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National suicide prevention week in Quebec
For the last 30 years, l’Association québecoise de prevention du suicide (AQPS) has devoted the first week in February to fostering conversations on suicide prevention.
Yet, as you read this over your morning coffee, today, three people in Quebec will die by suicide and 11 more will be hospitalized.
They are our friends, loved ones, colleagues and neighbours.
A lot has changed in thirty years, and as our understanding has grown thanks to the effort of pioneers like the AQPS, we’ve debunked a lot of myths.
For example, we know asking someone if they are experiencing suicidal thoughts won’t “plant an idea in their head.”
But much more work is needed.
Research has shown us that almost everyone who dies by suicide visits their family doctor in the six months before they take drastic action.
What questions aren’t primary care providers asking, and why? And how can we better equip them to respond to the mental health needs of their patients?
In addition to engaging with public health practitioners, we know that growing public awareness is key – a role for governments, civil society as well as media.
We no longer believe it’s constructive for the media to hush suicides for fear of contagion. But we do know that responsible reporting on the topic is critical.
From eschewing sensationalist coverage, to restraint around revealing method, there are important ways to frame a public dialogue about suicide that can save lives.
Above all, what we know is that while suicide results from a complex confluence of social and biological factors, we can work towards a society where prevention is a shared priority.
The Mental Health Commission of Canada has long made suicide prevention an important part of our work and continues to be grateful for opportunities to collaborate with and learn from our partners in Québec.
With the proliferation of Roots of Hope, our community-based suicide prevention project, we are reaching some 1.8 million people in eight communities across Canada and confirming that solutions must consider context and be community driven.
Roots of Hope principal researcher, Dr. Brian Mishara, an internationally renowned expert on suicidology, Professor at l’Université du Québec à Montréal, and co-founder of AQPS, said it best at the program’s launch in September 2019.
When describing the efforts of psychiatrists and psychologists who descended on Rwanda following the genocide, he explained that their interventions did more harm than good. As it turns out, everything about how they approached trauma, from isolating patients, to having them relive their experiences, and treating them indoors, was the opposite of what was culturally appropriate. To feel safe, they needed to be outdoors in the sunshine, surrounded by family, recalling happy times.
So, while the how of suicide prevention may be different in every community, what we share with our partners in Québec and across Canada is the resolve to reduce the devastation wrought by suicide, and a blueprint to leverage the strengths they know best.
30 years from now, it’s my hope that suicides will be the rarest of events, because we will have been successful in encouraging open and caring conversations and in building life saving supports and resources.
Today, in Canada 11 people will die by suicide. We know that by working together, it doesn’t have to be that way tomorrow.
This article originally appeared in Le Droit on February 11th, 2020.
Louise Bradley
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In March, we celebrate Social Work Month and acknowledge the contributions of social workers. Whether they’re connecting someone who has lived experience of substance use to supportive housing, helping a survivor of gender-based violence find accessible childcare options, or working on mental health policies for post-secondary students, no two days are alike. But each day requires the kind of selflessness that few professions demand.
Of course, selflessness has its own set of perils. Social workers are faced with situations of childhood poverty, sexual assault, and bear witness to the structural inequality in our world. Such experiences expose them to ongoing vicarious trauma and often lead to compassion fatigue. Yet, as Polly Leonard, Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) program manager and registered social worker, noted, “There can be an attitude of stoicism among social workers who feel like their distress pales in comparison to that of their clients.”
Who, for example, can social workers turn to for support when their friends or colleagues double as the therapists they’re encouraged to talk to? “If you do seek external support, you have to search high and low to be sure that you don’t end up talking to a friend or colleague who also works as a private therapist,” said Leonard.
Louise Bradley, MHCC president and CEO, concurred. “Social workers are truly the unsung heroes of the caring professions. While firefighters and police officers may make headlines for grand displays of courage, social workers must dig deep into their well of compassion every day. Not only do they advocate for the underserved and the vulnerable, they are regularly exposed to the kind of vicarious trauma that can lead to the operational stress injuries often associated with other first responders.”
Leonard summed it up plainly: “When we’re finished talking about our cases, it doesn’t feel like there’s space left to talk about anything else.”
That’s one reason the Canadian Association of Social Workers encourages registered social workers to develop a clear understanding of how their work affects their well-being.
Few people are surprised to learn that health-care workers and other first responders face similar challenges to those of social workers.
Chronic stress and burnout are common in health care, with many workers reporting stress-related conditions like depression and anxiety or substance use disorders. The MHCC’s Caring for Healthcare Workers assessment tools can help organizations identify areas of vulnerability and improve their workers’ psychological health and safety.
Paramedics, firefighters, and police officers, who experience PTSD at two times the rate of the general population, also have an increased risk of depression, substance use, and thoughts of suicide.
For paramedics, who have some of the highest rates of mental illness in the country, the CSA Group developed the Paramedic Standard, whose dedicated workplace standards can help them shine a light on stigma, identify psychological hazards, and promote mental wellness.
For other workers in emergency response settings, The Working Mind First Responders (TWMFR) course is designed to promote mental wellness, build resiliency skills, and reduce the stigma of mental illness. Based on the mental health continuum model, TWMFR helps first responders recognize psychological injuries in themselves and their peers. There’s also a Family Package to help relatives open an informed and constructive dialogue within families.
Fortunately, through carefully developed tools and resources, these front-line workers have access to mental health resources as unique as the situations they face — whether they’re being featured on the front page or buried in the fine print.
Amber St. Louis
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Improving access to psychotherapy and encouraging women in science
When Dr. Patricia Lingley Pottie was about to graduate high school on Nova Scotia’s south shore in the early eighties, she was given the results of a new computerized aptitude test — which she calls a “very primitive precursor to today’s artificial intelligence, albeit a pioneer in its day.”
“I was assessed as being well-suited to three career path options,” she said, fresh off a flight from the Northwest Territories. The Strongest Families Institute (SFI), where she is president, CEO, and co-founder, has just received funding to expand its services from Bell Let’s Talk and the N.W.T. government.
SFI re-imagines what good mental health care looks like. It provides cost-effective solutions to the barriers often associated with receiving mental health care, and has strong, successful outcomes. The organization’s highly trained coaches deliver proven, skills-based programs to families in the comfort of their own homes (by phone and internet).
“I can’t emphasize how important such flexibility is,” said Pottie. “Many families that come to us have incomes around the poverty line, so missing work is a non-starter. SFI’s approach ensures that clients don’t miss work; plus,” she continued, her irrepressible passion bubbling to the surface, “our client-centred approach also means no waiting and no financial burden!”
When seeing those early aptitude test results, Pottie couldn’t have dreamed where her career would take her. “At that time,” she said, “my three best career choices were housewife, hairdresser, and nurse.” While wondering aloud about the role of sex and gender in her computer-generated tea leaves, she noted that “so many more doors are open to women today, and we’re seeing an increase in their numbers in the sciences.”
Pottie’s early career as a nurse at SickKids Hospital in Toronto, largely in the nephrology unit, reached a turning point when one of her smallest patients, a little girl named Judy, died from a rare genetic disorder after having lived through 28 agonizing surgeries and three transplants.
“In the three years I cared for Judy I watched her endure more than most people do in a lifetime. She was the inspiration for me to make the leap from caring to curing,” Pottie explained. “As a nurse, I could alleviate suffering, which is so important. But as a student who had always been enamoured with chemistry, math, and sciences, a big part of me wanted to do research, where I felt there was a capacity to learn more about how to prevent and cure illnesses.”
Fast-forward three decades, during which time Pottie has achieved many impressive milestones her aptitude test never imagined. She is now a world-renowned researcher with the IWK Health Centre in Halifax and an assistant professor in psychiatry at Dalhousie University. Together with co-researcher Dr. Patrick McGrath (SFI co-founder and board chair), Pottie is well on her way to turning the mental health service delivery model on its head.
“Innovation is important, and that’s why I’m so proud of how we’ve built the technology to deliver high-quality distance education and behavioral skills training for a fraction of what traditional programs cost.”
Pottie is talking about IRIS — an innovative software platform so sophisticated and integral to the running of SFI that ‘she’ is thought of as a fully fledged part of the team. “IRIS can tell us anything we ask her, because we built her from the ground up to be the most responsive, user-friendly, useful tool we could imagine.”
We’ve come so far from the early days of AI that you’d be forgiven for thinking IRIS was a human being with thoughts and feelings of her own. While Pottie’s effervescence is at its peak when she’s describing IRIS’s capabilities, she laments that running IRIS is no mean feat as a non-profit.
Luring programmers with the promise of “change-the-world work,” she hopes her small stable of computer scientists will soon be building an app that is the capstone of SFI’s stepped care model.
“If I won the lottery tomorrow, we’d be building an app people could use on- and off-line, not only in Canada’s rural and remote communities, but also for military personnel overseas,” enthused Pottie (her biggest challenge is explaining to potential funders how expensive IRIS is to maintain and advance). “I would also leverage the funds to ensure equitable access to our programs for all Canadians!”
SFI’s success is due largely to Pottie’s indomitable character. When asked what excites her, she exclaims, “Data! The information we mine is worth more than gold! With data, we can report outcome results to our clients and funders, and we know what changes are needed to meet our clients’ needs!”
Pottie’s generous spirit infuses everything she does. Her only frustration is being unable to help every family who knocks on her door.
But where she can effect change, she does. Pottie mentors nearly every potential leader who walks through SFI’s doors. She believes in the power of investing in the next generation of innovators and offers advice to young people who are seeking to find their path.
In Pottie’s own words, “Find a mentor whose beliefs, vision, and aspirations align with yours, then ask them to meet with you. It’s amazing how many will say yes.
There’s no stopping today’s young people. They aren’t confined to the narrow results of an aptitude test.”
As it turns out, neither was she.
Suzanne Westover
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Remembering Aimee LeBlanc
Aimee LeBlanc loved winter. She spent her honeymoon in the Yukon in late summer, freezing in the back of a pickup with a hardtop camper. Aimee and her husband Dan were a devoted couple who made the most of life’s adventures, big and small.
Aimee was as unique and multi-faceted as the snowflakes she welcomed with joy each season. It takes a special kind of person to face a cancer diagnosis with grace and courage, but that is exactly who she was. As the disease ebbed and flowed for more than a decade, Aimee never let its shadow dim her spirit or encroach on the work she felt called to do.
Her early career in social work shaped her belief that the kind of meaningful change required to lift people out of poverty and afford them greater opportunities needed to begin with policy makers. That led her to spend nearly ten years learning the ins-and-outs of mental health policy with the Ontario government, which would provide a solid foundation for her work with housing and homelessness
Armed with this depth of knowledge, enhanced by her earlier hands-on experience, she had no interest in pushing paper. She wanted to push the envelope. She believed in society’s obligation to uplift the vulnerable — a conviction that was matched by her quiet leadership and fierce tenacity.
Aimee never allowed her deteriorating health to have agency over her joie de vivre. She lived each day in thrall to nature’s wonders, and she and Dan wrung joy from the mundane and the miraculous. Aimee’s can-do attitude and innate dignity are qualities that have left her colleagues inspired to roll up their sleeves in tribute to her unflagging optimism.
An indomitable spirit and zest for life infused her worldview. Every community Aimee visited, whether in Newfoundland or Nunavut, was an opportunity to explore — on foot in her time-worn hiking books or in her trusty canoe, lovingly nicknamed “Herkimer.”
Recruited by Dr. Paula Goering to fill the role of senior policy adviser with the MHCC, Aimee left her mark on Canada’s housing and homelessness policy through her contributions to At Home/Chez Soi. In a speech at the conclusion of the project, MHCC president and CEO Louise Bradley highlighted her extensive contributions.
“Quiet leadership is a quality Aimee has in spades,” said Bradley. “She always puts the work first. She never craves credit and she isn’t interested in limelight. What she wants, above all, is to see progress. To see people living with serious mental illness given the dignity of a safe place to live, and to support them as they progress in their recovery.”
Aimee’s work on the heels of At Home saw her channel her compassion and expertise into the crafting of Guidelines for Recovery-Oriented Practice. This commitment to recovery stayed with Aimee even in her final days. As she awaited emergency treatment, her concerns lay with a young woman experiencing a mental health crisis who was being restrained by hospital staff.
Aimee’s hallmark sensitivity and pragmatism can also be found in the earliest iteration of the MHCC’s national suicide prevention project, which blossomed into Roots of Hope.
There is broad agreement across the MHCC that Aimee’s signature capacity to bring grace and respect to all her interactions, no matter what circumstance or role, endeared her to colleagues and inspired the kind of creative collaboration that results in the most constructive solutions to the biggest policy challenges.
Near the end of her journey, in early November 2019, Aimee displayed her characteristic modesty when she shared that it brought her great comfort to reflect on “the privilege of playing a small part in the MHCC’s extensive work.”
Just as snow melts in spring, leaving behind nothing but memories of its shimmering wonder, in Aimee’s final message before her passing on December 14 she asked friends and colleagues to consider their impact on the world and to leave nothing behind but memories and their efforts to make the world a better place.
Aimee will be dearly missed, but her colleagues will honour her memory every day as they carry out the work that meant so much to her.
Suzanne Westover
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New understanding of Indigenous history inspires MHCC staff
As twenty Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) staff members seated themselves in a circle in a small, windowless room, a sense of trepidation was in the air. While some had experience working with Indigenous communities, others were only faintly familiar with what it entailed. But everyone had heard that the KAIROS Blanket Exercise could be emotionally difficult.
Fortunately, the unease was quickly dispelled by Elder Reta Gordon and facilitator Julie Vachon.
“We’re here,” Vachon said, “not to place shame or guilt. We are here to lift the veil of denial and shed light on truth.”
The blanket exercise is as visceral as it is visual. Blankets are spread out on the floor to represent a map of North America. Participants take off their shoes before taking a place on the blankets — each representing a territory of the estimated 20 million Indigenous people who occupied this land before European contact. As land is taken, as disease spreads, as government policies targeted at assimilation gain momentum, participants are forced off their blankets and return to their seats — until what remains is a shadow of the once thriving civilization, diverse in language, culture, and customs.
The feeling of history echoing through the centuries was almost palpable. The exercise works so well because participants are more than attendees — they are both audience and storytellers. They become living embodiments of the traumatic past: the dead of the Métis uprising; Indigenous people who succumbed to starvation; children taken from their homes to endure residential schools or caught up in the 60s scoop; and missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls.
The most profound moment of the day came when Vachon asked participants to observe a moment of silence for those who endured these adversities. “Take a moment to sit in discomfort,” she said. “Move away from the habit of disconnecting from uncomfortable feelings.”
From that discomfort emerged a more positive discourse: the contemplation of those who survived unthinkable adversity — who sustained intergenerational trauma and experienced state-sanctioned racism — only to rise on the other side as living examples of strength, resiliency, and compassion, having reclaimed cultures and kinships against all odds.
“I realize I have only just begun to skim the surface of others’ experiences,” said Julia Armstrong, a program manager with the MHCC’s prevention and promotion team, one of many participants who expressed frustration at having been taught so little about Indigenous history.
She sees this new learning as a responsibility. “I’ve been given this gift of working for an organization that prioritizes reconciliation so staff can grow and learn as individuals. I want to pay that forward and share the wisdom I’ve gained with my circle of family, friends, and colleagues.”
And that is precisely the kind of change the facilitators hope to effect.
“People ask, ‘What can we do?’ They say, ‘Now that we know better, how can we do better?’” said Gordon. “To them I say this,” Vachon answered, “Don’t go out and do grand gestures — those feed the ego. Go out and do small acts. Talk to others. If each of you reached out and shared this new knowledge with one more person, and that person in turn did the same, think of what we could accomplish. We would chip away at the misunderstandings and the damaging stereotypes, leading us to a place free from judgment where compassion can flourish.”
“The KAIROS Blanket Exercise is one piece of cultural competency I encourage everyone to experience,” said Louise Bradley, MHCC president and CEO. “As individuals, we have a responsibility to deepen our understanding of history and make meaningful steps in our personal journeys of reconciliation. As an organization, we are fortunate to be able to foster that growth in our staff. I have no doubt it will inform our work in many ways, big and small.”
If you would like to participate in this unique and participatory history lesson, you can learn more here.
Suzanne Westover
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Volunteering, an antidote to the holiday blues
The holidays aren’t always a time of celebration. For some, stress and anxiety are as pervasive as the pretty decorations that adorn offices and storefronts. While it may be counterintuitive, getting out and doing good for others can be a powerful antidote to the holiday blues.
According to Keith Dobson, professor of clinical psychology at the University of Calgary and past president of the Canadian Association of Cognitive and Behavioural Therapies, it’s not uncommon to prescribe volunteerism to help clients become more active and engaged in their lives.
“Altruism is associated with lots of positive benefits,” said Dobson, who used to volunteer at a crisis line as an undergraduate student. “I developed psychological counselling skills, connected with like-minded students, and was able to give back to the community.”
But, as he also points out, the motivation behind the volunteerism matters. “In psychology, we talk about attributions for behaviour — in other words, the causes for why we do things. Interestingly, we derive the greatest reward from volunteerism when we aren’t seeking any personal gain.”
Dobson listed several potential benefits of volunteerism, which include becoming more connected with others, combating social isolation, improving your physical health, and bringing fun and fulfilment into your life. Volunteering also has the advantage of costing you little or nothing except your time and commitment.
He believes that the more you’re doing it because of “internal attributions” — that is, so as to help others rather than gain recognition or benefits for yourself — the more rewarding the experience will be.
Wendy Hepburn, an adviser for strategic partnerships at the Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC), can attest to the joy derived from giving some of her time.
Once a month, she leads clients and volunteers in the preparation of a community meal at the Parkdale Food Centre. Each time, they learn new recipes, cook the food, and dine together.
“There are so many advantages to a program like this,” said Hepburn, who became visibly relaxed while sharing the experience of being part of something that works to nourish so much more than appetites. “This program does a lot more than combat hunger. It addresses the social isolation so many people feel and brings volunteers and participants a sense of accomplishment and connectedness.”
Hepburn, whose role is to make a meal plan, shop for groceries, then help prepare the meal, smiled as she recounted a few of the recipe fails. “This isn’t about cooking a picture-perfect dinner. It’s about the laughs we share when something goes wrong, the skills we learn from the clients who’ve worked in food service, and the sense of adventure that comes from trying new foods.”
It’s that same sense of adventure that inspired Erin Wake, an MHCC knowledge mobilization coordinator, to spend a week of her vacation volunteering at Camp To Belong, where siblings separated by the foster system are reunited for a marvellous week of togetherness.
“I can’t begin to tell you all the things I got out of that week,” she said, as tears welled up in her eyes while recalling the joy and wonder of watching brothers and sisters reconnect. “What a gift it is to know you can get so much by simply giving your time.”
Wake, who has made volunteerism a central part of her life, acknowledges that it’s a feel-good activity with zero cost and a 100 per cent net benefit.
That’s partly why companies have begun recognizing the value of harnessing employees’ altruism. In The Business Case for Giving Back, an April 2019 report by Volunteer Canada and its partners, 70 per cent of the 66,000 employees surveyed said they’d be more loyal to an organization that helps them contribute to social and environmental issues.
And, as Dobson reminds us, while the holidays are the time many of us renew our focus on giving, it’s also when charitable ventures can be overwhelmed with volunteers.
“Don’t lose the momentum brought on by the holidays. Ask the agency you want to work with how you can best help them,” he said. “Consider ‘banking’ your time — and harnessing those good holiday intentions to volunteer later into the new year, when other people’s motivation tends to wane.”
For Wake and Hepburn, volunteering isn’t just an activity. It’s integral to their success, both professionally and personally.
“They say it’s selfless to volunteer,” said Wake. “And while this may sound like a cliché, the sense of fulfilment that comes from bringing joy to others is priceless.”
To find out how you can volunteer, visit Volunteer Canada or contact your local community centre.
Suzanne Westover
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Giving voice to your experience is important — but so is protecting your mental wellness
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.
But before putting pen to paper or speaking out in front of a group, these tips will help make sure you’re ready to take that step:
- First things first. There’s no rush — and no “right time” to tell your story. Consider checking in with a mental health professional, peer supporter, or trusted friend to see if now is a good time for you to speak out. Supporting mental health is important, but lending your voice shouldn’t set you back. And don’t beat yourself up if it’s not the right time.
- If your story includes disclosing past traumas or divulging information involving loved ones, be aware that others may have different perspectives or different feelings about privacy. While your story is yours to tell, it’s important to consider how your disclosure could affect those close to you.
- Going public can be as small as a 280-character tweet or as big as an op-ed in a national paper. Whether you prefer the intimacy of a small group of friends or the anonymity of a room full of strangers, you control how and where you share. What you can’t control is the response.
- Speakers often say they didn’t expect that sharing their story would lead to confessions from friends and strangers. If you’re open to sharing, also be prepared to listen.
- If your story involves a suicide attempt, consider consulting with local suicide prevention experts. But no matter what you’re disclosing, use words that affirm — like those in this easy-to-use Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) guide.
- When sharing your experience, make reference to specific mental health resources. Someone hearing your message may need additional support.
- The safe conversations resources in the MHCC’s Toolkit for people who have been impacted by a suicide attempt can equally be applied to mental health and illness more broadly. Consider using them and sharing with family or friends.
The most important part of sharing a life-changing story is its capacity to reinforce your feelings of strength, resilience, and perseverance.
When you’re ready, there is nothing more powerful.
Suzanne Westover
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On the heels of World Suicide Prevention Day (Sept. 10) and the launch of the Mental Health Commission of Canada’s (MHCC’s) national suicide prevention project, Roots of Hope, the topic has been top of mind. So when I saw respected Globe and Mail health reporter André Picard’s tweet celebrating Anna Mehler Paperny’s new book, Hello I Want to Die Please Fix Me, I was quick to order it.
When it arrived, I consumed it in one long inhalation. On the eventual exhale I knew she’d written something with the potential to change the steadfast and stigmatizing attitudes about suicide that corrode help seeking.
Paperny is a journalist. She also lives with treatment resistant depression. Her book could be summed up in three words: know thine enemy.
Using her considerable reporting skills and her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, Paperny leaves no stone unturned in her quest to understand the history of her affliction, the available treatment options, and new research shimmering like a mirage on the horizon.
While her reporting is as impeccable as her sources are unimpeachable, it is the frisson of urgency — a subtext wrought by the author’s own desperate desire for recovery — that makes this book so much more than a state of the nation on mental health care.
Each painfully personal revelation — of shame, hurt, self-loathing — pulls back the curtain inch by inch on the symptoms that can culminate in suicidal ideation. The spiral Paperny describes, of debilitating lack of energy, utter despondency, and swirling thoughts of self-obliteration, easily translate into missed deadlines and failed social engagements. Isolation begets guilt, as guilt begets negative self-talk which, in turn, is reinforced by behaviours easily criticized as selfish or self-indulgent.
And thus, the desperate cycle continues unabated.
While Paperny’s memoir is deeply affecting, it’s also a richly narrated and darkly funny. The writing itself is buoyant, gentling the reader through the complexity of brain science with an ease of reading that belies the subject’s density. She gives the lay reader the gift of understanding by translating challenging concepts into plain language — a talent that is both rare and undervalued.
Paperny’s accomplishments, her writing acumen, award-winning reporting and innovative approach, give pause to any reader who might dismiss the validity of her illness. She isn’t lazy, weak, or lacking in gumption . . . judgments endured by so many who live with mental illness. She has a loving family, and no trauma to speak of, yet cannot shake the suffocating desire to die.
Paperny is a person of wit and intellect. A loving daughter and sibling. She is “the one” in the one in five people who experience a mental illness in any given year. But what’s so much more important is that, in reading her story, she lays bare the stark reality that her illness is one that could strike any one of us. At any time.
The book is a revelation — finely wrought by her powerful writing and deeply relatable humanity — that should ignite a sense of urgency in all of us.
I encourage you to find a copy and learn more about Anna Mehler Paperny at Penguin Random House Canada.
Louise Bradley
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Language matters
From MHCC president and CEO Louise Bradley
Just ask someone who has been the victim of a racial slur. Ask someone whose child has been harassed or bullied. Ask someone who has been a target of verbal abuse because of their sexual orientation.
As a society, we’ve gotten past the outmoded idea that “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” It’s patently untrue. How we name things reflects our willingness, as a community, not only to “tolerate” otherness, but to strive to understand and accept those we think of as different.
Speaking with compassion is the first step in the long journey to equality. Often, it’s the subtle shifts in our ways of speaking that signal more seismic shifts toward inclusivity. Yet, when it comes to mental health problems and illnesses, we are behind the times. This is especially true in cases of serious or severe mental illness, which can manifest in behaviours that make us feel uncomfortable — or even, in the rarest and most extreme examples, appalled.
The distinction that’s missing when stigmatizing language is directed at people living with mental illness is the one between the individual and the illness. It goes missing when we hurl pejorative terms. But when we do so, we also strip away the humanity that binds communities together. We create a chasm between “us” and “them,” an illusory sense of security built on nothing more than false ideas.
We can’t inoculate ourselves from mental illness by casting stones from glass houses. What can help is drawing on the humility of “But for the grace of God go I.” Such compassion doesn’t require belief in a higher power, and we can only call our society civilized by embracing empathy for its most vulnerable and marginalized members.
My intention isn’t to cast aspersions. I don’t want to name-call or single out any person for this kind of behaviour — the fact is, it’s pervasive. So it’s up to all of us to look squarely in the mirror and confront our own biases.
When we denigrate those who are ill and incapable of defending themselves, we expose our own worst traits: fear, weakness, ignorance. Using more careful language, on the other hand, language that makes space for compassion, is to honour our shared experience.
To quote George Orwell, “If thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.” By banishing stigmatizing language, we’re not only elevating public discourse, we’re creating a more just, inclusive, and hopeful society.
