In 1976, journalist Tom Wolfe famously dubbed the 1970s the ‘Me
Decade.’ In his essay ‘The ‘Me’ Decade and the Third Great Awakening’, Wolfe
observed a profound cultural shift in the U.S. and other Western societies-from
the idealistic, collective activism of the 1960s to a more self-focused,
inward-looking sensibility. As the civil rights movement, anti-war protests,
and countercultural revolutions gave way to disillusionment and institutional
failure, many turned away from societal change and toward personal
transformation. Social movements had promised a better world; therapy culture
offered a better self.
The Me Decade’s markers-jogging obsessions, mood rings, bell-bottoms, and disco-may seem superficial today, but they reflected deeper cultural undercurrents: an emphasis on self-expression, emotional release, and personal authenticity. It wasn’t just about style; it was about salvation. From this shift, a wellness ethos emerged that has only grown stronger with time.
At the heart of this change was the rise of humanistic psychology, led by thinkers like Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow, who reimagined the individual as a self-actualising being. Therapy became not just a remedy for pathology, but a spiritual quest for wholeness. The Human Potential Movement, with its encounter groups and cathartic retreats, promised deep emotional breakthroughs and lifelong growth. But lot of these practices-like Werner Erhard’s intense ‘est’ seminars or primal scream therapy made famous by John Lennon-veer uncomfortably close to coercion, raising questions about where therapy ends and spectacle begins.
California became the testing ground for this new paradigm, with flotation tanks, yoga retreats, and holistic health clinics reframing wellness as both a personal and consumer pursuit. James Riley’s ‘Well Beings’ traces how the 1970s laid the groundwork for today’s $1.8 trillion wellness industry, where healing is often just a purchase away.
Today, the legacy of this therapeutic turn is everywhere. Phrases like ‘triggered,’ ‘holding space,’ ‘setting boundaries,’ and ‘self-care’ have migrated from therapist’s couches into daily conversation and TikTok captions. Influencers share trauma journeys in curated Instagram carousels. Wellness apps nudge users to meditate, hydrate, and optimise their lives. But as scholar Dana Cloud and others argue, this popularisation of psychological language can become a form of ‘therapeutic individualism’-framing social pain (poverty, racism, gender violence) as individual burdens to ‘heal’ from, rather than injustices to challenge. It’s a politics of the personal that too often bypasses the political altogether.
The mental health industry birthed a paradox: therapy, once a space f(in secular societies) or introspection and relational depth, now has mostly become a commodified product, shaped by convenience, branding, and market demand. Look at the explosion of platforms offering text-based therapy, life coaching, or the ‘wellness influencer’ economy that blends psychological jargon with product placement.
Even once rigorous formats like talk shows became therapy adjacent spectacles-Oprah’s emotionally charged confessions or Dr. Phil’s tough love diagnoses turned private pain into public drama, often with little regard for nuance or structural context.
In response to the often vague guidance of humanistic psychology, cognitive-behavioural therapy (CBT) rose to prominence in the late 1970s and 1980s, bringing structure, evidence, and insurance-friendliness to the table. CBT’s emphasis on goal-setting and cognitive restructuring made it compatible with healthcare systems and scalable for mass delivery. Yet even CBT is not immune to critique: it is based on similar philosophies and worldviews.
Today, we live with the enduring contradictions of the ‘Me Decade.’ We speak openly about therapy. We seek wholeness. But we also live in a world where wellness is branded, therapy is transactional, and social media promotes self-optimisation over solidarity. The modern therapeutic culture- shaped by neoliberal values- often casts the self as a lone entrepreneur, responsible for its own success, healing, and resilience. In this framework, systemic injustice becomes a personal wellness challenge, rather than a collective call to action.
If the 1970s asked us to look inward, our challenge today is to look inward without getting stuck there. Emotional self-awareness is vital, but without a corresponding commitment to social change, therapy can become a tool of complacency. True healing- both personal and collective- requires more than apps, mantras, or retreats. It requires a willingness to connect, to organise, and to imagine new forms of togetherness beyond the self.
Most importantly, as therapy and psychology act as surrogate religions and spiritualities, filling the existential void left by declining traditional belief systems, it becomes vital for Muslims- and indeed all people of faith- to recognise the limits and harms of therapeutic culture. While ‘emotional literacy’ and ‘psychological well-being’ are important, they cannot substitute for the depth, discipline, and metaphysical grounding that traditional religions provide. For Muslims, this means returning to the timeless teachings of Islam- not as a nostalgic exercise, but as a living, holistic framework for understanding the self, the soul, and society.
Islamic tradition offers a profoundly different vision of healing-one rooted not in self-worship or endless introspection, but in submission (taslim), spiritual discipline (tazkiyah), communal responsibility (ummah), and a theocentric understanding of the human being (‘abd Allah). Where therapy often asks, ‘How do you feel?’, the Islamic tradition asks, ‘What is your duty? What is your purpose?’- questions that tether healing to moral action and divine accountability.
The Me Decade’s markers-jogging obsessions, mood rings, bell-bottoms, and disco-may seem superficial today, but they reflected deeper cultural undercurrents: an emphasis on self-expression, emotional release, and personal authenticity. It wasn’t just about style; it was about salvation. From this shift, a wellness ethos emerged that has only grown stronger with time.
At the heart of this change was the rise of humanistic psychology, led by thinkers like Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow, who reimagined the individual as a self-actualising being. Therapy became not just a remedy for pathology, but a spiritual quest for wholeness. The Human Potential Movement, with its encounter groups and cathartic retreats, promised deep emotional breakthroughs and lifelong growth. But lot of these practices-like Werner Erhard’s intense ‘est’ seminars or primal scream therapy made famous by John Lennon-veer uncomfortably close to coercion, raising questions about where therapy ends and spectacle begins.
California became the testing ground for this new paradigm, with flotation tanks, yoga retreats, and holistic health clinics reframing wellness as both a personal and consumer pursuit. James Riley’s ‘Well Beings’ traces how the 1970s laid the groundwork for today’s $1.8 trillion wellness industry, where healing is often just a purchase away.
Today, the legacy of this therapeutic turn is everywhere. Phrases like ‘triggered,’ ‘holding space,’ ‘setting boundaries,’ and ‘self-care’ have migrated from therapist’s couches into daily conversation and TikTok captions. Influencers share trauma journeys in curated Instagram carousels. Wellness apps nudge users to meditate, hydrate, and optimise their lives. But as scholar Dana Cloud and others argue, this popularisation of psychological language can become a form of ‘therapeutic individualism’-framing social pain (poverty, racism, gender violence) as individual burdens to ‘heal’ from, rather than injustices to challenge. It’s a politics of the personal that too often bypasses the political altogether.
The mental health industry birthed a paradox: therapy, once a space f(in secular societies) or introspection and relational depth, now has mostly become a commodified product, shaped by convenience, branding, and market demand. Look at the explosion of platforms offering text-based therapy, life coaching, or the ‘wellness influencer’ economy that blends psychological jargon with product placement.
Even once rigorous formats like talk shows became therapy adjacent spectacles-Oprah’s emotionally charged confessions or Dr. Phil’s tough love diagnoses turned private pain into public drama, often with little regard for nuance or structural context.
In response to the often vague guidance of humanistic psychology, cognitive-behavioural therapy (CBT) rose to prominence in the late 1970s and 1980s, bringing structure, evidence, and insurance-friendliness to the table. CBT’s emphasis on goal-setting and cognitive restructuring made it compatible with healthcare systems and scalable for mass delivery. Yet even CBT is not immune to critique: it is based on similar philosophies and worldviews.
Today, we live with the enduring contradictions of the ‘Me Decade.’ We speak openly about therapy. We seek wholeness. But we also live in a world where wellness is branded, therapy is transactional, and social media promotes self-optimisation over solidarity. The modern therapeutic culture- shaped by neoliberal values- often casts the self as a lone entrepreneur, responsible for its own success, healing, and resilience. In this framework, systemic injustice becomes a personal wellness challenge, rather than a collective call to action.
If the 1970s asked us to look inward, our challenge today is to look inward without getting stuck there. Emotional self-awareness is vital, but without a corresponding commitment to social change, therapy can become a tool of complacency. True healing- both personal and collective- requires more than apps, mantras, or retreats. It requires a willingness to connect, to organise, and to imagine new forms of togetherness beyond the self.
Most importantly, as therapy and psychology act as surrogate religions and spiritualities, filling the existential void left by declining traditional belief systems, it becomes vital for Muslims- and indeed all people of faith- to recognise the limits and harms of therapeutic culture. While ‘emotional literacy’ and ‘psychological well-being’ are important, they cannot substitute for the depth, discipline, and metaphysical grounding that traditional religions provide. For Muslims, this means returning to the timeless teachings of Islam- not as a nostalgic exercise, but as a living, holistic framework for understanding the self, the soul, and society.
Islamic tradition offers a profoundly different vision of healing-one rooted not in self-worship or endless introspection, but in submission (taslim), spiritual discipline (tazkiyah), communal responsibility (ummah), and a theocentric understanding of the human being (‘abd Allah). Where therapy often asks, ‘How do you feel?’, the Islamic tradition asks, ‘What is your duty? What is your purpose?’- questions that tether healing to moral action and divine accountability.
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