Sometimes superhero stories hit closer to home than they probably should. We show up for the action, the witty banter, the big emotional arcs, but somewhere along the way, we start to see pieces of ourselves in the characters on screen. We’re hit with the grief, the anxiety, the  pressure to be everything for everyone.

As a therapist and a longtime Marvel fan, I’ve found myself unexpectedly moved by the emotional lives of these characters. Not because they’re perfect representations of mental health (they aren’t), but because they try. Marvel’s done something rare: it’s shown us that even people who can fly, bend metal, or wield a big metal hammer are still figuring it out just like the rest of us. Because mental health doesn’t discriminate, even if you’ve saved the world a few times.

Wanda Maximoff and Grief

Wanda Maximoff’s story is one the most, if not the most layered depictions of grief in the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe. We meet Wanda when she’s just a child, and watch her lose her parents, her twin brother and then the love of her life, twice over. She struggles with this grief, finding her solace in creating familiarity rather than facing her reality.

What we’re privy to at every turn with Wanda is how grief usually is; messy, delusional, and a little desperate. During Wanda’s character arc in WandaVision we see her struggle with emotional regulation, so much so that we end up in an alternative reality with her. And while none of us are able to avoid our grief by creating an entire town, we can relate to the metaphor. Avoidance and denial are powerful things, and so is the tendency of clinging to a version of life we should have had.

Vision’s line to Wanda, “What is grief, if not love persevering?” gets quoted often for a reason. It captures something grief often distorts: that our pain is tied to love, not failure or sensitivity. Wanda’s grief doesn’t make her weak; it makes her real.

Bucky Barnes and PTSD

Bucky Barnes is one of the clearest representations of long-term trauma and PTSD in the Marvel universe. He’s a man frozen in time, literally and emotionally, and trying to live in a world that no longer makes sense to him. We watch him navigate the aftermath of being manipulated, weaponized, and stripped of his agency– hallmarks of his humanity being ripped away. When we meet the true Bucky, he’s quickly expected by others to somehow be human again.

His trauma isn’t written as a footnote or backstory, it shapes every step of how he moves forward through the world. His nightmares, his guilt, and his hesitation to connect with others are all familiar to anyone who’s lived with trauma. He doesn’t believe in himself or others’, but most of all? He doesn’t believe he deserves peace and has no idea what healing is supposed to look like.

In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, we see Bucky trying at what healing might look like. He’s in therapy, making amends, checking boxes, but the truth is, he’s still in survival mode. He’s still haunted. The work that he’s doing will be ongoing, and that’s what makes it real. PTSD doesn’t wrap up neatly in a redemption arc. It’s slow, frustrating, and often full of false starts. But Bucky keeps showing up, and that, in itself, is a stark kind of bravery.

Thor & Depression

Thor’s journey is one of the most unexpected turns, but I find it to be one of the most honest. After losing his family, his home, and his belief in himself, Thor falls into a depression that hides away the version of him we’re used to seeing. He gains weight, he isolates and he numbs out with substance use and distraction. There’s the understanding that despite the impact of all he’s been through he doesn’t want to talk about it.

While many may struggle with this shift in his character, for many others it felt real. Because that’s what depression can look like—especially when it hits someone who’s always been strong, proud, and relied on to save the day. It shows up as silence, avoidance and the feeling you’ve failed everyone, including yourself.

What’s powerful about Thor’s arc is that his worthiness doesn’t come after he “gets his act together”. It’s in the middle of his grief. The moment he calls for his hammer and it comes to him anyway—that’s when he starts to believe he’s still allowed to exist as he is. Not because he’s back to who he used to be, but because he never stopped being enough. Depression doesn’t make you unworthy, it simply lies to you until you believe it.

You’re Not Alone, Heroes Feel it Too

What I love most about these characters isn’t that they overcome their struggles in the literal sense of the word. Like us typical humans they live with them. They mess up and they backslide. They learn, and unlearn, and learn again. But at the end of the day, they keep showing up; for others, for their found family and for themselves.

That’s what therapy looks like, too. You don’t have to be a superhero to deserve care. You don’t have to hit rock bottom to ask for help. You’re allowed to be grieving, anxious, overwhelmed, or tired of trying—in all of those states you’re still worthy of love and support.

The next time you watch your favorite MCU film and someone says, “I’m fine,” through clenched teeth, pay attention. There might be more healing in that scene than you think, and you might see yourself in it. If you’re struggling right now, just know this: you’re not broken. You’re human. And healing, like heroism, is harder than it looks.

Struggling to accept and validate your humanity? Reach out to our offices to get matched with a clinician.