbreak, and despair. The kind of heaviness that makes you question everything, your sanity, your worth, your future. Some days, shame creeps in. Other times, it’s fear. And even when you’re surrounded by people, you feel utterly alone, convinced that no one could possibly understand what you’re going through.
You know you need help. You’ve told yourself this countless times. Your friends and family have suggested it. You’ve searched the internet, and every answer points in the same direction: therapy.
So, you finally pick up the phone to book a session. As you speak, there’s a brief sense of relief, until the conversation shifts to cost.
Session fees range from ₦10,000 to ₦30,000 per hour, sometimes even more. You do the mental maths and suddenly, therapy feels like an indulgence. You end the call, convincing yourself that with all your other expenses — rent, school fees, daily survival — seeking help is a luxury you simply can’t afford.
For many Nigerians, therapy isn’t just expensive in price; it feels inaccessible in principle. Dedoyin Ajayi, founder of mytherapist.ng, an online platform connecting Nigerians with licensed therapists, understands this reality all too well.
“From my own experience, most average Nigerians don’t see therapy as something made for them,” she says. “They see it as this foreign, elite service you only turn to when life is falling apart, or if you’re rich and have “soft life” problems. And I don’t blame them. When therapy sessions cost between ₦10,000 to ₦30,000 per hour (sometimes even more), it’s hard to justify that when you’re juggling bills, school fees, and daily survival.”
In our conversation, Dedoyin shares her thoughts on why therapy has become a ‘luxury’ for many Nigerians, the stigma that still surrounds mental health, and how, in the absence of accessible support, more people are turning to AI for therapy.
Therapy is often seen as a luxury in Nigeria. From your experience, how accessible is it for the average person
Honestly, therapy is still seen as a luxury in Nigeria, and I completely understand why. Personally, I think the inaccessibility stems from a mix of high cost, limited awareness, and cultural misunderstanding. From my own experience, most average Nigerians don’t see therapy as something made for them. They see it as this foreign, elite service you only turn to when life is falling apart, or if you’re rich and have “soft life” problems. And I don’t blame them. When therapy sessions cost between ₦10,000 to ₦30,000 per hour (sometimes even more), it’s hard to justify that when you’re juggling bills, school fees, and daily survival. But I’ve seen what happens when someone finally accesses therapy. They often say, “I wish I knew this earlier,” or “I didn’t even realize how heavy I’d been feeling.” That tells me the problem isn’t just affordability; it’s that therapy is unfamiliar. It’s not something most of us grew up seeing modeled. So, in my opinion, therapy is inaccessible not just in cost, but in awareness and cultural comfort. But I also believe we’re slowly shifting. With online therapy platforms, workplace wellness programmes, and more therapists using social media to educate, we’re making small cracks in that wall. The goal is to make therapy not just affordable but approachable, familiar, and part of everyday life.
In countries where therapy is more accessible, insurance often covers the cost. Since that’s not the case in Nigeria, do you think health insurance could make a real difference in affordability?
Absolutely. I strongly believe that health insurance is one of the most practical keys to unlocking widespread access to therapy in Nigeria. In countries like the UK or Canada, where therapy is subsidized or included in healthcare plans, it becomes part of regular life. People don’t overthink it. They get support when they need it. That’s not the case here. If HMOs in Nigeria started covering mental health the same way they cover malaria, antenatal care, or surgery, we’d see a cultural shift. People would begin to see therapy as healthcare, not a luxury. I’ve worked on partnerships where we’ve tried to bring therapy into insurance plans, and the difference it makes, especially for employees in corporate settings, is huge. Suddenly, someone who never imagined seeing a therapist now has five sessions covered. And often, that’s all they need to start making healthier emotional choices. But to make this mainstream, we need the government, insurance companies, and mental health platforms to come together. We need a policy that makes it mandatory, not optional. And I say this as someone who’s seen how transformative it can be when people don’t have to choose between healing and their wallet.
Beyond cost, there’s also the issue of stigma. Some people still see therapy as something for “serious” mental illnesses. How do you think we can shift that mindset?
In my opinion, stigma is the most subtle—and sometimes most dangerous—barrier to mental health access. Cost is a wall you can climb with support. But stigma is internal. It’s inherited and often invisible. And because of that, it’s harder to break. I am convinced that storytelling is one of our most powerful tools to shift this mindset. When people hear stories of everyday people like students, mums, entrepreneurs, even pastors, saying, “I went to therapy because I was grieving,” or “I started therapy when I didn’t know who I was anymore,” it begins to humanize the experience and makes it relatable. The more we normalize therapy as self-care rather than crisis care, the more the stigma will fade. We also need our community leaders to be part of this conversation. It can’t just be therapists and wellness influencers. It has to be a collective cultural shift. And yes, it’s slow, but it’s happening. I’ve seen people go from “Therapy is for mad people” to “Maybe I should try it too.” That’s progress.
With social media, we see more people sharing their personal struggles online and getting advice from strangers. Do you think this is helping or harming mentalhealth awareness?
That’s such a good question. I see it as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I love that people now feel safe enough to share what they’re going through. There’s something really beautiful about seeing a tweet that says, “I’m struggling” and watching strangers pour in love and encouragement. It creates a sense of belonging. And in a world where loneliness is an epidemic, that matters. But at the same time, I worry about people mistaking online vulnerability for actual healing. In my opinion, social media is a great awareness tool, but it’s not a therapy room. It can hold your story for a moment, but it can’t walk you through the pain or help you make sense of your patterns. I’ve also seen people post deeply personal stories and get trolled, or receive unsolicited, unqualified advice that makes things worse. So yes, I think social media helps normalise mental health conversations, and that’s a good thing. But I always remind people: the crowd is not a therapist. Use social media as an entry point, but don’t let it be your final destination.
Some people are even turning to AI for therapy—chatbots, mental health apps, even AI-powered journaling. What do you think about this trend? Can AI ever replace human therapists?
I became curious about this as well, so I decided to try a few AI-powered mental health tools, like apps that track your mood, recommend breathing exercises, or even ask reflective questions. And honestly, some of them are brilliant. They’re accessible, fast, and they remove the awkwardness of talking to someone when you don’t know how to start. But I strongly believe AI can never replace human therapists. It can support mental wellness, but not replicate the depth of human connection. AI can’t read your tone of voice, pick up on cultural nuance, or hold your silence with compassion. And let’s not even get into trust. Many people are still uneasy sharing their innermost thoughts with a machine. That said, I do think AI has a role to play, especially in a country like Nigeria where therapists are few and far between. If someone can’t access a human therapist yet, but can use an app to track their thoughts or find calm, that’s a win. But we must keep reminding people: AI is a tool. Healing is still human.
For those who genuinely can’t afford therapy right now, what alternative steps can they take to care for their mental health?
I have so much empathy for people who fall in this category, because I’ve been there too.I believe that healing is still possible even without access to formal therapy. It might take longer, and it might look different, but it’s not out of reach. One of the most powerful tools we all have is journaling. Writing down your thoughts, even when they’re messy or repetitive, helps you process your emotions. I also encourage people to find movement; whether it’s walking, dancing, or just stretching for 10 minutes. The body carries so much emotion, and movement helps release it. I’m also a fan of podcasts, books, and even Instagram pages that offer real, helpful mental health content. It’s not a replacement for therapy, but it can open your mind, give you language for what you’re feeling, and help you feel seen. And then there’s community. Sometimes healing starts with one friend who really listens. One person who doesn’t try to fix you but says, “I’m here.” That’s therapy too, in its own way. If you can find a support group, a church fellowship, or even a small online community where you can be yourself, that’s a good place to begin.
Finally, for anyone considering therapy but unsure where to start, what’s your advice? How can they find the right therapist for them?
First, I just want to say it’s okay to feel unsure. I am very conscious of the fact that therapy can feel intimidating because we’ve been taught to be strong, to keep it together, or to pray it away. So admitting you want therapy definitely takes courage.
My advice is: start small. Ask yourself, “What’s going on with me right now?” It doesn’t have to be deep. It could be “I’m tired all the time” or “I feel stuck.” That’s enough to begin. Then, look for platforms like mytherapist.ng, that let you read therapist profiles. I strongly recommend finding someone whose approach resonates with you. Some people prefer a spiritual lens, others want someone who’s straight talking or gentle. Don’t be afraid to ask questions during a discovery session. Therapy is a relationship, and you deserve to feel safe, respected, and seen. And remember, if the first therapist doesn’t feel right, that’s okay. You’re allowed to try someone else. It doesn’t mean therapy isn’t for you, it just means the fit wasn’t right. When you find your person, you’ll know. And from there, the healing begins.
