Zoala is Jeff Lee’s answer to a hidden mental health crisis among teens

When Jeff Lee’s goddaughter tried to take her own life, there had been no warning signs. No outbursts, no obvious withdrawal, no visible spiral. “She masked her pain behind a smile,” says the co-founder of Zoala, a digital youth mental wellness platform. “None of us — not her family, not me — fully understood what she was going through, until it was almost too late.”

She was 15 at the time. The shock was personal, but what stayed with Lee was the silence that surrounded her suffering. “The stigma isn’t just among youth. It’s in the families, the adults, and the environments meant to protect them,” he says.

“We weren’t ignoring her struggles. We just didn’t have the language or awareness to respond. And that silence? That’s what hurts the most.”

She’s 19 now and receiving ongoing psychiatric support. And while she doesn’t use Zoala, the gaps in care she experienced were what inspired its creation, rewiring Lee’s understanding of mental health among adolescents, and where the honest breakdowns lie.

“It’s okay that she doesn’t. Zoala was never meant to be a one-size-fits-all solution. It was built to be the space I wish she’d had access to, where emotions can be explored safely, without fear or judgment.”

Designing for trust

Launched in 2021, Zoala now has a team of 19 across Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, and Penang. Backed by more than $1.5 million in private and angel investment, the platform partners with schools, educators, and non-governmental organisations (NGOs) to provide adolescents with self-awareness and emotional regulation tools, including artificial intelligence (AI)-powered guided reflections, mood tracking, and journaling. 

But for Lee, 45, the real work lies in building trust. “If it’s not safe enough for my goddaughter to use, it’s not ready for release,” he says. That guiding principle has shaped everything from tone to interface to data policy. The platform avoids intrusive onboarding and skips login requirements for its journaling function.

Its AI voice is intentionally calm, peer-like and non-directive, more likely to ask “Have you noticed…?” than to declare “You should…” “Young people are sensitive to tone. One wrong phrase and they tune out,” says Lee. 

Months were spent testing different conversational styles. What resonated most was a voice that felt human in approach, without pretending to be human. That subtle calibration is central to how Zoala earns the right to stay on a teenager’s phone. “It’s not about diagnosing. It’s about creating emotional safety.”

This nuanced approach comes when the scale of the problem becomes clearer. A 2024 study by Singapore’s Institute of Mental Health found that one in three young people aged 15 to 35 with severe depression or anxiety symptoms still do not seek professional help. This pattern is often due to stigma, fear of judgment, or concerns about confidentiality. Lee believes the issue runs deeper than awareness. “Awareness campaigns tell young people what mental health is, but they don’t always show them why asking for help is safe, or even possible. And awareness without access can backfire. It tells them: ‘Support exists, just not for people like me.’”

Zoala’s model doesn’t push for immediate engagement; it makes space for it. “We design for the silent user: the one who downloads the app, scrolls quietly, journals privately, but doesn’t speak out immediately. That’s okay. Sometimes, just showing up is the first step.”

Passive engagement is one of Zoala’s key strategies. Features like mood logs, AI nudges and private reflections allow users to engage at a pace that feels emotionally safe. “When young people see that nothing bad happens when they express difficult emotions — no escalation, no judgement, no exposure — that’s when trust starts to build,” Lee explains.

From a design perspective, this means creating an environment that feels more like a companion than a tool. There are no rigid user flows or prescribed outcomes. Instead, adolescents can choose how to interact: write anonymously, explore wellbeing topics, or simply reflect. “It’s non-linear by design. Teens don’t always follow a path. So we meet them wherever they are.”

Speaking their language

The platform’s sensitivity extends beyond tone and UX. In a region where cultural values such as saving face, academic pressure, and emotional restraint remain strong, Zoala’s approach has been shaped by local context. Rather than adopting Western mental health models wholesale, the team worked closely with school counsellors and educators to build culturally adaptive frameworks.

“We don’t ask, ‘Are you depressed?’ We ask, ‘Have you been feeling disconnected lately?’ That small shift respects the emotional tone many youths in Asia prefer, while still creating space for honesty,” says Lee.

At the institutional level, Zoala is licensed by schools that use it to monitor student wellbeing trends and enable early intervention — but only with consent. Data is shared with authorised personnel and used strictly to support, not penalise. “Everything we do is designed around protecting user autonomy,” Lee says. “We’re not here to monitor. We’re here to support.”

Outside the classroom, Zoala partners with organisations like SHINE Children and Youth Services to expand access to vulnerable groups. Corporate social responsibility funds often sponsor these programmes, allowing the platform to serve underserved youth at no cost to them or the NGO. “We want to be sustainable, but not at the expense of equity,” says Lee. “That’s why we’re deliberate about who we work with and how we scale.”

Guardrails before growth

The startup’s early years coincided with a period of caution around AI in mental health. Tools like ChatGPT had not yet been launched publicly. Lee and his co-founders, one of whom holds a PhD in AI, began with rudimentary chat models and built their conversational guardrails. “We knew our limits. We weren’t trying to be therapists or replace professionals. We just wanted to create a safe entry point.”

That stance has helped earn trust from mental health professionals, many of whom now collaborate in Zoala’s curriculum and feature development. “We don’t pretend to be experts in everything. We brought in people who are,” Lee says.

Despite this, resistance hasn’t disappeared. Some educators and parents worry that talking about emotional distress might introduce ideas rather than surface existing ones. Others conflate digital support with avoidance of in-person care.

Lee’s response is to stay focused on education and transparency. “We’re not here to push anything. We’re here to offer one more way for young people to feel seen: quietly, safely, and on their terms.”

The measures that matter

Zoala’s impact, by nature, is not always visible. Success isn’t just in downloads but in return engagement, behavioural shifts, and the deeply personal emotional breakthroughs behind a screen. “Some students use the platform for weeks before saying a word. Others express something that prompts a school counsellor to step in just in time. That may never show up in a dashboard. But we know it happened — and that’s enough.”

As a parent to 10-year-old twin boys, Lee’s work has also shifted his thoughts about raising children. “I used to equate success with performance. Good grades, polite behaviour, doing well. But I’ve realised those expectations, if not balanced, can quietly chip away at wellbeing.”

What he now values more is emotional awareness — in himself and his children. “I want my boys to know that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. That asking for help isn’t a weakness. That kindness, to themselves and others, is a form of strength.”

One Zoala user’s comment lingers in his mind: “I didn’t need someone to fix me. I just needed something that understood me.”

“That’s the point,” says Lee. “We’re not trying to fix anyone. We’re just trying to hold the door open until they’re ready to walk through.”