Here’s what I probably should be writing to you about on World Mental Health Day:

• That mental illness is one of the most undertreated illnesses in the world, yet it has the highest global burden of disease.

• People usually go months or years without treatment (because, see above)

• That most funding for mental health care goes to hospitals, where care often feels coercive and dehumanizing.

• Women and non-binary people are 2 times more likely to be diagnosed with a mental illness, and that risk goes up to 5 times around menopause.

• That more awareness, research, funding, and treatments are needed, especially for underserved populations.

But I’m not going to do that. I’m also not going to tell you to meditate, or do yoga, or “take care of yourself” today. I’m not going to tell you, “Mental health is health,” because gosh darn it, don’t we already know that by now, and what has changed as a result?

When one writes in the field of mental health, I think there’s an expectation that we’ll have special insights that no one else has, or solutions that no one else has thought of before. And honestly, I just don’t have that in me right now. Some days I can rally and talk for hours about what I think needs to change. But sometimes, I’m just tired, and today is one of those days.

Instead, I thought I’d share an insight I had many years ago which has helped me immensely, and although it may not help you in this moment, it’s something you can tuck away for future use (lately I’ve been watching the industrious little squirrels bury their treats for the winter, and I wonder, do they remember each and every hiding place? I think this is the way humans are with little nuggets of information…sometimes we’ll remember exactly where they are and uncover them when needed, and other times we’ll be standing in the yard scratching our heads and wondering what piece of wisdom is eluding us.)

Anyway, I digress (squirrel!)

Something I’ve noticed about the language we use to talk about mental illness stems from the hero’s journey, which is a tale as old as time. Someone battles their demons. There’s a struggle against the darkness, and if you happen to be one of the lucky ones, a triumphant return to the light. Good vs. evil, virtue vs. sin, broken vs. whole. But all of this happens within the individual, as though the darkness resides in them and must be conquered by them (with some heavy drugs and a good therapist, of course).

Yet at no time do we acknowledge that mental illness is the result of everything that happened before us (centuries before us), everything that’s happened to us in this lifetime, and everything we’ve done in our lives to integrate both conscious and unconscious experiences as part and parcel of who we are as mentally ill. This is the conundrum: depression and anxiety (or name your flavour) has individual consequences, because I’m sad and scared and that truly sucks, but it’s largely been caused by everything around me - much of which I have very little control over.

When I put aside the belief that I had to battle/fight/fix the demons within me, there was a slow and steady dawning of knowledge. A knowing that I am not the problem; that nothing needs fixing, because I was never broken in the first place. And in that place, there is a cautious freedom, even when things feel really hard.

So maybe today there is nothing for you to do. There’s no new therapy or technique or diet or breath work or cold plunge or, or, or. There is just you in all your humanness, in all your ancientness, in all your wisdom (or lack thereof…remember the squirrels).

Maybe today you can say this is not my problem to fix. And then you can exhale, even for a moment.

From my heart to yours,

Misty