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Phoenix Residential Society: Rising from the ashes
I reached Ian Morrison at his office at the Regina branch of the Canadian Mental Health Association (CMHA). A graduate of the Humber College comedy writing program, he teaches people how to harness their experiences — with mental illness and life in general — into stand-up comedy routines.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” he said. “Just tell jokes, make people laugh.”
But 12 years ago, this dream seemed as distant as Hollywood itself. Morrison found himself at a Salvation Army shelter, off his medication and out of options. “Honestly, I thought my life was over. And it would have been if not for Phoenix [Residential Society].”
Here he paused. “I’m not trying to be dramatic,” he said, referencing his life’s passion. “But if it weren’t for Phoenix, I’d be dead. That’s simply the truth.”
From an early age, Morrison displayed symptoms of mental illness. While his obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), attention deficit disorder, and learning disabilities weren’t diagnosed until he was 16, he had long sensed that his thought patterns were different from others.
“What people don’t understand about OCD is that the thoughts are so intrusive and entirely out of character. And then you ruminate on them over and over. It becomes a vicious cycle. At the age of 28 I felt utterly defeated.”
Bankrupt with nowhere to live, Morrison was finally thrown a lifeline — and he’s never let go.
The secret sauce
Founded in 1979, Phoenix Residential Society has humble roots.
“We began with a handful of clients, perhaps nine,” said executive director Sheila Wignes-Paton, who’s been with the organization for more than 30 years. “I started on the front lines, helping people find their footing after experiencing homelessness or hospitalization for mental illness. Now we’ve got 190 people in the Phoenix family — which has expanded to include individuals with diverse needs, for example, those with acquired brain injuries.”
Wignes-Paton added that the organization’s success is not only rooted in recovery principles, which give clients the respect and self-determination to direct their own care, but also in an environment that nurtures and supports staff.
For Lynne Scott, a Phoenix staff member who works directly with residents, that kind of support translates into training to helps her manage the emotional strain of providing support to people in their “hour of need.”
“We’re taught how to set boundaries, refill our own emotional resources, and understand that we can’t pour from an empty cup,” said Scott, who has been with Phoenix for more than 15 years.
“Lynne’s tenure isn’t unusual,” said Wignes-Paton. “We’ve got a groove going here. We do this incredibly meaningful work, which is rewarding in and of itself. But we also place a tremendous value on our staff, and in doing so, reinforce the message that every person’s wellness reflects our overall health as an organization.”
For Scott, the recipe for success is simple — although that doesn’t mean it’s easy. “We meet people where they are, and we don’t sit in judgment. We stay curious, we ask questions, and often the results can be surprising.”
An open mind and an open heart
To illustrate how that works, Scott described her experience with a young man who arrived exhausted, in ragged clothes, and in need of a bath. “I thought to myself that we might need to begin with a focus on hygiene but waited to see how things played out.”
As it happened, the young man had been living in less-than-ideal conditions, without access to clean water. “Once a shower was available, he never needed prompting,” said Scott, who further recalled that initially he also overslept quite a bit, making him late for group therapy and other meetings.
“A trip to the doctor revealed a serious case of sleep apnea that was preventing a good night’s rest. When we got him treatment for that, he was perpetually on time.”
She has seen this kind of small transformation time and again. “I once had a resident who came in with matted hair and had been homeless for some time. I asked him if he’d like to go for a haircut. I didn’t have to ask twice.”
That same resident enjoyed his trip to the barbershop so much, he acquired a pair of clippers and began expressing himself through creative styles. “It’s spiky one day, and something else the next,” laughed Scott, who said she never fails to be surprised by what captures a resident’s imagination and the quiet joy of helping them to follow their interests.
The freedom to follow one’s interests was exactly the kind of support that led Morrison to where is he today. “I remember leaving the shelter and arriving at Phoenix, then having my case worker ask me what I’d like to do,” he said. At the time, living with depression and feeling devoid of prospects — yet thankful to be housed — Morrison’s reply was, “I guess I’ll just get another crappy job.”
He didn’t dare dream bigger, and he didn’t believe that something more meaningful could be on the horizon. “But I am forever grateful because she [his case worker] said to me, “I asked you what you wanted to do.”
Morrison said he quipped, “I want to do stand-up,” expecting a sarcastic response to his dearly held but long-abandoned wish.
“But she said to me, ‘OK, let’s figure out how you can do that.’”
A home, a job, and a friend
That approach to recovery, focusing on the agency of the individual, is the beating heart of Phoenix. Not only did Morrison wind up with a job at CMHA that fulfils his creative drive, he’s also able to help others find their comedic voices.
“I have a place to live — for as long as I want. I have a safety net that’s ready to step in and help when I need it. And I have people who can fill in the gaps that I may still struggle with.”
Morrison concedes that medication management can be a challenge. “I take 14 pills a day and get an injection every two weeks,” he explained, a regime that would challenge any of us. But Phoenix makes sure he doesn’t lose track. He also readily admits that his head for punchlines is a lot better than it is for bottom lines. So the financial guidance Phoenix provides is crucial for his continued independence.
“They helped me to put together a savings account,” Morrison said. “So suddenly, when my air conditioner broke, I had the funds to cover it.”
While this victory may seem modest, the Phoenix model is financially sound by any measure.
A sound investment
In 2018, the organization took a bird’s eye view of their federally funded Housing First program for persons who are chronically or periodically homeless. After tallying up the taxpayer dollars saved, based on 49 clients over four years, the numbers showed that their housing and attendant supports were far less costly to the public purse than repeated crisis interventions.
“We know Housing First works,” affirmed Michel Rodrigue, president and CEO of the Mental Health Commission of Canada, which was charged with rolling out the largest research demonstration project of its kind. “As an accountant by trade, I can see the value of the savings it brings. Yet my compassionate side knows that it’s impossible to put a price tag on the hope, dignity, and inclusion of a safe place to live.”
The economics are certainly sound. According to Phoenix, hospital stays alone were reduced by over $335,000. Spending for emergency room visits, notoriously costly — both in terms of financial and human resources — went down from over $500,000 to just $100,000. But the greatest decrease related to detox visits — which were slashed by about $1 million.
“Truth be told, we spend more time doing the work than toting up numbers,” admitted Wignes-Paton. Still, the results speak for themselves.
From clean housing and volunteer opportunities to group therapy and peer-support to financial guidance and medication management, Phoenix tailors its services to residents’ needs, so they receive personalized care that can be adjusted over time.
“People may think, ‘OK, recovery means you’re going to be exactly like you were before you got sick,’” explained Scott. “But that’s not necessarily the case. While Morrison has had tremendous success by any measure — doing meaningful work and making lives better daily — for another person recovery may look quite different.”
That’s one reason the Phoenix approach celebrates small victories, offers a safety net for (expected) setbacks, and above all, provides people who need it a place of their own.
“When I was in Saskatoon,” recalled Morrison, “I got kicked out of two boarding houses in one day, simply because I mentioned my medication left me tired. That feeling of being unwanted, unworthy, it stays with you. There are so many misconceptions about people living with mental illness. It’s frustrating and hurtful,” he said.
At six-foot-four and well over 200 pounds, Morrison gives the impression of being a gentle giant, wanting nothing more to live his days making people laugh and teaching them to laugh at themselves.
“Next to Phoenix, laughter is the best medicine. But I couldn’t have one without the other.”
Illustrator: Remie Geoffroi w: remgeo.com ig: @remgeo
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Rough skies ahead
When the world shut down in early 2020, industries around the globe were forced into the realities of operating during a pandemic.
Perhaps no sector was as hard hit as the airline industry, with many organizations laying off thousands of workers in an effort to keep up with the ever-evolving landscape of COVID-19 travel.
WestJet’s organizational well-being manager Lisa Dodwell-Greaves described the experience as nerve wracking.
“In March 2020 we had 14,000 employees; by July that same year we were left with 4,300. Those initial months had lots of uncertainty. We had to redefine the organizational structure and identify a bare-bones minimum crew to keep the lights on.”
While laid-off employees were having to find new jobs in a tough labour market, those who stayed were facing longer hours, increased stress, and guilt — the kind that stems from continuing at work earning income after friends and colleagues have walked out the door.
Under these conditions Dodwell-Greaves knew she would have an important role to play in helping to maintain employee mental well-being and the workplace culture — in that order. “You can’t have company resilience without individual resilience first,” she said.
A need for support
Even under normal circumstances, work in the travel industry can be stressful. But with the added uncertainty the pandemic has brought, employees are encountering aggravated travellers more and more. “Those dealing with the general public took a lot of abuse in the initial days of the pandemic,” Dodwell-Greaves said.
Pilots and flight attendants found themselves being turned away from businesses and ostracized by friends and family because of their interactions with passengers. They also had fears for their own physical well-being, questioning if it was safe to show up for work.
Unfortunately, such stories have become all too common as the pandemic wears on. Organizations are therefore finding it increasingly important to protect their employees from harm and provide them with psychological and social support.
In WestJet’s case, these aims had been on the radar even before the pandemic began.
Building a strategy
In early 2020 WestJet committed to implementing the National Standard of Canada for Psychological Health and Safety and increasing their initiatives to support employees and their mental well-being. While the pandemic affected the original implementation plan, the company was still able to take steps in the right direction.
“The strategy we put together really keyed in on the next three to five years,” Dodwell-Greaves recalled. “We set out to take this big concept and put it into focused buckets where we could create some quick wins, things employees would support (or feel support from) and know they had gotten help — along with some areas where our leaders could start to support our employees in a more meaningful way.”
Also included was a variety of other initiatives and benefits for their workers. Even prior to COVID, in August 2019 and based on data from an analysis of short- and long-term disability claims, the organization was able to identify areas of further support and increase coverage for psychotherapy, psychology, and counselling for all qualifying employees.
WestJet’s early adoption of a broader mental wellness strategy allowed them to integrate further key initiatives into their pandemic operations. And one of the largest initiatives began with their leadership group.
Starting from the top
In 2021, WestJet ramped up their support for mental wellness by providing training to their managers through The Working Mind, an evidence-based course from the Mental Health Commission of Canada designed to reduce stigma around mental well-being in the workplace.
“Before we launched anything for our workers,” Dodwell-Greaves explained, “we wanted to make sure our managers had a sense of how to help them. Having support from our leadership team will give our employees the confidence of knowing that the organization is invested in their mental well-being.”
“It’s part of a larger mental health strategy,” she added, “one that goes beyond our employees to include our guests and also carry into the communities we serve.”
Over the coming year WestJet intends to build on the number of employees trained to support mental health and reduce stigma in the workplace.
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Research conducted by Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) staff into early childhood mental health has helped inspire a new, multi-million dollar funding initiative by the Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR). This spring, CIHR’s Institute of Human Development, Child and Youth Health (IHDCYH) expects to issue a call for proposals devoted to early childhood mental health.
For MHCC vice-president of programs and priorities Ed Mantler, this new research opportunity is great news for the commission. “It not only illustrates the broad impacts of our work, it also shows that what we do matters and helps drive progress on mental health for all people in Canada.”
Although details about the initiative have yet to be shared, the call for proposals is expected to prioritize research on how to improve the implementation of evidence-based mental health interventions for children up to age five (including their caregivers).
Filling current research gaps
A key part of the MHCC’s mandate is to facilitate the creation of environments that foster positive development, mental health, and resiliency throughout a person’s life. For children under age six, relatively few existing mental health programs have been adequately researched and evaluated — and even fewer have been focused on specific parent-child populations.
“Early childhood mental health is a relatively undersupported topic,” said Brandon Hey, MHCC senior research and policy advisor. “There’s more and more research but relatively little support in terms of programs, policy, earmarked funding, prioritization, and implementation of the evidence into practice.”
In recent years, Hey was part of an MHCC team that documented existing early childhood mental health programs, services, and providers. In 2020, they published a scoping research report, along with a one-page summary, and hosted a roundtable forum in Vancouver. The Making Connections forum brought together representatives from a broad spectrum of organizations: federal and provincial governments, medical associations, and independent research and advocacy groups. Among the delegates was Tier 1 Canada Research Chair Dr. Christine Chambers, who is also the scientific director of the IHDCYH.
Acknowledging the impact of that event on the new research program, Chambers recalled how “the gaps and priorities identified by the MHCC and discussed at the forum really resonated with our institute and mandate. We’re now grateful to be able to leverage this work, alongside other foundational inputs, and use it to inform the development of a new funding initiative.”
Linking knowledge to human development
What sets IHDCYH research apart is its singular focus on children and families rather than on a particular disease or organ. The institute facilitates partnerships and works to accelerate the translation of new knowledge related to human development, including biological, behavioural, and social factors.
“It’s gratifying to know that our preliminary efforts will live on,” said Mantler. “CIHR’s funding announcement also supports the ‘inquire, inspire, improve’ model we articulated in our new strategic plan. Our inquiry into childhood mental health inspired CIHR to fund research that will further improve knowledge and programs.”
Additional research into early childhood mental health is particularly important in light of COVID-19. Due to temporary closures at schools and daycare centres, many young children have had fewer opportunities to socialize with their peers. Along with perceived higher levels of anxiety across Canada, this relative lack of interaction represents an additional stressor for these children and their families.
A 2021 policy brief on the topic from Hey and his team, in partnership with Canadian Paediatric Society (CPA), draws out what these pandemic stresses can mean, including their effect on parenting, family stresses, and early brain development. In light of the mental health needs COVID-19 has given rise to, the brief provides policy makers, system planners, and decision makers guidance on ways to support infants, young children, and their families.
“Connections with organizations like CIHR and CPA not only help validate the MHCC’s work, they also help ensure that our efforts improve the health and well-being of all people in Canada,” said Mantler.
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Rewriting the personal narratives born from anti-Black racism
“I’m so glad you’re Black.”
Donna Richards
That’s the first thing Donna Richards hears from her new client. But as one of the few African, Caribbean, and Black (ACB) clinicians working in the client’s Employee Assistance Program (EAP) — and one of the few ACB psychotherapists in Canada — she hears it a lot.
As her client runs through some of the difficulties she’s having at work, another familiar sentiment emerges: exhaustion. Not the exhaustion that comes from long hours and little rest, but the mental exhaustion born of racial microaggressions — small, insidious acts of anti-Black racism that are beginning to take a noticeable toll.
Among the incidents she describes are being overlooked for well-deserved promotions, having others take credit for her work, and even getting mocked for attending a Black Lives Matter demonstration.
When asking her client about the possibility of speaking up about them at work, Richards can nearly predict the response before she hears it.
“There’s no point. No one will care. Nothing will ever change.”
Unlearning that belief, as Richards knows, won’t be easy.
Death by 1,000 cuts
Rohan Thompson
For Rohan Thompson, a psychotherapist in private practice who works mostly with ACB men and youth, the cumulative effects of racial microaggressions occur every day.
“Clients often come to me after a crisis,” he explained. “They don’t seek help each time they’ve been passed over, put down, or treated as less than. They do so when the compounding effect causes a much bigger mental health problem. It’s like death by 1,000 cuts.”
Those problems can range from high stress levels, to anxiety and depression, to post-traumatic stress disorder, among others.
Richards has seen a similar effect in her work. “Every tiny act of discrimination, no matter how veiled or well-intentioned, leaves an invisible mark. And when these incidents are downplayed or ignored, it sends the message that those marks, and those experiences, don’t matter,” she said. “I see a lot of damage to self-esteem as a result of that message, and a lot of self-medicating to cope with it.”
The disparity in perception about anti-Black racism extends far beyond the workplace. According to a 2019 survey, while nearly half of all participants agreed that discrimination against Black people in Canada was no longer a problem, 83 per cent of Black participants said they were treated unfairly at least some of the time.
As Richards points out, whether that discrepancy stems from genuine ignorance or denial, its effects are costly. “I’ve had clients quit their jobs because they fear retribution for speaking up or trying to hold their employer to account. For so many, it’s just not worth it.”
It’s not hard to understand how a seemingly endless pattern of discrimination alongside a lack of acknowledgment could lead to feelings of resignation — both figurative and literal. But beside the slow burning fuse sparked by microaggressions, there’s a transformational fire waiting to be lit — one that begins with a paradigm shift.
The meritocracy myth
“As kids we’re taught that hard work pays off and success is earned. But when you’re Black, it’s more complicated than that,” said Thompson, adding that that shift in how we understand equality and success is powerful.
“When my clients describe their experiences at work, they don’t always realize when they’re talking about anti-Black racism. They just know they’re bowing under the weight of being overlooked, underutilized, and treated as inferior to their peers,” he said. “I see a lot of high anxiety and self-blame from clients who subscribe to the meritocracy myth because their effort doesn’t match the outcome. Then there’s a lightbulb moment when they realize their experiences aren’t unique and have nothing to do with inadequacy.”
For many of Thompson’s clients, understanding that their negative experiences stem from broader systemic problems brings clarity and validation, but sometimes getting a person to that point takes work.
Thompson likes to present clients with data, using numbers to help them rewrite their narratives of self-doubt. He points to statistics showing that ACB university graduates earn only 80 cents for every dollar earned by White university graduates with the same credentials.
Or the jarring research around job call-backs based on “White-” versus “Black-sounding” resumés — again, with the same credentials — where Black-sounding resumés receive calls as little as one-third as often.
These statistics, on top of data showing that ACB leaders hold fewer than one per cent of executive roles at major Canadian companies, help paint the picture of a fundamentally uneven playing field.
Under-representation starts early
Yet that lack of ACB representation isn’t just an issue among company executives, Richards said. “For instance, I wanted to get into psychotherapy earlier than I did, but no one in a clinical setting looked like me — which, as an ACB woman, told me that I didn’t belong there.”
Long before post-secondary school, the under-representation of ACB teachers, principals, and guidance counsellors creates a skewed image of the options available for racialized youth. With half as many ACB teachers as students (by percentage of the population), the disparity is hard to miss, even for a child.
“Students need to see Black guidance counsellors, right from elementary school,” said Richards, adding that, as education progresses ACB students have little encouragement to pursue anything in a clinical stream. This gap, in turn, contributes to the extreme shortage of ACB psychotherapists in Canada.
As a former assistant director of equity and community partnerships for the Peel District School Board, Thompson wholeheartedly agrees that increasing ACB representation in schools is needed.
“In many cases, the meritocracy myth and the self-destructive patterns that follow start in schools,” he said. Statistics from Toronto high schools show that ACB students are disproportionately suspended and expelled, and they receive half as many “excellent” ratings from teachers as other students do, even with the same standardized test scores.
Studies also show that having an ACB teacher increases the likelihood that students will enrol in post-secondary education and decreases their likelihood of dropping out.
But as Thompson explains, it’s not enough to have more ACB representation in the school system if those schools aren’t actively addressing anti-Black racism among staff. “How can Black educators be the supports students need if no one is supporting them?”
Employer empowerment
Richards is passionate about the potential employers have to create transformational change in the workplace, although she admits it won’t be easy. “Diversity inclusion and training is a great start, but it’s going to take a lot more than a one-off course to create real change. It has to become an integral part of the way you work,” she said. “Employers need to remain cognizant of how they’re interacting with employees and lead by example. That means taking the time to really learn about the people they work with and become critically aware of their own biases.”
When it comes to creating behaviour change across the organization, Richards added, employers must be willing to hold everyone to a higher standard. “Accountability is non-negotiable. It’s not only about creating new opportunities to learn and do better. It’s also about addressing individuals, behaviours, policies, and hiring practices that perpetuate a culture of racism.”
In addition, she noted how employers need to think about expanding their coverage for psychological services, noting that very few people — whether in ACB communities or otherwise — can afford psychotherapy without private coverage.
In Shining a Light on Mental Health in Black Communities, a recent Mental Health Commission of Canada information resource, affordability was a chief barrier to accessing psychological support. Given the lower average incomes among the ACB workforce, bolstering coverage for their psychological services is even more critical.
Even as a provider of EAP counselling, Richards pointed out that coverage is often inadequate to address the need. “For someone who has experienced decades of racial trauma, a handful of solutions-based EAP sessions won’t go deep enough. To help ACB people get to the root of their experiences and truly begin to heal, they need access to longer term counselling.”
Writing a new ending
For those who do seek professional mental health support, Richards and Thompson agree: the journey through counselling involves a great deal of rebuilding.
“Deconstructing individual experiences and giving yourself permission to acknowledge the impact they’ve had can be a difficult process,” Richards said. “But then you pull lessons from those experiences and your self-perception slowly begins to change from someone who is less than to someone who is more than enough.”
For Thompson, another important part of therapy is cultivating joy. He often encourages his clients to think about what brings them joy and how they can integrate more of those things into their lives.
“Ultimately, I’m trying to build resiliency and instil a sense of agency,” he explained. “I want my clients to understand that, despite what society has taught them, their experiences matter, they are important, and they have the power to change their lives for the better.”
Illustrator: Dorcas Markwei of, LynSow Creative
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MHCC responds with a resource to help parents support their children’s return to school
My phone rang. Then a text popped up. It was a Monday morning and my friend “Sarah” would usually be at work. That’s odd, I thought.
“Hey, everything OK?” I asked when I got through.
Silence. A cough. Then, after interminable moments, a wobbly, “Hanging in there.” Another, deep-throated, wracking cough. Then a sob. “‘Julia’ has COVID.” A pause. “I’m pretty sure we all do.” I was surprised at how sick she sounded. She and her husband are both double-vaccinated. I tried to imagine how unwell they might be if they weren’t.
Then the whole story unfolded — dominoes tumbling, one after the other. Julia spiked a fever on a Friday night in mid-September. But her physical symptoms were at first the least of Sarah’s concerns.
The emotional cost of COVID
“You can’t hug me mommy,” Julia said when Sarah started to comfort her. “The kids in my class aren’t good at keeping their masks on. I forgot and talked today during lunch. I could make you sick. You need to stay away.”
Even though Sarah works in a field that allows her to recognize the signs and symptoms of anxiety, she explained that knowing something at a clinical level doesn’t always help when you’re a parent sinking in a quagmire of pandemic-induced muck — and she isn’t alone.
Consider recent research from the Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC), in partnership with the Canadian Paediatric Society, which found that 61 per cent of parents are very or extremely concerned about managing their child’s behaviour, anxiety, emotions, and stress.
“I need to support my kids while also managing my own emotions. I am so frustrated and angry. We did everything right,” Sarah said, pointing to her family’s limited social contacts and the purchase of N95 masks for her two daughters, six and nine, to bring to school. “I am not ashamed that we didn’t outrun this monster. But I am concerned with how to manage the long-term implications, not just in terms of potential lingering physical symptoms, but also in teaching my children how to navigate this reality without undue stress and worry.”
Drawing on a valuable partnership
September in a post-vaccinated world was supposed to hold the promise of a return to normalcy. And while there was elation when that first bell rang, a new reality has since set in — one that includes helping children manage their emotions as COVID continues to leave its stamp on school communities.
For MHCC president and CEO Michel Rodrigue, who recalled how people at the commission knew parents would be facing challenges this year. “That’s why we released a fall tip sheet on how to support young people returning to school. It was meant to help parents and caregivers in those low moments, as we all find ourselves when we’re at a loss for supportive, comforting words.”
To create the tip sheet, the MHCC joined forces with the Strongest Families Institute (SFI), a leading provider of skills-based behaviour training. We then distilled it into a few key tips and tricks that can be tacked onto a fridge or tucked into a struggling child’s school backpack.
“It’s important that we’re ready to engage children on their own terms,” said Dr. Patricia Lingley-Pottie, president and CEO of SFI. “Now is the time to watch for deviations in student behaviour. If they appear unsettled and apprehensive or show changes in mood and social tendencies, these may be signs of declining mental health.”
A fresh perspective
Lingley-Pottie advises parents and teachers to approach the topic casually by opting for “side by side” conversations, listening without judgment, and reminding youth that it’s OK to feel uneasy — that they’re not alone, since many of their friends and even adults are having the same feelings.
These are techniques Sarah has started using with her girls. “Some days are better than others,” she said, “but we try to keep the conversation going — realizing it’s not ‘one and done.’ There are times when my older daughter wants to talk a great deal about her feelings, and others when she wants nothing other than to be distracted, watch a movie, or play a game.”
Lingley-Pottie endorses such an approach. “In addition to being available to listen, it’s also important to be open about your own feelings.” By illustrating how you as a parent cope effectively with stress, she explained, you’re modelling the kind of resilience children can emulate.
Ultimately, the deceptively simple techniques on the tip sheet reinforce the importance of helping children and young people build the confidence to face difficult situations and the vocabulary to openly discuss them.
For Lingley-Pottie, “it’s important to notice persistent anxiety that is interfering with a child’s life to prevent more serious anxiety or depression from taking root. What we’ve learned at SFI is that skills that promote good mental health early in life are just as important as the school curriculum.”
Sarah agrees. “My kids have been in and out of virtual school these last couple of weeks. Are they missing some of their assignments? Sure. But we’re taking the approach that staying mentally well is the priority. While I wouldn’t wish COVID on anyone, we are profiting during this time by investing in the mental wellness of our kids.”
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New resource supports mental wellness following criminal justice involvement
When Mo Korchinski left prison, she wasn’t handed a kit with resources to help her turn her life around. There was no guide on how to readjust to an autonomous life. Instead, like many before her, she was given a plastic bag with her belongings and a ticket to where she came from.
“A lot of people who go to prison bring with them little more than the clothes on their backs, a traumatic past, and often either mental illness, addiction, or both,” said Korchinski, now the executive director at Unlocking the Gates Services Society. “This doesn’t mean we should be disregarded as worthless. For many of us, we’ve fallen on hard times or been dealt a losing hand. Incarceration should be about helping people make better choices. Educating them on new paths. Rehabilitation.”
Unfortunately, a lack of resources coupled with inconsistent integration between correctional health care, non-correctional health care, and broader social services leaves many in the justice system unsupported, both inside and outside of prison walls.
Such a lack of support has real-world consequences, especially when we consider substance use and mental illness among our country’s incarcerated populations. New Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) research exploring vulnerabilities in Canada’s correctional settings shows that between 65 and 70 per cent of incarcerated people are living with problematic substance use. And in an earlier MHCC study, research found that 73 per cent of federally incarcerated men and 79 per cent of federally incarcerated women were living with one or more mental health problems or illnesses.
Of course, when a person is released these mental health and substance use concerns do not disappear — although in most cases any support they may have received on the inside abruptly ends.
A new direction (and directory)
To help bridge the gap, the MHCC has just released a detailed inventory that lists mental health and substance use programs in each province and territory for persons transitioning away from the criminal justice system, for their support networks, and for front-line service providers.
In addition to contact information and overviews of each service, the interactive inventory specifically highlights the resources available to priority populations. To ensure individuals access to the most accurate and complete list of supports, it will also be updated periodically.
For Emilie Coyle, executive director at the Canadian Association of Elizabeth Fry Societies, such an inventory should make a difference for people in transition. “It can be disorienting to try to re-establish ties in community or to forge a new community,” she explained. “Being able to look up the supports that are closest to you and are tailored to your needs takes so much of the guesswork out of an already disorienting experience. Supports can alleviate feelings of frustration, abandonment, and loneliness and replace them with feelings of security, hope, and motivation.”
Navigating the pandemic landscape
For those re-entering the community during the pandemic, finding support to integrate back into society can be especially challenging.
“The public health measures in place in the community — such as social distancing, suspensions and closures of in-person programs (including harm reduction services), and reduced access to housing supports — may worsen the risks and barriers for individuals transitioning out of correctional settings,” said Sandra Koppert, the MHCC’s director of Mental Health Advancement.
With this new resource, Koppert and her team hope to give justice-involved persons a solid foundation for rebuilding their lives.
“Trying to navigate available mental health and substance use services is a daunting task, and the pandemic adds even more challenges,” she added. “For someone being released from a correctional setting, this puts more obstacles in the way of trying to start a new chapter. The inventory is intended to make the process of turning the page a little bit easier.”
For Korchinski, supporting the transition back to society isn’t just important, it’s vital. “People need food, clothing, shelter, and support the day they are released, not just left back on the streets homeless. Supporting people on their journey out of the criminal justice system by connecting them with resources gives them the best chance to make the healthy decisions that will keep them alive.”
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Inclusion, empathy, and healing
Well before the withdrawal from Afghanistan and the pandemic, there was already a crying need to support the mental health of people in the Veteran community.
But adding these further pressures to an already charged powder keg makes it clear that this need has only grown. In particular, the end of this 13-year mission has many asking, “What was it all for?”
For Veteran Sherry Lachine, meaning and purpose has come from helping her peers and their loved ones explore their feelings and giving them tactics very different from those used in the field.
Lachine is a master facilitator for the Mental Health Commission of Canada’s (MHCC’s) Mental Health First Aid (MHFA) Veteran Community program. She also owns Broadmind, a company that specializes in mental health strategies.
While Veterans are a core constituency in her work, offering support and training to their families and friends is also critical.
“Once you expand your focus from individual Veterans to the network of those around them, the number of people influenced by Veterans’ mental well-being reaches into the millions,” she said.
MHFA Veteran Community training is tailored to ensure that its participants can empathize with others’ lived experience and can offer a supportive network of listening ears and open hearts. Since the program began in 2016, through a partnership between the MHCC and Veterans Affairs Canada, over 3,700 people have been trained via in-person and virtual courses.
That’s not for me
The idea that MHFA training is only useful for those who have fought on the battlefield is a misconception Lachine stresses each time she talks about the course. “Mental Health First Aid is for everyone. It gives you relationship skills, parenting skills, and human skills, really — the things that each of us use in our daily lives.”
In fact, “That’s not for me” was the exact response her mother gave when Lachine first suggested she sit in on one of her sessions. “My mother went into the course under the guise that she was doing it for others, not for herself. But she quickly realized that it wasn’t the case and soon after became a huge advocate of the program, almost to the point of creating T-shirts to spread the message.”
While the program has adaptations tailored to specific communities like Veterans, it also offers training for anyone interested in becoming more adept at the human skills Lachine alludes to.
A safe space
Shared humanity is at the heart of a successful MHFA training session, she said. Referring to an especially moving session, where a Veteran confessed to feeling guilt about how he’d treated loved ones in the past, Lachine remembered seeing, almost immediately, the spark of recognition in the eyes of the other participants.
“The sense of healing and validation that came from others acknowledging those feelings and sharing stories of their own was a big “aha” moment for me,” she said.
The MHFA Veteran Community experience is special because it’s a judgment-free zone. Chances are that fellow trainees have walked in each other’s shoes or alongside someone who can relate — something particularly true for military spouses.
At a course in Ottawa, Lachine recalled playing a video that featured a service member deployed in Rwanda and the struggles that had followed him home. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as spouses saw their own reality reflected on the screen.
“You can almost feel the collective exhale as participants let the relief of being validated wash over them,” she said. “There is strength in numbers. It helps chip away at the isolation that so often accompanies these struggles.”
The continued need for support
In the weeks following the Afghanistan withdrawal, the Veteran community was hurting.
“There’s a temptation to give in to futility, and the feelings were rubbed raw. More than ever, in these last months, having a place to grieve, to express frustration, to find meaning together has been a lifeline,” said Lachine.
In response, she modified her approach, being mindful of giving participants the space they need to sort through a catalogue of emotions that many of us can only imagine.
Over the last century, understanding about invisible battle scars has grown. The blunt diagnosis of shell shock following the First World War has evolved into a more nuanced understanding of a spectrum of operational stress injuries.
“And with that knowledge,” affirmed Lachine, “comes the responsibility to treat those wounds with every tool in our arsenal.”
While Remembrance Day for most is an opportunity to remember with gratitude, for members of Canada’s Armed Forces it may trigger a groundswell of emotion.
If you know a Veteran or a family member who you think might benefit from MHFA training, more information is available here. Veterans Affairs Canada offers additional mental health resources.
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A review of Jann Arden’s If I Knew Then
Only a few pages into Jann Arden’s new book, If I Knew Then: Finding Wisdom in Failure and Power in Aging, I am convinced she’s borrowed a tiny piece of my own experience with grief and put it on the page in my stead.
In her opening vignette, Arden describes trying to disconnect her deceased father’s phone line. I too wrestled with a telecom giant after my own dad died, and our experiences were mirror images. Arden and I both met with recalcitrant service agents unwilling to help, after failing to produce impossible-to-find account numbers, while being subjected to the indignity of the same pitiless hold music.
“Insensitive,” Arden’s breakthrough anthem, would have been a more appropriate, if ironic, choice.
Even the wretchedness of death and the hellishness of its attendant paperwork can’t dampen the undercurrent of Arden’s gallows humour. As a passionate fan, perhaps I expected a more earnest, angsty book. But of course, stand-up comics can be dour out of the spotlight. So why can’t an oft heart-broken songstress be funny?
I read If I Knew Then cover to cover on the eve of my 42nd birthday. The timing was impeccable. I was feeling a little melancholy, and this slim volume proved the perfect antidote.
Sober second thought
Arden — who will be opening the (virtual) Issues of Substance Conference in November, co-hosted by Canadian Centre on Substance Use and Addiction and the Mental Health Commission of Canada — doesn’t pull any punches about the roundabout way she came fully into her own.
She holds her sobriety like a talisman.
It’s through that clear-eyed lens that she’s open to recounting her journey, stumbling blocks and all. Her book is a mediation on the power of failure to teach us our most valuable lessons and a celebration of the insight and fortitude that deepen as they marinate over time.
In our hustle culture, where youth is king and running the rat race promises a badge of honour, Arden’s thoughtful prose is a reminder. Slow. The. Heck. Down.
As a woman who has found hard-won meaning in health, friendships, and work, Arden takes none of these blessings for granted.
She writes in language that is both intimate and informal. This isn’t prescriptive self-help; it’s more like “no pressure” help-yourself. You get the feeling that writing the book was as cathartic for Arden as it will be for her readers.
Finding success by embracing failure
We often have ideas about what success looks like. Arden peels back the layers of her own rise to stardom with poignancy and humour, assuring us that even Juno Award winners can look in the mirror and find fault with what lies behind it.
What was most interesting to me is the perspective Arden offers to those coming up behind her.
“Jann, I’d say to my younger self, you’re going to be very hard on yourself and feel ashamed and embarrassed. You’re going to question your sanity and your worth and your sexuality, and pretty much every decision you’re going to make is going to be difficult. . . . You’re going to spend years desperately hung over, and you’re going to fail epically, but you’re going to make it — you’re going to thrive, even. I wish I could take away the hard parts, Jann, but then you wouldn’t be me, and being me is super f*&%ing great.”
Of her alcohol addiction, Arden writes, “For me, the old saying about needing to hit rock bottom was true.” It was in claiming her self-respect and becoming a person of her word that ultimately silenced the doubts that drove her to drink in the first place.
Like many creative types, Arden’s other medicine was music. And this memoir is as much a love letter to the power of singing and songwriting as it is to her sobriety.
When I say the book was a perfect choice on the eve of my 42nd birthday, I’m referring to society’s preoccupation with the attributes of youth — especially when taken as synonymous with beauty and self-worth. Arden refuses to buy into a narrative where women diminish with age, becoming all but invisible in a society that, as she put it, “seemed to have little time for women who were over thirty-five, women who had lost their curb appeal and their usefulness.”
Not just skin deep
Instead, she has found that with age comes the maturity to wield the kind of power and wisdom born from disappointments, failures, and losses, the kind that remould a person time and again into a more empathetic, caring, and feeling human being.
Early on in her career, Arden sent out dozens of demo tapes in an era where grunge reigned supreme and a female singer-songwriter baring her soul, acoustic guitar in hand, could easily have been drowned out. Or worse yet, counted herself out.
Arden’s success hardly came overnight. Like others, she heard “No” countless times. But she also understood, deep in her bones, that you need just one “yes.”
Her big break was neither a fluke of fate, nor a stroke of luck. While timing was key — a recently heart-broken producer who zeroed in on Arden’s soulful potential — it was her unflagging persistence and refusal to bow under the weight of rejection that secured her future success.
“Destiny,” she writes, “is just another word for determination.”
Understanding failure as a teacher and age as the ultimate expression of its wisdom are at the heart of Arden’s book. She refuses to worship at the altar of youth, instead embracing the virtues of the “crone.”
“Becoming a crone,” she concludes, “gives you the sense and the stability and power to be who you are.”
Turning the trope of a frightening, wizened old woman on its head, Arden invites readers to contemplate the value of a beauty that isn’t skin deep.
What a perfect birthday gift.
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Mental Health First Aid taught me life skills I didn’t know I needed
Taking the first step
From my very first day at the Mental Health Commission of Canada, praise for Mental Health First Aid (MHFA) training travelled like folklore. Whether through personal experience or testimonials from former participants, it seemed as if everybody knew of someone who had been affected by the course.
So I was definitely curious when my turn came to participate. Even so, I was also a bit skeptical. As someone who rarely finds the time to attend seminars or professional development courses, I had reservations about how much I might take away from the experience. As it turns out, the answer was plenty.
Like physical first aid, which gives people tools to identify and support someone experiencing a crisis until professional help is available, MHFA does so for people experiencing a mental health crisis. As an avid hockey fan, I’m familiar with the importance of having defibrillators at ice rinks and knowing how to use them. But this was new territory for me.
Building the foundation
The first of the course’s three modules was self-directed using an online portal. So I logged in the evening before and began digging through the course content so I’d have a foundation for the knowledge I’d need to participate in the second module the next day.
It didn’t take long to realize that I had been overestimating my knowledge of mental health issues, even in areas as simple as language.
I had never stopped to think about the stigma attached to the phrases I was using to describe mental well-being. “That person suffers from depression” or “that mentally ill person” seemed harmless. I didn’t realize that speaking that way stigmatizes someone living with mental illness. But I learned that in most cases person-centred language is much more respectful. So, instead of saying “a person is a schizophrenic,” it’s better to say “a person living with schizophrenia.” The difference is profound because no one wants to be defined by their illness.
Think about someone with a history of substance use. When we refer to that person as a “former addict,” we’re reducing them to their disorder. Saying “an individual in recovery” is not only less stigmatizing — it recognizes that person’s dignity.
This first part of the course helped me understand some simple changes I could make (and encourage among my family and friends) that could add up to a big shift in my mindset. As with hockey, it still takes a team effort, but knowing the role I play gives me a sense of purpose and confidence.
But as it turns out, language was just the warm-up.
Class is in session
The eye-opening experience in the self-taught portion of the course had me thinking that I’d be in for more realizations in the virtual classroom.
During the introductions, I noticed how diverse our small group was. East coast to west, grad students to staff members of Fortune 500 corporations, people came together from all walks of life with one common interest: supporting the mental health of those around us (or at least being prepared to do so).
My first “aha” moment came after a scenario we watched that showed a person experiencing a mental health concern. We were then asked to think about how we might respond. Listening to the facilitator discuss that scenario was a game changer.
Imagine a casual observer watching a hockey game. Their perspective is going to be totally different from the hawk-eyed vision of a seasoned coach. In this case, our “facilitator-coach” proceeded to point out some nuances and details that flew right past me and many of the others.
When the distressed individual lamented, “What’s the point in trying?” to my untrained ear I was hearing an off-the-cuff remark. But for an experienced mental health first aider, that was a cry for help.
That stopped me in my tracks.
I started thinking of all the times I had heard someone ask that same question and never gave it a second thought. Could I have missed something? It’s not usual for phrases like this (which can signal hopelessness) to pop up in conversations. We learned to take note of similar language and to better understand when these words are harmless and when they could be cause for concern.
I had always assumed the cries for help from someone experiencing a mental health crisis would be more of a yell. It turns out they can be as silent as a whisper.
It was becoming clear that some of the most effective ways to help someone in this situation are being observant, paying close attention to their words, and offering empathy.
Confident conversations
After a generous break (and three slices of home-made pizza) I sat back at my desk for the third and final MHFA module.
While the earlier scenarios focused on knowing what to look for and what questions to ask, these new ones involved developing the confidence to engage in the hard conversations that follow.
It was like we’d been given all the equipment to make it out onto the ice, and now it was game time.
The role of a mental health first aider is not to provide professional advice to those in crisis. Rather, it’s to connect the individual with appropriate support. That’s where the training comes in. How do you provide comfort and calm? Sometimes that means striking up one of those conversations that happens before a person is ready to reach out for formal support.
The first step is figuring out if you’re dealing with a crisis and, if so, what actions are needed. While all the students were able to pinpoint which situations involved a crisis, there was a big disparity between our proposed solutions and those from our coach.
This time, the gap wasn’t due to our knowledge. It was about our confidence.
I consider myself a confident individual. In fact, I’d consider all the students in my session to be confident in their own ways. Yet none of us was prepared to be as forthright as we needed to be in the face of a crisis. Knowing when to be empathetic and when to take action was the final lesson that day. I could now say wholeheartedly that I would be much more likely to act appropriately in a crisis given my new-found confidence, rooted in knowledge.
Checking in with yourself
Any reservations I may have had about the course are now in the past. Today, I see its value as clearly as I see the importance of the defibrillator on the arena wall.
That said, I feel obliged to mention another key theme in the course I didn’t touch on: how to take care of yourself when assisting others who are experiencing a mental health concern or crisis. A key part of MHFA is the need to check in with yourself, set healthy boundaries, and ensure that you don’t bow under the weight of carrying someone else’s burdens.
Just like training for a sport, you can’t go full out every day without building in some recovery time.
While being a mental health first aider doesn’t make you a mental health professional, it does give you the knowledge and confidence to help someone in need, listen with an open mind, and respond with empathy. If that sounds like something worth doing, you can find more information, including course dates and times, here.
As I found out firsthand, there is no down side to joining this team.