Inside a raw, honest conversation on mental health in the cultural sector
“Where am I going wrong?”
In a packed hall at this year’s Anibar panel, a quiet but powerful shift happened. Voices unpacked a topic that’s often avoided in the rush of programming and production: burnout.
The panel, “Mental health in times of crises,” wasn’t about self-help hacks or wellness trends. It was about survival, emotional, artistic, and communal, in an age of war, economic precarity, climate anxiety, and systemic neglect. Led by moderator Vullnet Sanaja, a cultural worker and longtime advocate for grassroots creative infrastructure in Kosovo, the discussion gave space to stories that are often told in silence.
“Where am I going wrong?”
That’s the question sociologist and cultural manager Aurela Kadriu confessed she often asks herself.
“I’m glad that we’re talking about burnout, because I believe and I may be the only one, or at least among the women on this panel, people tend to perceive it as a personal issue. One immediately starts to think that they’re simply not enough in an environment overflowing with information, constantly rushing through the day, unable to keep up. At some point, you begin to question: “Where am I going wrong?”
Kadriu wasn’t just speaking for herself, she was speaking for a generation of creatives stretched too thin in systems that glorify overwork while underfunding cultural institutions.
“There should have been a natural progression, a slow and sustainable development, within an institutional and cultural context. But in a society where art and culture are still seen as luxuries… it’s inevitable that we fall into this vicious cycle of rapid beginnings followed by equally rapid declines.”
Fitore Rexhepi, Head of Development at the Lumbardhi Foundation in Prizren, brought the conversation down to the most human level: war, memory, healing.
“Everything I experienced during the war was a raw, lived experience; it wasn’t about defining or fully understanding what war is.”
But out of that chaos came something vital: Dokufest.
“After the war, Dokufest was born, and it was through that artistic form that we were able to process our trauma. What Dokufest brought to Prizren was incredibly valuable for us.”
Still, Rexhepi was clear-eyed about the challenges ahead. Festivals may feel magical, but behind the scenes, they’re grueling especially when support is fragile and the seasons grow cold.
“I believe it’s difficult for people to maintain a cultural life especially during autumn and winter.”
In one of the session’s most honest exchanges, Serbian stage director Ana Pinter gently dismantled the idealized image of the artist as effortlessly inspired and endlessly resilient.
“Yes, I usually introduce myself as a stage director, but besides that, I’m a co-founder of an organization that turned ten this year and I really wanted to celebrate, but due to the events of the last few months, there is nothing to celebrate. I’m a producer. A theater educator. I work with children and youth. Sometimes I even do financial reports. I do my housework. I do a lot of things. And yes, in the last couple of years, I feel that this sensation of being burned out has become normal for me.”
Pinter spoke with the clarity of someone who’s navigated exhaustion in silence and found herself still showing up, for the stage, for the audience, for the children, for her community.
“As much as we would like to think we are an emancipated civilization, we are still under the burden of patriarchal perspectives.”
If this panel taught us anything, it’s that mental health is not just an individual responsibility it’s a collective call to action. Burnout isn’t a glitch in the system. It is the system. But change begins when we stop whispering and start sharing.
This panel was supported by OSCE mission in Kosovo.
