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Over the holidays my inner voice proves to be the most critical as I straddle the pull of a commercial Christmas and the deep-seated draw of Kwanzaa. On tackling the minefield of tackiness, tinsel, and trappings of the season.
This story is the first in the Mental Health for the Holidays series. While end-of-year celebrations can be a time of joy — they can also trigger feelings of stress and loss. Read the collection to learn how others were able to meet those challenges.
It always starts with childlike glee. The excitement, bubbling over with an irresistible anticipation of the merriment, the food, the socializing, and of course, the presents. Christmas time is the best. Well, almost. There are always undercurrents.
There’s the worrying about the consequences of all that good cheer. Actually, worrying doesn’t quite cover it. It’s more like gnawing than worry — more like guilt, really. You know how it goes. Should I try the yummy cookies? It’s Christmas after all. How many? Perhaps just one. . . they’re not that big. How much butter and sugar could they have? Oh, but they’re so good — and gone so quickly. I barely tasted that. Perhaps two, three. . . seventeen?
Then comes the guilt. I ate way too much. All that butter and sugar. Ugh. I think I can hear my arteries hardening. The familiar commitments to do better follow. Tomorrow I’ll have a salad. . . but then someone invited me out for lunch. Dinner with friends is on for the next day and of course all those friends I haven’t seen in, like, forever. Drinks! Wasn’t that a special bottle of rum! Oh, and the best Côtes du Rhône I’ve had in an age. Recriminations arrive in the morning, delivered in that scathing voice I reserve just for me. Ugh, again! But the see-saw of pleasure and punishment is just getting started.
I turn my attention to the glitter. All that sparkle and rich, scented greenery. Bright bulbs touch every surface until the house feels like a fairytale wonderland. I love the Christmas cheer. But is it excessive? How many garlands are too many? Is tinsel elegant or tacky? What does “less is more” even mean? What do designers think it means?
Soon I’m surrounded by magazines, each offering contradictory advice. My house isn’t that big, and I don’t have a bevy of assistants to help me add glamour. Could someone also explain to me why I would I want an all-white tree? Or an all-red one? It all seems less like Christmas and more like branding. Perhaps a more traditional approach is the way to go. But honestly, string popcorn just seems like a good way to invite a mouse infestation. Besides, the way the dog is eyeing the popcorn bowl has me thinking I’ll have to guard the tree 24-7. It all seems unnecessarily constrained and formal. Maybe I’m just too tacky.
How much money am I spending on decorations, food, presents? Too much. Not enough? How many families are doing without while I squander cash on the most useless items imaginable? I look at my silver bells laid carefully beside my silver reindeer and big bowl of shiny do-nothings and think, Wouldn’t that money have been better spent on a donation? Am I selfish and self-centered?
All these concerns mark the coming together of my neuroses — otherwise known as Christmas time.
But then there’s the secret guilt I hold close to my chest. The guilt of being Black while enjoying Christmas — I like to call it my Kwanzaa guilt. It starts to simmer a few months before the week-long celebration of African American culture, beginning on December 26th. Why the guilt? Because I don’t actually celebrate Kwanzaa. I’m not sure I even want to. Yet such an admission from a proud and — I like to think — progressive Black woman, can be tantamount to proclaiming my status as an Oreo or a coconut — Black on the outside, white on the inside.
Kwanzaa is not supposed to replace Christmas, but coming when it does certainly feels like competition. Healthier, more thoughtful competition. As I rub my hands in greedy anticipation of the fatty foods and rich desserts of my usual Christmas gluttony, I imagine the contrast to what my Kwanzaa sisters will be enjoying: fruits, vegetables, and corn. More guilt follows (not to be confused with the reams of gilt I’ll be spreading with abandon across my home, with nary a straw mat in sight).
Kwanzaa is the thoughtful creation of a Black academic. At its core, it’s a celebration of reflection, a seven-night toast to the Black diaspora, and our success in overcoming a multitude of struggles. It slides in, brimming with the aspirational concepts of unity, self-determination, collective work and responsibility, cooperative economics, purpose, creativity, and at the forefront, faith. For Kwanzaa, homemade gifts are offered, and commercialism is avoided. In lieu of string lights, we find seven candles burning.
Yet, despite its wholesome message and optimistic values, I shun it — instead embracing a holiday that has me wondering if any of the wise men were Black.
My Kwanzaa guilt didn’t start with its inception in the ‘60s or even its prominence in the ‘90s. No, my love of — OK, let’s face it — hate of Christmas started as a child. No one in my family looks like Santa and, until very recently, every tree angel had golden hair and the rosiest of cheeks. I got my first fireplace when I was 28, so there was no hope of Santa making his way down the chimney when I was a girl. And Barbados, which my family calls home, doesn’t have a single pine tree. In fact, from mistletoe and cranberries to rutabaga and turkey, for my family the traditional dressings of Christmas were an exploration in foreignness. Yet we embraced its customs and, over time, made them our own.
So every year I drag boxes upon boxes of Christmas décor out of the basement. I string lights outside and inside my home, and I sing and dance — like Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air — to Christmas carols as I do so. Thank you, Sir Paul, I’m sim-ply haaaaaving a wonderful Christmas time. While Kwanzaa intentions are good, the trappings are even more foreign to me than Christmas. Why should I give up the traditions of a lifetime?
Though I’m not one, like a good Christian I’ve learned to change the holiday to suit my cultural needs. So this year, we’ll be serving rice and peas, fish, and oxtail. I’m looking at Weight Watchers for healthy Christmas recipes and, despite having a beautiful fireplace, we’ll be hanging our stockings along the banister by the front door. As usual, our treetop will be home to a glittering pair of lovebirds instead of an angel.
Every year I find new ways of making the holiday mine, adding touches of me and stripping away those things that reflect a colonial mindset. As I draft each of them to my own cause and purpose, I’m learning to make peace with the parts of Christmas that may have had a different meaning in the past. Hopefully, the only Oreos at my house will be those I enjoy while indulging in a Hallmark Christmas movie. Happy holidays!
More resources to support your well-being over the holidays:
How to Give Back (or Reach Out) This Holiday Season (Mental Health Commission of Canada)
Five Ways to Protect Your Mental Health This Holiday (Canadian Mental Health Association)
Debra Yearwood
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Fleeing from intimate partner violence takes a network of supports
The day before I left my relationship, I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d told me I was a victim of intimate partner violence. Looking back, I understand there can be many reasons and complex factors involved, like the way people living with abuse (physical, mental, or emotional) normalize their situation.
“It’s not so bad, things will get better when he gets that promotion/finds a better job/comes back from that trip. . . .” You get the picture. Meanwhile, as you’re waiting for things to improve, the risk that they’ll actually get worse — with more frequent and severe abusive episodes — grows higher.
I also understand that normalizing is a very common coping mechanism. It can be hard to accept that you’re in a life-threatening situation. I know because I did it myself. Yet normalizing can also keep you stuck in bad circumstances, especially if your partner is manipulative. Such people can sense when you are becoming distant or thinking of leaving, and they work hard to reel you back in — going into honeymoon mode, bringing home flowers, and making big shows of affection.
I endured two years of abuse before I woke up one morning and knew that I had to leave my relationship — no matter what. It was as if my survival instincts had finally kicked in after being dormant over many months. While I’d considered leaving many times, and even threatened to do it on a few occasions, things were now different. Suddenly I knew there was no going back.
People who’ve never had these experiences wonder why those of us who do choose to stay or find it hard to leave. I don’t think there’s any simple answer. Often, the abuser has tight control on them, on their finances, on their children, and on the family dynamic.
A sense of shame is also a powerful factor. It’s very common in these relationships to feel shame for being on the receiving end of abuse and for enduring it. An abused person will often blame themself, sometimes subconsciously. And abusive partners often blame the person they abuse for their own behaviour.
Abuse happens far more often than you might think, regardless of age, gender, culture, nationality, or socio-economic status. To someone experiencing abuse and the collection of dilemmas it brings, it can feel like a problem that can’t be solved on its own terms. Because it is. The abuser has defined and set the terms of the relationship, and the person who wants the abuse to stop sees no clear way out. Because there isn’t. Not until they find their way through to the point of rejecting the entire power dynamic and accepting the consequences of leaving. And such consequences can be severe. Someone fleeing abuse will frequently experience loss on many levels: material, social, emotional, and personal.
Family members or friends often express surprise when they find out about abuse. While that’s partly due to the silence and isolation fuelled by shame, much of it arises because the abuser goes to such great lengths to control their image, their reputation, and the narrative of the relationship. Despite these efforts, abuse almost always leaves signs. It’s just that people don’t usually recognize them, or else they choose to look past them or discount them.
Running on instinct
My abusive partner was highly manipulative, callous, selfish, and controlling. One way he controlled the narrative of our relationship was by constantly calling my commitment into question. Even after moving in with him, and lending him large sums of money, he frequently lamented my “lack of commitment.” He painted a picture of himself as a victim of my uncaring selfishness.
This kind of victim blaming is a frequent weapon of choice for an abusive partner. Another is gaslighting, a term from an old movie (Gaslight) about a young woman whose husband manipulates her into believing that she’s losing her sanity. In the context of disordered relationships, the term means emotionally manipulating and abusing a partner to the point where they doubt their own sense of reality. It’s a way of keeping all the control in a relationship and sustaining access to resources: money, affection, attention, energy, validation, admiration, and respect.
The day I woke up and decided to leave, I knew I needed to find a way to stay the course. I also knew that I was in danger of losing my nerve and my resolve. While I was able to recognize that I was fragile and emotionally unstable, I was struggling to think clearly (a psychological effect of ongoing trauma). But it was now or never. I had to do something quickly because it wouldn’t take long for my partner to sense that something was up. I didn’t have the wherewithal to call an 800 number or do a Google search. If you had told me I needed a safety plan, I would have drawn a complete blank. All I knew was that I needed to leave and that my life depended on it. Because of that, I somehow switched into a survival mode that allowed me to formulate a plan and act on it.
I booked a few days off from work (I had managed to maintain a successful career despite my situation) and began searching for an apartment to rent. Though I was able to secure the first suitable apartment I could find, it wasn’t available right away. So I booked a storage facility for my belongings and a hotel for myself, while thinking, How would someone with fewer resources manage all this?
To take care of the larger items, I booked a mover for a day that I knew my partner would be at work. But my plan hit a snag. Instead telling the moving company that I was fleeing an abusive relationship, I simply told them it would be a small job. Assuming that they would arrive when they promised turned out to be a big mistake: they showed up four hours late.
I would end up leaving most of my possessions behind, almost everything.
How to help
If you know (or suspect) that someone you know is facing this kind of unsafe situation, the best way to help is offering to listen. It’s also important that you mean it. Don’t offer just once and fade into the background. Be persistent. For someone experiencing abuse, it often takes more than one try for someone to confide in you. By taking on the role of an oblivious bystander and doing nothing, we can unintentionally contribute to the abuse. When you see something, say something.
An abusive partner may display anger or have a quick or unpredictable temper. They may blame you for their violent outbursts and physically harm (or threaten harm) you, themself, and members of your household, including children or pets. They may be demeaning or put you down by insulting your appearance, intelligence, or interests. They may try to humiliate you in front of others and attempt to destroy your property or things you care about. They may keep track of everything you do, insist that you reply right away to their texts, emails, and calls, and demand to know your passwords to social media sites, email, and other accounts.
Recognizing signs that someone you know is experiencing abuse:
- Checks the time constantly and is expected to be home at a certain time
- Engages in constant texting/phone calls with their partner when they’re apart
- Reports to their partner before making decisions
- Becomes distant when you communicate with them
- Loses interest in hobbies or activities
- Experiences sadness out of nowhere, with sudden crying or anger
- Goes overboard to make the abuser look good
- Stops taking care of their own mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual needs
- Withdraws from your friendship, with no calls or visits, and cuts off communication
- Retreats from social events and family gatherings
If you are worried about a friend’s safety, stay in touch. To keep communication lines open, avoid making the abuser suspicious. You can create secret code words to use in conversations that can help you communicate more safely. Ask your friend how they prefer to connect. Establishing a safe communication channel is important since, in many instances, they will be physically close to an abuser who might be monitoring conversations. Ask if your friend prefers an instant message or text over a call, and if there’s a specific platform or app they prefer. Be supportive and believe them. Reassure them that they are not alone and that help and supports are available. Recognize that it may be difficult for them to talk about the abuse. If they want to talk, listen carefully and be empathetic.
Sixteen Days
The National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women on December 6th is about remembering those who have experienced gender-based violence. It is also about taking action. Each December 6, people across Canada are invited to honour and remember the 14 women who were murdered at Polytechnique Montréal on that day in 1989, which falls within the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence from November 25 to December 10.
Learn more
Read the Women and Gender Equality Canada plan: It’s Time: Canada’s Strategy to Prevent and Address Gender-Based Violence.
Resources
Recognizing signs of abuse: Frequently Asked Questions: The Signs of Relationship Abuse and How to Help, from UN Women.
Support services across Canada from the Canadian Women’s Foundation
This resource was published in 2022. The data may be out of date.
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
“I have spent most of my teenage years living in a state of climate anxiety or as some call it, eco-anxiety. I should be dreaming about my future instead of having nightmares. I should be spending my time reading, writing, and skating – enjoying my youth. What am I anxious about, you ask? Most of Belfast will be uninhabitable by 2050 due to rising sea levels. I personally am motivated by fear to work on climate activism but it’s too much responsibility for young people to take on alone.” Anna Kernahan, age 18, Belfast.
Distress, anxiety, and anger are just some of the psychological impacts of the climate crisis on the well-being of children and young people worldwide. A recent study, the largest of its kind — asked 10,000 young people in 10 countries how they felt about climate change and government responses to it. Nearly 60% said they felt ‘very worried’ or ‘extremely worried’ and reported that this ‘eco-anxiety’ has a negative impact on their daily lives.
Increasing levels of stress and overwhelm, and feelings of loss, helplessness, and frustration of young people around the world are becoming more difficult to ignore. Their fear and distress over our planet’s future is often accompanied by guilt. Many young people feel that not enough is being done by the authorities to fix the situation and they worry that they will be unable to stop climate change. For some young people, the future looks so dire that they have decided against having children of their own.
How to help a child cope with eco-anxiety
Parents and caregivers have an active role to play in helping children and young people cope with feelings of anxiety. It starts with being aware of the signs.
Signs of anxiety in children
- fatigue, headaches, or stomach aches
- sleep disturbances
- not eating properly
- quickly getting angry or irritable and being out of control during outbursts
- constantly worrying or having negative thoughts
- feeling tense and fidgety
- finding it hard to concentrate
If you notice your child may be feeling anxiety, a good place to start is talking about it. Parents might feel hesitant about answering questions about climate change or may wish to avoid the topic, but a discussion can be helpful. Even if as a parent you don’t have the answers to all their questions, you can help a child to develop positive coping mechanisms.
Talking with children about climate change is a good way to help them cope, say the experts, such as the study co-author Caroline Hickman, a climate-psychology researcher at the University of Bath in the UK. Hickman points out that “children are infinitely more informed than their parents think, a lot of the time. ” Hickman encourages people to have “lots of conversations” with kids around climate change.
However, parents also need to calibrate the discussions they have with children of different ages, advises climate educator Harriet Shugarman, executive director of Climate Mama, an advocacy organisation for parents. In her book How to Talk to Your Kids About Climate Change, Shugarman points out that “when kids are coming to you with questions directly, we have to tell the truth, whatever age they’re at.” At the same time, we need to recognize that “kids do have power, and we want to try to work to build that up at each age,” she advises.
Channeling their anxiety to take positive action is a choice being made by growing numbers of young people across the globe. Young climate activists are connecting, discussing, and educating and empowering themselves to take action on climate change and turn their feelings of hopelessness into hope. 16-year-old Amy O’Brien is an activist with Fridays for Future Ireland, a youth movement that uses school strikes to campaign for climate justice. “Through activism, I’ve met so many other activists who really care about the climate crisis,” O’Brien says, and that gives her hope: “Hope is also now my driving force, like a little light pushing me to act.”
Author: Nicole Chevrier
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A children’s book on depression is a tough sell, but it’s an important topic. On authoring and self-publishing The Semicolon.
When I think of the countless rejections I received for The Semicolon, two stand out. The first was from an incredulous literary agent who wondered why I would even choose depression as a topic for a children’s book. The second agent, even more blunt, told me flatly: “I’m not interested in the mental-health-for-children part.”
Rejection comes with the territory as a writer, and I am the first to admit that my story is offbeat. I was inspired to write it after reading an article about Amy Bluel of Project Semicolon and other mental health advocates adopting the semicolon as a symbol of hope and resilience in anti-suicide initiatives. Many of these individuals have gotten semicolon tattoos in solidarity or as a way to validate their own experiences of survival. The choice is informed by the reason a semicolon is used; it signals the continuation of a sentence rather than its end. That symbolism resonated with me — not only as an author but because, having gone through severe depression in my 20s, I knew that depression could be just as misunderstood as grammar.
I wondered if I could take this beautiful concept of the semicolon and, in a non-didactic and age-appropriate way, introduce it to younger readers who are themselves susceptible to mental health struggles.
Yet I chose an uphill climb. The children’s book market is difficult enough to crack for writers who don’t illustrate their own work, and here I was pitching a story about a difficult topic told in an abstract way. Still, I didn’t want to underestimate the depth and capacity children have to imagine and reflect, even those unfamiliar with semicolons. My concept may have repelled literary agents, but I saw it fitting into a category of picture books on difficult themes that are intended to be read — and discussed — with children (alongside titles such as The Scar by Charlotte Moundlic and Virginia Wolf by Canadian author Kyo Maclear).
Britt Sayler
What’s more: this was (and still is) a topic that desperately needs talking about.
Even before the pandemic, the CDC assessed the prevalence of depression in children between six and eleven years old at two per cent (and more than triple that for adolescents). By all accounts, children’s mental health has only worsened since then. Manitoba-based Kidthink now estimates that 10 to 20 per cent of very young children in Canada are experiencing mental health problems. And in October, the Canadian Paediatric Society warned that young people are experiencing growing wait times for mental health support.
In this light, why did writing about mental health for a young audience feel so taboo? Was it the act of putting it into words? Was it because, as a society, we still cling to the idea of childhood as a happy and carefree time? Or was it depression specifically, rather than mental health in general, that was uncomfortable?
More than once, I was advised to pitch the book as a story about grief, since the main character’s depression follows the loss of a parent (drastic life changes are a common trigger). To me, this guidance missed the point. So finally, I decided to self-publish. I just couldn’t mute the very point I was trying to get people talking about.
Reaching kids who aren’t all right
Even for children, depression can be all-consuming. I wanted to capture that (literally — a slurping pit figures prominently in the book) and engage readers without being moralistic. That is, story first, message second. I also wanted to trust children’s ability to learn new concepts, in hopes of offering something that resonated beyond the last page.
Of course, without the near-automatic access to schools and libraries that established publishing houses enjoy, reaching kids becomes the challenge. I worry generally about the commodification of mental health, but to get my book to those who need it, I would have to market it.
There is an obvious audience in mental health practitioners who work with children. Equally important, though, are the parents, educators, and caregivers with first-hand experience of mental illness — especially recovery from depression or familiarity with semicolon tattoos. The fact is, most picture books are marketed to adults who buy and read them to kids, and those with lived and living experience can make for the most passionate advocates.
The biggest hurdle would be getting the book to children who need it now, not just those at risk of depression in the future. It can be unpalatable to think of a young child in your life as depressed. Furthermore, depression rarely looks the same in children as it does in adults — a clear theme from the experts I spoke to in writing this book. We all struggle at times to process our feelings, but children are still developing their self-awareness and vocabulary to communicate these. It’s up to adults to look for the signs.
Because 2SLGBTQ+ youth are at a higher risk of depression and suicide than their peers, I also made the conscious decision not to specify the gender of the child narrating the story. The language is gender-neutral, and the illustrations are ambiguous to leave space for each reader to perceive the main character according to what they need.
Now that The Semicolon is in print, I hope it finds a place among the growing number of picture books devoted to mental health. Many of these focus on aspects of wellness like emotional awareness, self-regulation, and self-esteem; I want mine to shed light on the prevalence of childhood depression, and deepen society’s understanding without diluting it. There’s a difference between ordinary sadness and depression, just as there is between normal worry and clinical anxiety.
As a resource for children, I hope it can spark conversations and help readers gain lasting perspectives on dark feelings, but all of these books should be viewed in context. They are not substitutes for diagnosis or treatment. They are tools in a bigger toolbox intended to help children be the healthiest possible version of themselves — a box our kids are needing more and more.
Further Reading
Britt Sayler
Illustrator: Dorota Rewerenda
Author photo: Andrea Gray, Trio Photography
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Have you ever felt at a loss of what to say or do when a friend is going through a mental health difficulty? Or do you have an answer for their problem before they have finished telling you what their problem is? Not having all the answers when supporting a friend experiencing a mental health difficulty is not necessarily a bad thing. Resist the urge to fix. I dive deep into the topic of “support does not equal fixing” in my MHCC Catalyst article ‘It’s Broke- And Don’t Fix it.’
The Problem Solver
The wonderful, caring, hard-to-see-others-in-pain, jump-into-action-and-want-to-make-it-all-better person… you relate? It can be uncomfortable seeing someone going through a mental well-being decline. Resist the urge to make it all better. Instead, pause and listen. Providing that safe space and really listening, I mean REALLY listening can be powerfully healing.
Don’t take their problem from them, trust them to deal with it in their own way. Do your best to understand the person even when, from your lens, they may not make sense. Give them enough room to discover for themselves why they feel upset and enough time to think for themselves what’s best. Hold back the desire to give them “good” advice.
The “Advice-or”
“Good” advice is relative: what may be good for me may not be for you. When you jump into “fix it” mode, the person sharing becomes aware they are not being listened to and possibly feels unheard and rejected. You may be trying to sort out the details (the who, what, when, where) and are not aware of the feelings or emotions behind the words.
A new study identifies 27 categories of emotion and shows how they blend together in our everyday experience. Most of us were never taught how to describe or name our feelings. Psychology once assumed that most human emotions fall within the universal categories of happiness, sadness, anger, surprise, fear, and disgust. Brene Brown hosts an informative, human centered TV series called Atlas of the Heart which dives deep in defining emotions, feelings and the words used to describe them.
As a psychotherapist, you may assume that I’m naturally a really great listener—I’m not! I really need practice at it. I’m already thinking of a response before the other person has finished speaking, which creates disconnection. Or if there is a pause, I jump in with the word that I think they are thinking of and 90% of time I’ve got the wrong word! As a result, the person may feel rushed, thinking, “I better hurry or I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise,” or start to shut down and disengage. Really listening provides an environment where the person can show up authentically, with more of an opportunity to receive support.
Ask, Don’t Tell
To truly support someone, “help me help you” really is a powerful approach. How do we do that? The first step is asking them! For example, ask questions like:
- “How can I best support you?”
- “What do you think would happen if you did this or that?”
- “How can I support you today?”
- “What does help look like for you?”
Getting clarity on what’s being said, by paraphrasing and saying, “What I heard you say is” or “My understanding is…Is that correct?”
Don’t assume how the person is feeling or what they “should” do. I often say, “don’t let anyone should on you today and/or don’t should on yourself.”
The Empathizer
Empathy is not connecting to an experience; it’s connecting to the emotions that underpin an experience. Sympathy is “feeling for me” and can be perceived as condescending. Empathy is “feeling with me.”
In order for one to be empathetic, it requires seeing the world as others see it, or seeing it from their perspective. Stay away from judgment, not putting our beliefs on how things “should” be onto others. Do your best to understand another person’s feelings and communicate your understanding of that person’s feelings. Be aware of your own feelings and boundaries.
Listening Fatigue
Know that when you really listen it can be tiring, it takes energy. It may also stir up emotions for you or trigger memories of previous experiences. Self-care is an integral part of being an effective listener. Some may say self-care is selfish, especially when others have “got it worse.” Selfish is when you do things that are a detriment to others; self-care is when you have self-interest and are in care of yourself for the benefit of others (and yourself). This is a critically important distinction.
When you are thanked for listening, accept the gift of gratitude, and let them know it was good to know that you have been helpful. This also helps the person not feel like they’ve just burdened you with their “problems.”
When listening and supporting a friend experiencing a mental health difficulty, practice listening as a receiver, not as a critic, and practice to understand the other person rather than to achieve either agreement from, or change in, that person.
“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and to be loved anyhow—this is a human offering that can border on miraculous” – Elizabeth Gilbert
Author: Yvette Murray
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It’s time to talk about mental health in football
The world of professional sports brings to mind scenes of packed stadiums, screaming fans, and lavish contracts for the most celebrated athletes, who display dazzling feats of skill and endurance. But this image of players fulfilling a life’s dream doesn’t always square with reality: the challenges many of them face in maintaining their mental well-being. The truth is, many elite athletes are struggling. Ahead of the 109th Grey Cup, The Catalyst looks at the way organizations like the Saskatchewan Roughriders are joining with others to tackle the issue.
According to a recent study in Psychology of Sport and Exercise, more than 40 per cent of 186 elite national team athletes in Canada “met the cut-off criteria for one or more mental disorders,” with stress and training load being “significant predictors of depression and anxiety.” To understand why, it’s important to acknowledge the realities athletes run into, both on and off the field.
Before reaching professional or top amateur levels, competitors must prove their skills in junior, university, and semi-professional leagues. This often means having to balance their sports aspirations with school, work, and family obligations, not to mention the growing public profile that comes with each success.
“It can be a grind at times,” said Ty Logan, a former university athlete and current professional defenceman with the Albany FireWolves of the National Lacrosse League. “When you’re in school, your weekends are spent travelling on a packed bus between cities, while trying to finish assignments and catching up on the lectures you missed during the week. It’s late nights in the library followed by early mornings at the gym. If you’re not careful with your time, it’s easy to fall behind in one way or another.”
Only as good as your last game
The expectation to perform in the midst of multiple obstacles and responsibilities can be a huge source of stress for young athletes. “You definitely feel the pressure from both sides,” Logan said. “Even when you turn professional, there are no days off, and you never know when it might be your last contract or last game in the league. You have to try to block out the outside world and focus on playing your best.”
This pressure intensifies for emerging athletes with the increasingly slim chances of becoming a professional in any given sport. According to the National Collegiate Athletic Association, around four per cent of all college athletes will reach a professional league or the Olympic level. Even fewer will stay there for more than a handful of games.
When you have a large group of highly motivated, competitive athletes battling for a finite number of spots, with the promise of fortune and fame on the line, it’s easy to see how the pressure can mount for aspiring professional athletes. Add in the need to maintain grades and a part-time job to help pay the bills, and the risk to one’s mental well-being becomes just as clear.
Knowing this, the Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) adapted The Working Mind (TWM) training program to address these issues. TWM Sports modules focus on scenario-based, practical applications for both athletes and coaches which are grounded in the voices of people with lived and living experience of mental illness
Research shows that coaches fulfil multiple roles as motivators, counsellors, advisers, and parental substitutes — all of which require considerable emotional labour. And athletes must fully understand their own mental health — and that of those around them — to maximize their capabilities. To address these requirements, each of these TWM Sports courses provides tools and skills for adverse situations and the ability to support teammates — skills that apply just as much to people in beer and recreational leagues as they do to top athletes.
A nation of athletes
According to a 2016 Statistics Canada poll, 27 per cent of those age 15 and older regularly participate in sports. That’s more than eight million people across the country in some form of sporting activity, with fun, fitness, and physical health cited as the main benefits. But beyond the average individual, the trend shifts. For elite athletes, who dedicate their lives to professional competition, sports can change from a positive influence on physical health to something that puts mental wellness at risk. For instance, when it means sacrificing friendships and one’s personal life to the pursuit of sporting greatness.
This was one of many insights that emerged out of the development process for TWM Sports. The MHCC partnered with the Saskatchewan Roughrider Foundation to pilot the program with players and coaches, along with other elite athletes from Saskatchewan communities.
After Cindy Fuchs, the foundation’s executive director, saw the potential of having a TWM program designed specifically for athletes and coaches, she immediately contacted the MHCC to ask how she and her team could get involved.
“The Roughrider Foundation is dedicated to supporting health, education, and amateur football in our local communities, and the TWM Sports program weaves perfectly into those pillars,” she said. For Fuchs, TWM also aligns with the foundation’s other initiatives, including Win with Wellness and Game Changers Playbook, a collaborative project with the Saskatchewan Ministry of Education to address youth mental wellness in the province.
Throughout the pilot phase, a common thread in the feedback she received from participants was about how impactful the sessions were. “It forced them to reflect on their own mental well-being,” she said. “I think a lot of the players didn’t realize the stress they were going through until they reflected on it.”
By implementing a box-breathing technique from the program into his game-day routines, one kicker was also able to help his on-field performance. And the program also had a positive impact on team morale.
“You can see that the players who have taken the training have a special bond,” Fuchs added. “They know they can be open with each other about how they feel without any judgment.”
It’s this sense of openness — and the de-stigmatization of mental health in sports — that motivated the foundation to spread the word about the program and cover the entire cost of TWM Sports training for all university athletes in Saskatchewan.
Starting with the University of Saskatchewan, all student athletes — regardless of their sport — will have the opportunity to take the program. In addition, all Roughrider players who give presentations for the foundation’s in-school programs will undergo training, allowing them to share the lessons they learned through the course with young people in the community.
“We want as many athletes as possible to have the opportunity to experience this program — it’s that impactful,” Fuchs said. “How cool would it be for a player to be able to tell their coach they aren’t having a good day and not have to worry about being benched or blacklisted? It’s about mutual respect and openness to have this dialogue between the two sides.”
It’s Movember, the month when we focus on men’s mental health and raise awareness and improve mental and physical health outcomes for men around the world. Some show their support with symbolic moustaches, while others lend their voice to the overdue conversation about men’s mental health.
We have long advocated for increased awareness of the unique mental health realities faced by men, who are less likely to recognize, talk about, and seek treatment for their illnesses.
With the right investments, we can turn the tide on men’s mental health, improving outcomes and promoting resiliency along the way.
Here are some of our resources that can help you learn about the issue and share your own story:
Of the estimated 4,000 suicide deaths in Canada each year, close to 75 per cent are men. This resource summarizes the key takeaways from the Mental Health and Suicide Prevention in Men: Evidence Brief. Based on findings from the Evidence Brief, this resource highlights statistics on men’s mental health and suicidal behaviours, factors that contribute to their increased risk of suicide and suicide deaths, subgroups who are at higher risk of suicide, and the potential and observed impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on men’s mental health and suicide. The resource also highlights best and promising suicide prevention practices as well as resources for those looking for further support.
In addition to summarizing the evidence on factors that lead to increased risk of suicide and suicide deaths among men, subgroups that are at higher risk, and the potential and observed impact of COVID-19 on men as it relates to mental health and suicide, this brief will highlight best and promising suicide prevention practices.
People with substance use concerns are among those most likely to report thoughts about suicide, according to our latest Leger poll. While everyone has been affected by stresses brought on by two 5. years of the pandemic, it’s clear that not everyone has been impacted equally. Thoughts of suicide are also more common among youth, ethno-racialized groups and people who are unemployed.
Middle-aged men (40 to 60) die by suicide more than anyone, including young people and women (Statistics Canada, 2019). Men are often socialized not to talk about their emotions. As a result, men as a group may mask their stress and deal with emotional pain through harmful behaviours and actions, and sometimes suicide, instead of seeking help.
Suicide prevention is everyone’s business. Preventing a death by suicide does not always need an expert; it is something we all can do. We can all learn skills to help promote life and help someone struggling with thoughts of suicide. Join the Mental Health Commission of Canada and the Centre for Suicide Prevention as we discuss suicide prevention in the workplace.
Attention around men’s health—particularly mental health—is gaining momentum in Canada. While men and women both live with mental health problems and illnesses, their experiences can be very different. Although rates of mental illness are comparable between men and women, men are less likely to recognize, talk about, and seek treatment for their illness.
Movember is upon us, the campaign that urges men to beat back stigma and conquer shame by opening up about their lived experience of mental illness. There are several platforms that encourage men to be raw and honest, like Michael Landsberg’s Sick Not Weak website, where would-be contributors can share their vulnerability in the name of collective strength.
In 2018, Newfoundland and Labrador’s Burin Peninsula became the first of eight communities to sign on to the Mental Health Commission of Canada’s (MHCC’s) Roots of Hope project — a community-led suicide prevention initiative that aims to prevent suicide with strategies adapted to the local context.
9. Tough Talk
Of the roughly 4,000 suicide deaths in Canada each year, 75 per cent are men. For men between the ages of 15 and 39, suicide is the second leading cause of death (after accidental death). Clearly, we have a lot to talk about.
Author: Mental Health Commission
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A broader term captures the rich diversity within communities. Why we use ‘ACB’ over ‘Black’
This article is part of the Catalyst series called Language Matters.
In early 2021, the Mental Health Commission of Canada adjusted its language guidelines and started using the term African, Caribbean, and Black (ACB) when referring to the diaspora who were often grouped under the heading, “Black.” Prior to the change, Black was broadly applied to anyone with dark skin, regardless of their cultural identity or heritage. Imagine the differences of experience and perceptions between a multigenerational Black Nova Scotian and a newcomer from Gambia.
While my family hails from Barbados, I was born in London (England) and grew up in Montreal. I self-identify as a Black woman, a Canadian, and a Caribbean, and I’m not conflicted by those intersecting titles. On countless occasions, people have attempted to “other” me through comments or questions, now identified as microaggressions. “You speak so well,” one of them said, surprised as if, despite my going to the same schools and receiving the same education since age three, my Blackness would subvert those teachings. My personal favourite is, “Where are you really from?” — because Montreal and London didn’t fit the expected answer.
My Caribbean background has often felt like a cozy place of retreat in the face of this insistence that I am not Canadian. I imagine that for folks born and raised in Canada with parents and grandparents who had the same experience, these questions would be more than frustrating. If you can spend your whole life in a place, be taught at the same schools, eat the same food, and still be considered an outsider, it is like remaining stranded on the ancestral slave ship, belonging neither to the new world nor the old.
Our identities are wrapped up in myriad little and big things that give us definition and grounding. What we are called matters. Those names do more than identify our skin colour. They reflect our experiences and knowledge. I have no idea what it would be like to arrive as an adult in a new country and have to fit into a different, often unwelcoming culture. Nor do I want to maneuver through the expectations of those who assume that this is my reality. Whether here by choice or by birth, we are Canadian. Like my fellow citizens of Italian, German, or other descent, I also proudly enjoy the rich offerings of my Caribbean history.
Setting the tone
I don’t blame people for feeling confused or even frustrated with the evolving use of terms. They are legion and often come with an array of confusing and (at times) contradictory explanations. I spent many years explaining to friends and neighbours that I was not “coloured” but “Black.” Then, some well-meaning collective determined that “people of colour” was acceptable. Years later, after moving through the terms “visible minority” and “racialized communities,” Black Lives Matter blew into the media spotlight with “Black, Indigenous, and People of Colour” (BIPOC). At that time, it had become more important to acknowledge that a disproportionate number of ACB and Indigenous people were being incarcerated and attacked by police or denied access to health care (the list goes on), that their realities were different from others. The debate over the merits of capitalizing the “b” in “Black” is forged in the same social furnace. The use of uppercase is an attempt to recognize the shared history of violence, oppression, creativity, and triumph. Though it may seem like a simple grammatical issue, it covers a host of previously ignored or denied experiences.
These conversations reflect a complex and ever-changing social dynamic. It isn’t as simple as saying, opinions vary, or minds have changed. At their heart they reflect emerging knowledge, a growing awareness. More voices are being heard, and that results in more measures being taken, more information being gathered. Consider how hard it is to talk about the disproportionate police-on-ACB violence when authorities refuse to capture skin colour in their reports. It took a collective of intrepid reporters working nationally to collect, collate, and track how many ACB people had been shot by police before those numbers forced authorities to acknowledge that reality. Armed with the facts — the evidence of racism’s impact — people could suddenly be heard when they said, Don’t call me that. Don’t lump me into a broad group. My experiences are different.
Names matter. Using ACB rather than Black (if preferred) is not a new politically correct affectation. It’s a respectful reflection of the very real and very different experiences of people who may share nothing more than similar skin tones.
Debra Yearwood
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
I used to be a book snob. OK – if I’m honest, there is still something about books that sets my pulse racing, be it their light earthy scents, the textured feeling of the pages between my fingers or the sound of crisp pages rustling as I turn them gently – give me a used bookstore and I will see you in a few hours. I remember when I moved overseas for university, I got a Kindle because it was practical – I couldn’t bring my bookshelves, after all – but I never really loved it. I was always, through and through, a book person.
So, imagine my horror when, in the process of my most recent depressive episode, my concentration got so bad that I couldn’t even read. Books, which before then had been my comfort and my escape, suddenly escaped me entirely. I didn’t know what to do. I was entirely forlorn.
Then a friend suggested that I try audiobooks. I scoffed. I was not the kind of person who listened to audiobooks.
But the thought niggled at the back of my mind. I was missing reading. I was missing learning. I was missing new ideas.
When the opportunity came to try two audiobooks for free, my wife strongly suggested that I try it. (In fact, I think the conversation went something like, “Try it. I am tired of hearing you whine that you miss books. It’s free, so you’re going to pick two books and you’re going to listen to them both to give it a good try. And if it doesn’t work after that, fine.” And like the smart wife that I am, I said “Yes dear.”)
I scoured the catalogue and chose two books that looked interesting, and pressed download.
Don’t tell my wife – she was right.
I couldn’t read my beloved books, but as I laid on the couch unable to get up (due to the depression) I could listen. Those times that I could get up to take a COVID walk around the block, I could listen. If I made it out of my house onto the bus, I could learn new things, I could start new conversations, I could keep my brain active. Audiobooks became a bridge to the cognitive skills that were so much in decline two years into my bipolar depression. They came to bolster my self-esteem at a time when I was convinced that I had become stupid and slow. They became a lifeline and a window out onto the world that seemed so far away.
Now, all audiobooks are not created equal, nor will they work for everybody. For one thing, at 10+ hours for the average book, it needs to interest you, but also the voice, accent and cadence of the narrator must also be appealing (I found that out the hard way!) You also have to be reading the right kinds of books. If you are trying to study or take notes, audiobooks are difficult (or impossible) to notate or reference, so keep that in mind. Finally, there are a variety of shorter self-published essay-type or unedited texts interspersed amongst blockbusters and indie favourites, so make sure you pay attention to what you are spending your credits on. But all in all, the subscriptions and costs of individual books are generally reasonable (depending on how voracious a reader you are) and are usually pretty customizable. My wife and I even share an account, so that we can share books and credits, which helps us make it work.
And just one more thought – they have some great self-help and psychology books available for download. It makes it so easy to round out your library, lift your spirits with a good read and access some useful resources for self-understanding and self-care.
As a former (recovering?) book snob, I think there are far worse things in life than trading your glasses for earphones and enjoying the escape of storytelling once again. Mental illness already robs us of so much of the simple pleasures of life. If there is a way to get some joy back it would be such a waste to deprive ourselves of it. So, take it from my wife: pick two books and listen to them both to give it a good try. And if it doesn’t work for you, fine. And then don’t tell her that she was right. Her head will only swell further.
Author: Jessica Ward-King
