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Financial literacy in these times must encompass emotional awareness, in addition to budgeting skills. This type of education would allow people to consider the intersecting and overlapping factors that inform their decision-making and their futures. This is what the Money & Mental Health series aims to do – inform people about the connections between their wallets and their well-being. This year’s theme is focused on new literacies for new times. So far, we talked about:
o Week One: Consistently talking about inconsistency. Generational preoccupation and disillusionment.
o Week Two: Financial dystopia and distress. What happens when traditional milestones are out of reach and online temptations take people off track?
In this series closer, we delve into tactics for today, organized under ABCs, so that we can find a way to keep our financial anxieties to a minimum in this age of uncertainty.
A—Advice
Everybody’s probably run across at least one “money matters” story that leads with the hopeful notion that some goal, be it home ownership, retirement, or raising a family, isn’t as far out of reach as many people in Canada think. As we scan down the page for the magic advice, the heart starts to sink. It turns out that all our dreams can come true, but only if we happen to have enough spare money lying around to invest in financial products at a rate of about $150 per week.
For anyone struggling to make their minimum payments every month, advice like this doesn’t just miss the mark; it’s also likely to trigger fresh financial anxieties and possibly even a touch of despair. For that reason, it’s important to remember that, when it comes to money, there’s no one-size-fits-all solution, even if that TikTok reel you’re watching is promising easy answers for all people, whether their income is great or small.
A lot of financial advice also offers purely individualistic solutions and fails to mention the many factors that are beyond our control. Everything from where we live to who our parents are and when we were born has a massive impact on how much we’ll earn over a lifetime. It’s much harder for young people to buy a house or raise a family than it was for previous generations, largely due to a few compounding factors: an increasing income gap, more people in Canada engaged in precarious work, and an affordability crisis caused by the rising cost of living.
Given all this, it’s clear that not all financial advice is created equal and that some of the conventional wisdom about saving and budgeting simply doesn’t apply to everyone –– especially not to younger generations.
“If you compare your situation to your parents, you might feel like a failure. It’s just different – that is the difficult part,” says Jessica Moorhouse, whose popular “More Money Podcast” has made her Canada’s “go-to money expert.”
Hustle culture
There are unique challenges facing every generation, but finding a job is high on the list of problems younger adults have today. Currently, youth unemployment is hovering around the rates seen in periods of severe economic crisis, such as the recession after the stock market crash in 2008.
The most recent figures (from July 2025) indicate that the youth unemployment rate (15 to 24 years old) was 12.6 percent, the highest rate since 2010, excluding the first years of the pandemic. That number is based on people who are currently seeking work, as opposed to engaged full-time in a post-secondary program or unable to work for other reasons.
The youth employment rate tells another story, namely that the percentage of younger adults who are actively working has tumbled to less than 54 percent — the lowest level since the late 1990s, when members of Generation X were trying to find a way to get a foot in the door.
There are likely a number of factors in play, notably economic uncertainty related to the imposition of tariffs on some Canadian exports and, in addition, a slowdown in hirings for entry-level jobs that’s the result of speculation that AI (artificial intelligence) may be able to replace some junior positions. Given all this, it’s hardly surprising that some younger adults have begun to feel that developmental milestones, such as home ownership, starting a family, or retirement, are unattainable.
“Gen Z tends to cope with humour and bravado,” says Serena Dawson, a 19-year-old who lives in Ontario and is currently taking a gap year (name changed to protect anonymity). “We are living in a ‘hustle culture’ where a lack of work-life balance is praised. Hashtags about ‘grinding’ are trending, and influencers make videos about their 5 AM to 12 AM workdays, spanning multiple jobs. Other common slang includes ‘hustle,’ ‘grind,’ and ‘get that bread.’”
Dawson continues: “Since so many people are struggling financially, the relatability of these online accounts and the ‘motivational’ conversations about our work ethic help us feel less alone in our anxiety, depression, and lack of sleep.”
The antidote to all of this, she says, is to work on creating community and finding ways to share the experiences and anxieties that come from working 17-hour days and still somehow struggling to pay the rent.
Jessica Moorhouse suggests being candid about the systemic problems that are making it hard for younger folks to make ends meet, but, at the same time, sharing positive things that can give you hope.
“You have to find the silver linings for yourself,” says Moorhouse. “It’s important to try to find something to give you the drive to pursue and improve your financial situation, despite what the world is telling you, and carve your own path. What’s the alternative, giving up?”
B—Boring
Sure, that friend building a social media empire might appear to have discovered a really exciting and glamorous way to get rich overnight, but, in reality, the best paths to financial security often sound pretty dull. That’s why Moorhouse espouses the “get rich slowly” approach.
“Keep it boring, keep it simple,” she says. “That will keep you grounded and keep you on your path. Let me tell you, I’ve talked to a number of people over the years who went to some extremes to achieve FIRE (Financial Independence, Retire Early), only to realize when they finally reached that milestone, they still weren’t happy.”
Moorhouse says that going all-in on becoming a millionaire by the age of 30 might sound great, but it has serious limitations, since it might keep people from pursuing other important things, such as education and/or creating close connections with friends, family, and members of the community. So, instead, work on the basics.
“Make a plan, start investing early, look for low fees,” Moorhouse advises. “Start small, set up that foundation and be consistent – that’s the thing.”
Low fees might sound like a particularly boring topic (even for financial advice), but it’s a crucial and often overlooked aspect of growing a nest egg. Since the fees appear negligible, people overlook factors like the MER (management expense ratio), not realizing that some funds sold through a range of financial institutions have fees high enough to drain any potential for growth. Beat the Bank: The Canadian Guide to Simply Successful Investing, by former banker Larry Bates, provides a thorough overview of the issue, along with tips on finding alternatives.
Although some evidence suggests Gen Z is investing at a younger age than previous generations, any gains made from early investment could be easily undone by buying products that don’t deliver decent dividends. At its core, this is an equity issue, since, statistically, wealthier people get better returns on their investments and, on the flip side, pay lower interest rates. Although this disparity generator is built into the current personal finance system and is hard to avoid, basic financial literacy should be an essential starting point for everyone, so they can grasp just how much money is at stake with high interest rates and fees.
“Financial education isn’t something one receives in public school, but learning about the basics of investment through free resources can open your eyes to many opportunities,” says Serena Dawson. “I know a few people in my generation who invest a small amount of money each month – from $50 to $100, whatever they can spare – and it provides some growth for them.”
One final dull way to beat financial anxieties is to open a “boring business.” Whether it’s a side hustle or a career for life, running a landscaping business, house-cleaning service, or snow-removal company can provide a steady income. None of these services are likely to be automated and replaced by AI anytime soon, either, so it’s a good bet for the future.
C—Carve Your Own Path, Care, Community, Communicate
A recent uptick in interest in boring businesses, as well as Gen Z’s side-hustle culture, might well be the first rumblings of a future boom in entrepreneurship in Canada.
Historically, people who have been locked out of the traditional job market (usually due to discriminatory practices based on gender, ethnicity, disability, sexual identity, or age) have turned to entrepreneurship. Serena Dawson says that one answer to problems in the job market is to redefine work-life.
“Alternative forms of work are very popular with Gen Z,” says Dawson. “Even pursuing a side hustle based on an interest is a way of incorporating joy into work life and makes non-stop work a little more bearable.”
We may also see more people redefining home life, as fewer younger adults can afford to live on their own, even with the recent cooling of the housing market, which has finally seen rental units come down in price.
A recent Maclean’s article, “Why Gen Z Will Never Leave the Nest,” explored the phenomenon of folks staying with their parents and noted that the intriguing thing is that many don’t seem to frame it as a “failure” to launch. Instead, people are celebrating the social support dividends that can come from intergenerational living – as well, of course, as the fact that everyone saves money.
Gen Z has proven frugal in other ways, too. Second-hand shopping and thrifting may look like a quirky trend, but it’s rooted in a move away from spending too much money on environmentally unsustainable products, such as fast furniture that has dominated living rooms and, later, landfills for decades.
All of this, in a way, is about self-care. We may think of self-care as spa days or retail therapy, but the deepest level of self-care is really about making some effort to look after Future You. And it’s a big part of the answer for younger adults who may be worried about AI, trade wars, the rising cost of living, and a bleak job market.
“Practice self-care religiously and unapologetically,” says Serena Dawson. “With limited time to rest, the unaffordable prices of housing, food, and entertainment, it’s hard to take care of ourselves these days.”
Dawson continues: “We’re all under extreme stress, and without government action and legislation created for the common person, we won’t be able to change that reality. So, it’s especially important to care for oneself and each other and to find ways to de-stress.
“Lean on your support system and share a meal with a neighbour; talk to your friends openly and honestly; turn to your faith for guidance. And for the love of all things holy, nourish your body! In a world that divides and isolates us, the most important thing we can do is to care for ourselves and to build community.”
Author: Christine Sismondo contributes to the national conversation on policy and ideas as a writer and researcher.
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At 19, Gavin Oregan had a gambling problem, even though he didn’t realize it until he was more than $30,000 in debt. He had money in the bank when he moved to Ottawa from Whitby, Ont., to attend school, and had always been responsible and disciplined about working part-time, earning, and saving money.
But away from home and surrounded by friends who gambled online, Oregan found the lure of betting sites on his phone irresistible. “It wasn’t even so much about the money,” he says, of his habitual sleep-depriving and wallet-draining sports gambling. As someone who struggles with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, Oregan says it was the high of winning that kept him hooked and “chasing that feeling.”
Now 21, and studying journalism at Algonquin College, Oregan says he was in a dark and isolated place back then. “None of my friends knew,” he says. “It ruined me.”
It was his father, who had access to his son’s banking information, who saw the shocking numbers and drove five hours to tell Gavin in person that he was in trouble. Then, Oregan accepted that he had an illness.
With help, Oregan overcame his addiction. “I am very fortunate,” he says now, to have a father willing to intervene and get his son back on course financially and emotionally. He says he wants to share his story in hopes that other young people in a similar situation will relate and reach out for help.
“Don’t be afraid to admit the problem and go talk to someone,” he advises. A therapist guided him to understand how his ADHD interfered with his decision-making moment to moment. He learned cognitive tools to get through the times when the craving for the adrenaline rush of gambling becomes overwhelming.
“I do get the urge. It lasts 20 seconds,” Oregan says. He found tools to use during those times. “The therapist said, ‘phone someone,’ do something else.’”
Gavin Oregan says it wasn’t even about the money. “I was chasing that feeling.” Debt, gambling, and anxiety are weighing heavily on Gen Z—caught between economic pressures and digital temptations that older generations never faced.
Oregan has found the support he received from both his therapist and people he’s met at the weekly meeting of Gamblers Anonymous invaluable. He works part-time as a grocery store manager and, with the help of his family, has been able to pay off most of his debt. Now, he’s trying to maintain a more balanced lifestyle and tries to take breaks between working and worrying about having enough money. Keeping busy with school, work, and going to the gym has been useful, but Oregan says he realizes now, “you can’t be busy all the time.”
Financial traps
According to research done by Gaming, Gambling and Technology Use (GGTU), part of the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) education department, “Young people aged 10 to 24 years have higher rates of problem gambling than adults.”
Through social media, young people are more exposed to new forms of gambling content than older people. The “high” of winning may help alleviate anxiety and depression in the short term, but it can lead to mental health issues if not recognized as an addiction.
Studies have shown that males in particular are susceptible to advertising and peer pressure encouraging them to engage in sports betting of the kind that hooked Oregan.
The impact on mental health can be severe, according to research. One study showed that adolescents with gambling problems have also been found to have significantly higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts than non-gamblers and social gamblers.
Interventions are crucial. As Oregan recognizes, he was lucky to have a family that confronted him about his problem and helped him get his debts paid and find effective interventions such as therapy and peer-group support.
It isn’t just easy access to online gambling that is getting more young adults into financial trouble. The increasing gap between wages and the cost of living, along with high youth unemployment rates and a lack of affordable housing, makes it easier than ever to get into debt.
As of 2025, approximately 56 percent of Canadian youth aged 18 to 29 are projected to carry some form of debt, revealing significant insights into the financial landscape of young Canadians, according to a 2024 Statistics Canada report by James Gauthier and Carter McCormack.
The cost of carrying debt has also increased for young people, according to Gauthier and McCormack. “Among those less than 35 years of age, the ratio of interest costs to disposable income rose 2.4 percentage points to 9.7 percent in 2023.
Essentially, young households spent 10 cents of every dollar earned towards servicing their debt, up from around seven cents in 2022.
Student loans, credit card debt, and personal loans are the most common types of debt among young people, according to the report. It is simply harder for young people to make ends meet today; anxiety goes along with economic uncertainty at any age, but it is particularly acute for young adults with less financial literacy, who are trying to build their lives on a solid financial foundation.
The findings echo the experiences and outlook of young people like Serena Dawson (not her real name), who is taking a gap year at age 19, as she tries to plan her future under circumstances vastly different than those of older generations, whose advice she finds outdated.
“By the time they reached their mid-20s, our parents and grandparents were settling into jobs that they would keep for decades, planning to buy homes, and starting families,” Dawson observes. “Now, young adults work part-time jobs well into their 20s and 30s, even if they have a post-secondary education. Buying a home is simply not possible for most with rising housing costs and day-to-day expenses taking over people’s entire budgets – so we continue to rent, without the opportunity to invest in property.”
Dawson also points out that economic uncertainty is causing many more young people to delay or forego parenthood altogether. Mental health can suffer when expectation and reality are so dramatically far apart.
Oregan agrees with Dawson – Gen Z is struggling. “A hundred per cent of young people are feeling the pinch,” he says of his friends and fellow students, who often work two or more part-time jobs while trying to pursue post-secondary education. “Everyone’s tired.”
Tuition, public transportation, and housing costs keep increasing, while wages do not. “I look at the cost of living and I don’t think I’ll ever own a home,” says Oregan.
Finding solutions
Helping young people navigate the tricky world of personal finance in difficult economic times will require action on many levels. Statistics Canada’s report suggests it’s going to take “financial education, accessible debt relief options, and supportive policies from both the government and financial institutions.”
Despite all the financial challenges young people face, Oregan says he tries not to be too pessimistic about the future and feels hopeful about pursuing his career goals in sports journalism. He supports efforts to lower housing and public transit costs for students. He also wishes that sports organizations would re-examine their gambling policies to keep fans from falling into dangerous betting habits.
Most of all, he’d like to see mental-health support and therapy become more accessible and affordable to people in his age group. “It really does help to open up and talk to someone.”
Further reading: New Literacies for New Times: Money and mental health are intrinsically linked.
Guide: Where to Get Mental Health Care in Canada: A guide to Navigating Public and Private Options.
Resources:
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When we first launched the Money and Mental Health series in 2023, we underlined the link between our pockets and our perspectives. Then, the focus was the housing crisis and the rising cost of living—issues that remain just as pressing in 2025. Add to that fresh anxieties about artificial intelligence and tariffs reshaping both the job market and our bank accounts.
To better understand the issues, The Catalyst is examining four themes over four weeks, emphasizing the tools needed for individuals to cope with their money worries and mental health challenges. We speak to experts on the two topics—and sometimes, those people are one and the same.
In some jurisdictions, financial therapists are certified in both wealth-building and the emotional aspects of budgeting, or to support linked issues such as gambling. Elsewhere, some financial professionals have jumped into therapeutic practice – and many mental health clinicians are incorporating financial issues into their practices.
In Canada, Jessica Moorhouse touches on the emotional aspects of money in her book Everything but Money: The Hidden Barriers Between You and Financial Freedom (Collins, 2024), which offers hopeful and helpful tips. The author and Certified Financial Counsellor is known as a millennial money expert, which, she says, used to connote “young person,” but not so much now as that cohort edges into their 40s. Their entry into and through adulthood has always been beset by challenges.
“It can feel like we’re having the same conversations,” she says. “It’s hard to pinpoint a time when things were not chaotic – it’s a generation that is getting used to a state of constant change with a baseline of anxiety.”
Jessica Moorhouse, author and Certified Financial Counsellor, focuses on wallets and well-being and what happens when they collide.
In recent years, there has been a global pandemic, rising costs of living, stagnating wages, geopolitical uncertainty, and tariffs, to name a few things. “We’ve been consistently talking about inconsistency since 2020,” Moorhouse notes, saying that millennials, in particular, are primed to wonder when the next big global shift is going to hit them.
For Gen Z, these experiences are baked in, and they have an extensive associated vocabulary, Moorhouse says. Consider the term “Menty B,” used widely on social media. “This is freaky to have shorthand slang for a mental breakdown,” she says. “That’s a concern – that it’s just normal to have anxiety, or to not be able to get up in the morning. There is a sense that you’re supposed to laugh it off, make a TikTok, and go to work.”
It carries a sense of solidarity among a generation struggling with financial disillusionment. They believe the system is broken because wages are not keeping up with the cost of living, and housing prices are too high.
It’s a heavy burden. Research indicates that economic conditions and related factors, including unemployment and poverty, can significantly impact suicide rates. Moorhouse highlights a study from the UK-based Money and Mental Health Policy Institute, which shows that 46 percent of people in debt have a mental health issue, and 86 percent of survey participants said their financial situation worsened their mental health problems and led to increased stress and anxiety. Likewise, 18 percent of individuals with mental health issues fall into debt, with 72 percent reporting that their mental health problems worsened their financial situation, creating a never-ending cycle.
Serena Dawson (a pseudonym), 19, observes some of these issues within her social circle. She lives in a major city in Ontario and is taking a gap year while working multiple jobs. She and many of her friends consider retirement a myth because of the astronomical cost of living and wages that don’t cover shelter expenses in nearly every city in Canada; they feel that policymakers are unaware of how to reform the system to benefit young people.
“Most young adults have at least three jobs, and I know people with up to six jobs,” she says. “One job doesn’t provide enough to meet basic needs, so people supplement with additional part-time jobs, contract work, and operating side hustles such as baking businesses out of their homes.”
Working all the time with competing commitments leaves little time for socializing or sleep, she says. “The toll on mental health is heavy. Conversations about anxiety, depression, and chronic health issues are everyday occurrences.”
Hustle, anxiety, repeat
The usual antidote to economic woes has traditionally been self-improvement. However, for many, traditional paths to advancement — like higher education — no longer feel worthwhile. Degrees don’t always guarantee jobs or stability, raising doubts about whether the investment pays off.
This confluence of conditions is something seemingly distinct to Generation Z. Psychology Today characterized this generation’s grief as one about unattainable developmental milestones, such as starting a family, owning a home, or retiring with financial stability.
“The disappearance of additional cultural anchor points, such as affordable education, a shared sense of truth, and community cohesion, only deepens the distress.”
For millennials, there was a different framing of their challenges with putting bread on the table.
“It was annoying to see the characterization that we’re lazy, avocado-toast-over spenders,” Moorhouse says. “We have three jobs! If we weren’t going to figure it out, we wouldn’t have three jobs – we would just give up.”
In this regard, traditional financial advice falls flat. This generation and those that follow are inheriting a different set of rules than their parents or grandparents did.
“Boomers, especially, did have a lot of privilege and gains on their homes,” Moorhouse notes, “and they took it as a baseline – as if everyone can afford a house or get a job at an executive level without advanced degrees. There was a big shift after that generation. You just can’t get that anymore.”
From debt to despair and back again – rethinking financial advice
The idea for this series grew out of young people’s perspectives—those finishing high school, launching careers, or trying to find footing in a shifting economy. Their common refrain: financial dystopia and distress. Stable jobs, home ownership, and retirement feel out of reach, with early setbacks snowballing into lifelong hurdles. Economists call this “scarring.” We ask: What are the mental health impacts, and what policy shifts are needed?
Whether you view artificial intelligence as an opportunity or an extinction event, its propulsion marks an inflection point in our society, and its impacts on the job market are playing out in real time. How do we build resilience—personally and collectively—while weaving psychological health and safety into economic policy?
As the world changes, what advice and tips do we need now? How can financial literacy be connected to emotional awareness as linked concepts? We ask practitioners and people with lived experience for their strategies.
Watch for the entire series published in October and November 2025 for Financial Literacy Month in The Catalyst, the magazine of the Mental Health Commission of Canada. Follow us on LinkedIn to see new articles and resources.
Further reading: Housing First – What’s Next?
Resource: Mental Health and the High Cost of Living Policy Brief
Author: Fateema Sayani doesn’t overspend on avocado toast. She makes her own at home and researches and writes regularly in The Catalyst.
There were so many people waiting to meet Max, but only his father and I got to see and hold him. For his older brother Henry, our extended family and friends, and especially for his younger brother, Simon—who came later—it could easily feel like Max didn’t exist. But he did exist. Max was born on August 30, 2014.
Eleven years ago, Krista Beneš was a working mom with a healthy two-year-old and a busy life. Her second pregnancy was progressing exactly as expected until Krista noticed a decrease in the baby’s movement.
My OBGYN did a quick scan. We saw the baby moving, and I felt reassured. Later that week, though, something continued to bother me. I remember driving to the Ottawa Civic Hospital to have it checked out. My husband, Kris, offered to come, but he was working, and I’d already started maternity leave. I said I’d call him after we got the all-clear.
When an ultrasound didn’t detect the baby’s heartbeat, I went into shock. I couldn’t fathom how the outcome we’d imagined—this vision of our healthy baby and the life we’d have together—could be taken away so abruptly. Kris rushed to my side. The induction commenced, and I laboured, listening to other babies being born, knowing I would never hear Max’s cries. The delivery process took two days.
We’d spent weeks preparing Max’s room, painting a navy-and-white accent wall, arranging all the cozy touches. Everything was set to welcome him home. Instead, Max was born still at 38 weeks.
Kris and I held him for what felt like only a few fleeting moments. Our hospital room was marked with a butterfly to signify what had happened. A volunteer photographer came, which struck me at the time as a terrible idea—why would somebody want to take photos of my dead baby? But now, I cherish those remembrance portraits. Max was loved. He still is.
Big brothers Simon and Henry pay tribute to Max.
You move so quickly, from expecting to celebrate a brand-new baby to planning their funeral. Kris and I had never even thought about where we were going to be buried. Now, we had to decide for Max. The situation tested our spiritual beliefs in an impossibly immediate way. All I knew for sure was that I couldn’t leave my baby all alone.
We found a place with Max’s great-grandparents, not far from where I grew up. It is a familiar space, close enough to home. With the support of family and friends, we got through it. There were weeks and weeks of meal drop-offs, flower deliveries, house-cleaning services, good thoughts, and warm wishes.
A network of support
My first priorities were healing my body and caring for Henry. When he was in daycare, I cried and slept. When he was home, I rallied myself to play with him, so his mommy wasn’t completely overtaken by the dark cloud of sorrow.
After about six weeks, a grief group opened up through Roger Neilson House (now called Roger Neilson Children’s Hospice). Kris and I signed up together. That’s where we learned it was okay to share Max’s photos, okay to talk about him. It was important to understand that we could include Max as part of our family and bring his memory into our day-to-day.
Carol Openshaw, who co-facilitated the bereaved parents’ group, noticed that families whose children had died in infancy sometimes didn’t return after the first session. She suspected those parents—who never got to know their child—found it hard to relate to parents who’d had years to watch their children grow. Disenfranchised grief is incredibly isolating, so Carol initiated a peer-support program to help match people whose experiences mirrored one another. That’s how I met Julia Winslow. Her son, Carter, was born still at 38 weeks, just like Max.
You can’t imagine the difference it makes to have someone you can text: I just walked past the diaper aisle and now I’m crying, and they get exactly how you feel. Even now, Julia continues to be an important touchstone in my life.
When Julia left the hospital after Carter’s stillbirth, she got a pamphlet on suicide prevention. That’s it. The leaflet validated the emotional severity of losing a child, but it didn’t come close to meeting her needs. Over the past decade, Julia has helped narrow that resource gap by taking on a leadership role with the Butterfly Run, which supports Ottawa families who’ve experienced loss during pregnancy and infertility. They’ve helped thousands of people, and the run has spread to communities like Vancouver, Kelowna, Nanaimo and Whistler.
Thanks to these and other ongoing efforts, a wide range of resources has been developed to support families across Canada. The stigma of losing a child used to mean people hid themselves away. Now, people are finding one another in ways that are healing and affirming.
Krista Beneš recently made a career change as Manager of Prenatal Screening and Complex Perinatal Portfolio at the Better Outcomes Registry & Network (BORN).
Cherished memories
When I became pregnant again, with our son Simon, anxieties naturally arose. Along with physical concerns, there were also nagging worries like, ‘What if everyone forgets about Max?’
Henry helped alleviate that fear when he first took part in his school’s annual Terry Fox Run. Each student was given the chance to dedicate their run to someone, and Henry’s tribute card read, “Terry ran for me, I am running for Max.” I was so proud. Henry’s tribute made me think we must be doing something right, teaching our boys that they can remember their brother.
Other people remember Max, too. Loved ones still call or text me on his birthday. It means a lot. I’m not suggesting that everyone needs to do this, but the shared acknowledgement feels supportive to me.
With each passing year, our love for Max grows more layered, and his mattering in our family never wavers. Earlier this year, I saw a job posting that asked, “Are you passionate about improving the health outcomes for pregnant individuals and their babies?”
I felt this pull. I’d been at the Mental Health Commission of Canada for nine years and loved it, but who better to contribute to an understanding of how we could do this than someone who’s experienced the most devastating outcome of all?
Now, after taking a big professional leap, I’m surrounded by a team of incredibly bright, passionate individuals who are all working towards the vision of ensuring the best possible beginnings for lifelong health. What a great way to honour Max’s legacy.
As told to Jessica Waite, a best-selling author and award-winning essayist who writes frequently about grief – and hope.
Resources:
- At the Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support Centre, the practitioner team consists of bereaved parents whose direct experiences have led them into counselling and coaching work.
- Aditi Lovering, founder of PILSC, says their intention is to meet people where they are: no matter how long it’s been since the loss, no matter how far along the pregnancy was, no matter if the bereaved person isn’t the parent who conceived the child. PILSC offers peer support, professional support, comfort boxes, and online resources.
- Lesley Sabourin says Roger Neilson Children’s Hospice also recognizes that grandparents, siblings, and extended family members can benefit from grief support. They’ve expanded their services to meet those needs and refer many Ontarians to the Pregnancy and Infant Loss Network.
- For bereaved parents still trying to build their families, Roger Neilson Children’s Hospice offers a program called Pregnancy After Loss Support and recommends org for people without direct access to the program.
- The hospice also lists other resources on its website.
- Krista recommends the book We Were Gonna Have a Baby, but We Had an Angel Instead for young children who have lost a sibling.
- Where to Find Mental Health Care in Canada: The Commission compiled a guide to obtaining private and public mental health services.
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As I languished during the isolation of the pandemic in March 2020, I was forced to live in the present.
Moment of Impact, June 2020
I was luckier than most when the global pandemic erupted in early 2020. I had a car, and I lived near the country. I was still deeply impacted by the necessary isolation, and as the weeks dragged on a sense of lethargy, maddening boredom and loneliness began to creep around me.
The snow soon thawed, and I took to my car for refuge. When I’m driving, even to 7/11 for snacks, it’s like I’m doing something, going somewhere. This illusion kept me grounded during a time where life seemed so desolate.
As the eerie stillness gnawed at me, my drives grew longer. I discovered places where I could sit, breathe, and observe nature. I noticed things as I drove, and soon I began to pull over when I saw something appealing, whipping out my phone and hopping out of the car while it was still running.
Spring bloomed into summer, and I spent my days driving listlessly and taking pictures. Slowly, my cameras accumulated in the passenger seat, and a new habit was born. My car and cameras became my closest companions, and I started to use photography to truly experience “living in the moment.”
The photos weren’t extraordinary –– a tree shrouded in the mist, its bare branches swaying; a bright orange sun reflected in a silent stream –– but I didn’t photograph these things because they were profound. They grounded me in the present, which was new to me.
I’m a planner. I need to know what’s next, to map every step forward meticulously. I’ll often enter a perfectly planned stage of my life without giving myself time to revel in my accomplishment before I start planning my next move.
That being said, the forced stagnancy imposed in 2020 stressed me out. Not knowing what was next, just not knowing made me tense and distracted.
Before, when I began taking photos more seriously, I’d photograph things in a clean-cut, symmetric sort of way. If there was a silhouette, I’d frame it in the centre. I required perfect days, and the photo would need to be what my eyes saw exactly, not creatively framed, or abstract at all. Once, my sister told me my photos looked like Google Image results, that if she searched a location photos like mine would appear, and that nothing about them was unique.
This annoyed me then, but now I get it. My photos were too poised, plastic even. Totally lacking in originality.
This period of my life enabled me to appreciate living near the country. Anytime the elements shifted, orienting themselves in a way that grabbed me, I’d head in the direction of that ephemeral muse. I began capturing moments with a transformed perspective and objective.
One morning, a fog blanketed the ground. I jumped in my car and drove deeper into the country, taking pictures of cows grazing, sprawling farmlands, birds swooping low over the river. I also did this during a lightning storm, after a heavy rainfall, and in the hour before sunset and sunrise nearly every day. I focused on what I could see, hear, and sometimes touch. I carried this new skill with me, and I genuinely believe that I am a better photographer and artist altogether.
When I had no future to predict or curate, I had the present. I had what was around me all along, and I’ve managed to immortalize it in a way I never could before. Instead of trying to capture something that seemed authentic, I began to take pictures of moments as they happened.
Now, as I adjust to my new normal –– living in a different city, embracing new experiences, meeting new people –– I can actually enjoy the present instead of trying to predict the future.
The anxiety about the future is still there, but it’s dulled by the realization that one day the future will be the present and I’ll have been busy making the most of it, cultivating perspective which will benefit me today and forever.
Author: Aishah Khan
A recent writing and communications student who is slowly settling into her niches of feminism, mental health awareness and editorial writing. She is an avid reader and media consumer, and one of her all-time favourite books is A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. In her spare time, Aishah can either be found drawing or painting in the winter, and camping, canoeing and swimming in the summer.
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Founder Taryn Ellens’ tech startup came together from a confluence of systems-level observations, lived experience, and persistent gaps that weren’t being addressed, especially in First Nations communities in the Yukon.
Ainome—pronounced like “I know me” is a mental wellness organization in Whitehorse that supports overlooked communities with “a sustained effort to reimagine how tech can reflect lived realities in underserved communities,” says Ellens, who is also a PhD neuroscience researcher at the University of Alberta.
In 2022, Ellens was working as a youth clinical counsellor when she realized that artificial intelligence tools could help identify gaps in her field and issues related to accessing care. The more she examined the data, the more she observed that traditional Western approaches to mental health were not working in many Indigenous communities.
Whitehorse along the Yukon River. Photo: AscentXmedia.
Covering the distance
“In these isolated communities, the lack of access to health services is compounded by the emotional toll of their geographic isolation,” Ellens wrote in late 2024 in the Yukon News. “Most of these areas are located far from urban centres, where mental health care is typically concentrated. The burden of travel, both financial and emotional, prevents many people from accessing the care they need.”
Geography is one part of the issue. “Historical trauma continues to have a profound impact on First Nations’ mental health. Colonial practices, such as residential schools and the forced suppression of Indigenous cultures, have directly caused intergenerational trauma. This trauma, combined with systemic discrimination and forced disconnection from traditional lands, has created a mental health crisis that mainstream services have often failed to address adequately.”
Tech support
Yukon dedicated the largest share of its federal bilateral health funding to mental health, according to a 2024 Canadian Mental Health Association report. The investment is designed to complement wellness and substance use strategies to address high rates of self-harm and deaths. Ellens says these investments help to boost what’s happening locally.
After three years of examining mental health access gaps for First Nations people, Ellens began to design a mental health index – a collection of data that includes numerous social determinants of health (the non-medical influences on our health) and their links to accessing mental health supports. For example, housing is considered a social determinant of health. If you have stable housing, you are in a better position to care for your mental health and access services than if you lack shelter.
The index is nestled into a larger vision—one of a dynamic, community-owned tool designed to surface what mainstream systems might miss regarding non-medical indicators, along with indicators of wellness and cultural practices, such as access to Elders and availability of ceremonial activities. It’s less about scoring or grading and more about making invisible patterns visible to support a self-determined strategy.
Ellens and her team develop models that interpret layered, anonymized data sets drawn from online mental wellness tools. By detecting subtle patterns, such as indicators of distress or early shifts in wellness, the models help decision-makers anticipate mental health trends, even in contexts where formal diagnostic data is limited. The goal is to support proactive responses, including culturally grounded approaches such as land-based healing, traditional storytelling, and community gatherings. All data remains fully anonymized and under the governance of First Nations communities.
In widening the lens on what defines wellness, Ellens wants to invite Indigenous knowledge systems into the mental health field. Part of that means confronting the shortcomings of traditional talk therapy and harnessing technology to support positive outcomes and approaches to care – something clients have been asking for.
“Instead of a deficit-based model, focused on what is wrong, technology can be used to look back at what factors were in place in order to move toward a rehabilitation narrative,” she says.
“Even a basic term like ‘trauma recovery’ implies that when you have ‘recovered’ you are no longer affected by the trauma, but that’s not true,” she says, noting that the act of talking it out can be re-traumatizing for some, but it may work for others, depending on the context. “Sometimes it’s more about talking about successes and mapping out how resilience happens to gain insights,” she says. To account for this approach, Ainome’s tools ask questions to develop additional options for existing therapeutic modalities.
Taryn Ellens founded Ainome – pronounced “I know me” to support self-determined strategies for mental health and wellness in Indigenous communities. Photo: Manu Keggenhoff.
New approaches to therapy
A shift in approach is one way of adopting and adapting mental health in Indigenous communities; another is improving access through online resources, which can make a difference between having and not having care, particularly in geographically remote communities. Virtual counselling was very appealing to Colbi Mike; it was the first place she looked when searching for a new therapist.
Mike was looking for a way to bridge cultural teachings from her Indigenous background with standard mental health approaches. The 27-year-old is from Poundmaker Cree Nation in Saskatchewan and is the first generation in her family to grow up outside of the residential school system. Mike sits on the Youth Council of the Mental Health Commission of Canada, offering insights on addressing barriers to maternal mental health and the effects of oppression on Indigenous peoples.
“I grew up with different teachings – go to Elders, do ceremony, be with family,” Mike says. “So, when I first started seeing a therapist when I was very young, it felt like an internal struggle, like I was betraying someone,” she says. She started to move from in-person to online therapy to find an approach that would meet her needs. She says it took a bit of work to ensure the services would be covered under her health plan, and the get-to-know-you sessions felt a bit slow. However, once things ramped up, Mike felt that she hit a stride with her current practitioner.
“We had a lot to say to each other,” she says. “I’m an info-intake person, and my therapist is willing to share her personal experience in connection with mine, as she has children too.”
Online therapy offers other opportunities, Mike notes. “Being in the comfort of my own home, I’m able to smudge,” she says. “Having a space that I’m able to cleanse myself, before and after therapy, has been really important to me.”
As practitioners and organizations seek to improve access to mental health, considerations are being made for data sovereignty, online safety, and culturally appropriate care, while also considering what innovations are possible, such as through the work of Ainome and other startups, that make space for culture and connection.
It’s a chance to imagine better, Ellens says. “Ainome was born from frustration with existing systems that weren’t telling the full story around mental wellness and Indigenous self-determination, and with the hope that we could use technology in ways that heal rather than harm. Our work is about co-creating tools that reflect lived experience and community-led definitions of care.”
Taryn Ellens will present at the Electronic Mental Health Collaborative’s (eMHIC) 10th annual congress in Toronto, November 19-21. This year’s theme is Global Mental Health Equity: Digital Solutions for an Interconnected World. Find the full list of speakers here.
Dayanti Karunaratne runs the family farm in rural Hawaii and takes a keen interest in food sovereignty when not researching and writing on topics of human interest.
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Older adults are more likely to suffer from social isolation and loneliness is increasingly being recognized as being bad for our health. The good news is that mattering and belonging can flip the script. Our series explores these and other related concepts.
Some get frustrated by the feeling of “invisibility” that many older adults experience. Others, though, consider it their super-power.
“The feeling of being invisible comes up in the hit show Matlock, with Kathy Bates, where she says that, as women get older, they ‘become damn near invisible’,” says Dr. Gordon Flett, Honorary President of the Canadian Psychological Association 2024-2025 and former York University Canada Research Chair. “And then she goes on to say that she can use that to her advantage because people don’t see her coming.”
Not everyone is able to find a silver lining in the cloud of invisibility, probably because “feeling seen” is an important part of feeling like you matter to the world around you. And “mattering” is important to our well-being, according to Flett’s research, which has shown that feeling like you matter is associated with resiliency. Conversely, “anti-mattering” is connected to stigma, discrimination, psychological distress, depression, and loneliness. “Feeling invisible to others is at the heart of anti-mattering,” says Flett.
Although some older men complain that they feel invisible on occasion, the phenomenon is so widely felt for women over 50 that it’s been dubbed the “Invisible Woman Syndrome.” What this suggests is that stigma for older adults isn’t only a matter of age. We also experience age stigma in relation to our intersectional identities—class, ethnicity, gender, religious beliefs, and other identity markers.
Kathy Bates stars as the brilliant septuagenarian Madeline Matlock in drama series, MATLOCK, inspired by the classic television series of the same name. Madeline achieved success in her younger years and decides to rejoin the work force at a prestigious law firm, where she uses her unassuming demeanor and wily tactics to win cases and expose corruption from within. Photo: Brooke Palmer/CBS via Getty Images.
Who turned on the cloaking device?
For this reason, Dr. Susan Braedley, Professor at Carleton University’s School of Social Work, says that, after fifteen years of studying long-term care and age-friendly communities in national and international research projects, one of her teams’ key findings is that inclusivity must guide the planning and designing for care homes, retirement communities, and programming for older adults.
“We’ve seen a lot of promising practices,” says Dr. Braedley. “And then we’ve seen some things to avoid, things that caused great distress to older adults.”
For example, she recalls a day program designed for people with mild cognitive impairment in a Canadian community where many residents’ first language was Mandarin. Personal support workers didn’t speak Mandarin, and the activities all assumed that participants were familiar with mainstream Canadian customs and holidays.
“If you think you’re supposed to know the answers but don’t, it can be really confusing, because you start to think your memory is worse than it is,” Dr. Braedley explains. “The program produced a lot of anxiety. It was supposed to reduce social isolation for people living with dementia and, actually, I think it was having the opposite effect. Cut-and-paste programs don’t work.”
It’s not all bad news, though. In the course of her research, Dr. Braedley observed scores of programs that were culturally appropriate, community-based, and well-designed for the actual participants. And, in those spaces, Dr. Braedley witnessed and, herself, felt, a lot of joy. One of her many favourites was a program offered at the 519, a non-profit agency in Toronto that serves 2SLGBTQI+ communities. This program matched younger volunteers from the community with older adults experiencing loneliness.
“The older people had amazing experiences, sometimes just by having someone to help them negotiate the city when they were feeling uncertain about being out on their own,” she says. “But what was so interesting is that many of the younger people were working remotely and were saying, ‘We’re lonely, too. We’re isolated’.”
Eddy Elmer, a Vancouver gerontologist and research consultant specializing in aging and mental health, says that older people from 2SLGBTQI+ communities are far more likely to be socially isolated and lonely.
“Some of it’s just because it’s a smaller population base, so it’s harder to meet people or find a partner,” says Elmer. “LGBT people over the age of 70 also grew up at a time when being gay was highly stigmatized. It was illegal, it was criminalized, and it was pathologized, so they’re more afraid of being rejected and discriminated against.”
Elmer fears that we’re taking steps backwards now, with changes in our online climate, and a general rise in anti-2SLGBTQI+ sentiment. As such, he warns that risks are on the rise, particularly for transgender older adults.
The mysterious case of the vanishing older adult
Older people experiencing income insecurity, homelessness, incarceration, or pre-existing depression all tend to be more vulnerable, as are older men who have recently experienced a life transition, such as retirement. Some attribute this to the fact that, broadly speaking, women have larger social networks. When men stop working, by contrast, many lose their most important social space.
For many, though, it’s also about a shift in self-perception and a loss of identity.
“People are saying to me, ‘I was a high school principal, or a professor, or a lawyer and I had all these different roles and identities’,” says Dr. Raza Mirza, Director, National Partnerships for HelpAge Canada. “And then they retire, and their perception is that ‘Now all I’m seen as is as an older person and we’re all kind of lumped into this one big group. That’s my identity now’.”
One of Mirza’s many research projects aimed at helping older adults is a study with Men’s Sheds Canada of called “Men’s Sheds,” a program designed to help people establish new roles as mentors in society and connect and engage with other men of all ages.
“The idea is to empower older men,” he says. “It’s also about health promotion, though, because they can talk to one another through life transitions, share resources and share information that impacts the mental and physical well-being of older men.”
That could have a serious impact given that, simple preventative measures and screening can make a big difference when it comes to the social, mental, and physical health of older adults. Hearing aids and eyeglasses, for example, are a low-intervention way to reduce social isolation and improve well-being.
“Sensory loss is very important because many older adults have hearing or vision problems,” says Dr. Fereshteh Mehrabi, post-doctoral research fellow in Concordia University’s department of psychology. “Dramatic hearing loss is much more prevalent among men than women and, often, they choose not to even try to communicate of socialize at all because it seems like too much of a bother, which can contribute to frailty over time, as reduced communication and social engagement may lead to physical decline and isolation.”
Seen, heard, and invited to the party
There’s some debate about why older men experience hearing loss, but there’s little doubt as to why many older men don’t want to use a hearing aid, namely, because that’s associated with older people. In other words, people often choose to withdraw from the world rather than deal with age stigma. (Incidentally, the new generation of hearing aids are far more discreet, and the tech allows users to do neat things like tune out ambient noise to focus on the person speaking, which, if you think about it, sounds like a good superpower to have).
Older women aren’t immune to hearing problems, but, by the numbers, Mehrabi says that, for women, screening for and preventing frailty should be the top priority. Women are far more likely to experience frailty than men and her recent study, published in Age and Ageing found that, over a long-term period, frailty leads to social isolation and loneliness, perhaps for the simple reason that it’s harder to go out and join in social and physical activities. It doesn’t help that, even though women’s fitness is a massive growth industry, there are plenty of cultural and systemic barriers keeping older women from building muscle with good diets and resistance exercises.
“The perfect neoliberal older person has enough money to last them the rest of their life and is using their Fitbit to keep them active and healthy,” says Dr. Braedley. “The idea is that we have so much control and we can keep ourselves healthy if we eat right and do all the good things. Which is ridiculous because we all die.”
“Many, many people, and disproportionately women, don’t fall into that model of the perfect, self-reliant, older person,” she adds. “So, I think it’s about that. I think it’s about classism, sexism, racism, and ableism all combined.”
Back to those invisible women, it’s important to note that it can feel like a superpower for some, but it’s damaging to others. “The older person who feels invisible and comes from a marginalized background will not see being invisible as having any sort of benefit,” says Flett. “For folks experiencing co-occurring injustice, inequity and invisibility, that’s a very painful combination.”
That makes it everyone’s responsibility to find a way to make people secure in the knowledge that they matter—no matter what their age.
Author: Christine Sismondo is a Toronto writer who hopes to one day live with friends in a communal living project modelled after The Golden Girls. We still need a cheerful character like Rose Nyland to join the collective and entertain us with her stories. And, it almost doesn’t need saying, but Kathy Bates is always welcome!
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Older adults are more likely to suffer from social isolation. Loneliness is increasingly being recognized as being bad for our health. The good news is that mattering and belonging can flip the script. Our series explores these and other related concepts.
“I think I was 50 the first time a younger person in the office asked me when I was going to retire,” recalls Pamela, a 62-year-old government employee who lives in Edmonton. “He said it was high time people like me got out of the way to make room for people like him.”
Pamela, a pseudonym to protect her identity, has worked for the same department since the mid-1990s. She’s qualified, knows all the ins and outs and, according to her, actually trained her last two bosses for roles she applied for. She never even got an interview. She recently filed a workplace discrimination complaint against her employer, because she believes she’s the victim of ageism.
“Being constantly passed over for promotions is frustrating,” says Pamela. “Worse than that, though, is being made to feel like you’re a burden.”
Dr. Alison Chasteen, a social psychologist at the University of Toronto.
Pamela isn’t alone. A recent Employment and Social Development Canada survey found that almost half of respondents 55 or older felt they had experienced ageism, a form of discrimination that the World Health Organization says is one of the “most socially normalized.” Not only is age stigma prevalent, but it can also damage older adults’ abilities, says Dr. Alison Chasteen, a social psychologist at the University of Toronto.
“If you activate negative stereotypes in older peoples’ minds, that can elevate a cardiovascular stress response that can also affect memory function, so they don’t do as well on, say, a free recall test where you have to recall a list of items,” says Dr. Chasteen, noting that it’s also been shown to impact motor function.
Fixed mindsets
Internalizing negative stereotypes to the point that they feel like they define our characters isn’t unique to older adults experiencing ageism. Self-stigmatization is a common phenomenon that runs across all forms of stigma but, when it comes to ageism, there’s another layer, because older adults may, themselves, have held negative ideas about ageing when they were younger.
Given how pervasive and complicated age stigma is, an essential first step in tackling it is to stop using terms that carry negative connotations, such as “the aged,” “old-old,” “senior citizens” and “the elderly.” These imply a fixed identity and/or evoke images of frailty. By contrast, the term “older adult” reminds us that age is relative and ever-changing.
“Really what we’re talking about here is ageism,” says Katie Ellis, Program Manager at the Mental Health Commission of Canada, who recently led a research project on mental health and older adults in Canada. “Using language with negative associations really does have a negative impact on quality of life, because stigma can stop people from thinking they can get better access to care or participate in certain activities.”
Stigma and social exclusion go hand in hand. Pamela says that, even though she’s resisting the push for her to quietly retire from her life-long career, she’s often left out of after-work gatherings and finds that holiday parties can be awkward because she’s not in the cool kid crowd. She’s lucky to have good friends outside of work, but it’s easy to see why age stigma is closely associated with mood disorders, diminished well-being, and feeling less inclined to seek medical treatment, as well as loneliness and social isolation.
Mental Health Commission of Canada program manager Katie Ellis led a research project on older adults and mental health. Stigma can lead to a negative impact on quality of life.
Mattering and belonging – what’s the difference?
“I think the big thing with discrimination and prejudice and stigma is that you’re no longer seen as a unique person with valued attributes,” says Gordon Flett, Honorary President of the Canadian Psychological Association 2024-2025 and former York University Canada Research Chair. “A key element of ‘mattering’ is just being seen as an individual with valued attributes and, instead, you’re seen according to a prescribed box that you’re put into, and you feel unvalued or devalued.”
“Mattering” shares a lot of space with the idea of “belonging” but takes it a step further. It’s possible to belong to a club but still feel unimportant. Mattering means that people value your contributions and, simply enough, you matter. That sense of purpose and meaning seems to offer protective qualities, since it’s correlated with resilience and better health outcomes. Anti-mattering, on the other hand, is closely associated with discrimination and stigma.
“Anti-mattering is so destructive because it means treating people like they’re insignificant or invisible or unseen, unheard and unvalued,” Flett explains.
It’s hard to get people to see beyond stereotypes if you rarely, if ever, interact with people outside of your generation, though. Few Canadians do, since “age bubbles” define a lot of peoples’ social lives. As ageist as some workplaces may be, it’s not uncommon for people from different generations to work on projects together on the job site. By contrast, many social spaces are often tightly age-segregated in ways we don’t always even notice.
“I went to a wedding with my sister and my mother recently and we expected to spend the evening together,” says Dr. Raza Mirza, Director, National Partnerships for HelpAge Canada. “But my mother was sat at a table with older adults, and I was sat at a table with younger people who I didn’t have anything in common with. I would have far preferred to sit with my mother.”
The assumption that older adults only want to talk to people their own age is particularly striking to Mirza, whose career is focused on fighting age segregation through intergenerational projects. Although many are in their infancy, there are a lot of pretty cool projects aimed at getting people out of their age bubbles.
In Alberta, the Canadian Alliance for Intergenerational Living launched a pilot project last year that placed students looking for affordable housing into retirement communities in exchange for leading classes in, say, art, scholarship, or fitness.
St. Lawrence, a school in Champlain, Quebec, arranges intergenerational living situations by offering students two meals a day and free lodging in a residence for older adults in exchange for 10 hours of volunteer work in the home per week.
Vancouver’s Volunteer Grandparents has a “Family Match” program that sees older adults sign up to help mentor kids whose biological grandparents can’t play active roles in their lives. Ontario resident Heather Walker wanted to take part in the program but was too far away, so they made her a pen pal to a 15-year-old.
“She seemed like a younger me,” says Walker, who will celebrate her 70th birthday this summer. “Her passions were writing, and social justice and I had so many questions, my letter back was five pages long.”
Now she has a new role as a pen pal with an entire class in an elementary school. She helps them with things like sentence structure and sends them Valentine’s Day cards and other special treats.
Burst your bubble
One of the better-known age bubble-bursting projects is Raza Mirza’s “Intergenerational Classroom,” an initiative that sees a third-year University of Toronto Ageing and Health class pop up in a common room at Christie Gardens, a Toronto retirement community and long-term care home. Students and residents take the class together for the entire semester.
“It’s been highly, highly successful, because we facilitated a platform where people can feel valued,” says Mirza. “We keep hearing that people felt they had a role, felt that their contributions were meaningful, and felt a sense of belonging. But there was also reciprocity, so it wasn’t this older person who was just the recipient of information or sharing information. There was this back-and-forth exchange.”
Nobody gets stuck in the corner at the kids’ table, either. Everyone has a chance to break out of their age bubble and get to be seen as a unique person. It’s a fabulous model showing a path forward for us to fight against stigma, negative stereotypes, and anti-mattering. And, in fact, it might even help people re-define what “being old” means.
“We’ll start the class by asking the students, ‘At what age do you think a person is old?’,” says Mirza. “People say things like 40 or 50 or 60. Then, after being in the class and listening to older adults for 12 weeks we ask them the question again. They say things like, ‘I’m not sure’ or ‘I think old is a perception or a feeling.’ They focus on the similarities they have and the things that they have in common,” he adds. “They don’t focus on the age difference anymore.”
Resource: A free course on dismantling structural stigma in health care aims for meaningful change for people experiencing mental health and substance use issues.
Author: Christine Sismondo is a Toronto writer who hopes to one day live with friends in a communal living project modelled after The Golden Girls. In a perfect world, there’d be someone like Sophia in residence, because intergen living is the best.
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The other day I was walking down the street when my foot hit a divot in the pavement, and I went over on my ankle. I heard – or maybe felt – a snap. My ankle started swelling almost immediately. To the emergency room I went and as I whiled away the hours scrolling, watching videos, and playing word games I watched my phone’s battery dwindle and eventually I was “in the red.” Uh-oh! I needed my phone to call a ride when my ER ordeal was done! With no hope of seeing the doctor soon and no charger in my pocket there was nothing I could do but give the phone a rest and turn it off.
Wouldn’t it have been magical if, when I turned it back on two hours later, instead of finding my battery at 8% it had recovered its charge up to 50%? Wouldn’t it be great if just giving my phone a rest would also recharge its battery?
Alas, that is not how it works – for phones or for people either. Rest is not the same thing as recovery. I need to recharge my phone if I expect its battery life to recover. I need to plug it in if I hope to recharge its battery. Luckily with a phone it is a very simple and linear process – we know exactly what to do when our phone’s battery is in the red. But what do we do when our own “batteries” need to recharge?
Self-care is the obvious answer to mental health recovery, but it isn’t as obvious what self-care looks like, because it looks completely different for different individuals. In fact, self-care is often maligned as an airy-fairy concept, awash with adult colouring books, meditation apps and yoga poses – and if those are your things, then great! But self-care can be and is so much more.
Some people (like introverts) recharge their batteries solo or with smaller group activities – reading, crafting or solo exercise. Others (like extroverts) find they recover better when they can feed off the energies of others and prefer to recharge in the presence of other people – parties, group activities and team sports. However, there are some all-round solutions if you are looking for ways to recover.
Taking care of your body with sleep, exercise and nutrition is a must. We all know this. But there are a lot of moving parts here! When you are in need of recovery it can be overwhelming to see the catalogue of things you are “doing wrong” in this department, and that is not the goal. The goal is to choose practices that recharge your energies, not deplete them. And so, beginning a practice of good sleep hygiene or drinking more water might be more manageable. Don’t try to change everything at once and make it perfect – there is no such thing anyway. Just do something good for your body to help it rest and recover and celebrate that!
Experiencing nature is another powerful way to recharge your batteries. This is one self-care tip that becomes easier as the leaves and flowers bloom. Taking a nature walk or forest-bathing can help but even just sitting in your back garden or eating lunch on a park bench is enough to help restore balance.
These self-care tips are helpful in recovering your mental health, but these are not the tips that will lead you to recovery with mental illness. Medications, talk therapy and a good therapeutic alliance with your caregivers as well as peer support will help with that. And the road to recovery with mental illness is a long and non-linear process. But that process will be augmented by a self-care routine that keeps your batteries charged, giving you the energy to work at that process. In short, we all have mental health, and we all need to mindfully recover our mental health all the time, but mental illness requires a different kind of recovery.
Spoiler alert – my ankle was a simple sprain and I hobbled out on crutches and a prescription for, you guessed it, REST! In a few days it was right as rain. That is the last piece I want to touch on here. While rest is not the same thing as recovery, recovery takes rest. It takes time and relaxation – whatever that looks like for you. Sometimes staying off of it – metaphorically speaking, of course – is the best thing you can do for your mental health. Sometimes you need a crutch. So, take your weekends and vacation days to rest. Do something to take care of yourself. And watch your battery life go up.
Author: Jessica Ward-King
BSc, PhD, aka the StigmaCrusher, is a mental health advocate and keynote speaker with a rare blend of academic expertise and lived experience. Equipped with a doctorate in experimental psychology and firsthand knowledge of bipolar disorder, she’s both heavily educated and, as she likes to say, heavily medicated. Crazy smart, she’s been crushing mental health stigma since 2010.
