As Our Mental Health Crisis Grows, Consider Peer Support as a Solution

TW: MH. This story has discussion around mental illness, eating disorders, self-harm and suicide ideation. We invite our community members to read our Unsinkable story if it is the right time for them. If you need support, please visit Kids Help Phone, Crisis Text Line or Better Help. 

 “Why do my emotions hurt so much?” I asked B, my therapist.  

It was late one afternoon, and I was lying on the couch, cuddling my roommate’s little chihuahua, Sundri. I seemed unable to move, paralyzed with anxiety.   

“Evolution, survival,” my therapist said.   

Of course, she was right.   Our emotions, after all, communicate to us, alert us to dangerous situations, and motivate us to act in a wide range of situations.   In other words, they help us stay alive.    

We’re all born with different eye and hair colour, and we have no choice in the matter. I was born with an innate sensitivity to emotions.   In other words, I experience big, intense emotions, and my emotional responses don’t always make sense to the world around me. That, on top of growing up in an environment where I wasn’t always heard, has contributed to many of my mental health challenges.   

When you’re 13 years old, the world is already a lot. And it’s even more challenging when your best friend develops a severe eating disorder, and you are left wondering how someone can restrict their food calories to the point of starving themselves.  It’s even worse when you experience anxiety and depression for the first time yourself. It’s also difficult when your dad gets a new job and your family has to move – and you end up in a new school with no friends right before the start of high school.   I’ll never forget that moment when I entered the classroom at my new school. I made my way all the way to the back and tried to make myself small. I remember our teacher announcing my presence, the “new kid” and I remember lowering my eyes, as my cheeks burned with shame. No one said hello to me that first day, and it remains one of the most painful memories I have.  

Then ninth grade came along, and at the age of 14, right before our Christmas vacation, I had a total meltdown in front of my mom, sitting at our kitchen island. The next day, she brought me straight to the ER, where our GP worked that morning.  I was so angry I barely heard what my doctor said. He never explained what depression was or told me how many people suffered from it.   Instead, I left with a prescription for an antidepressant and sleeping pill. I didn’t know these drugs were psychiatric medications until I went home and googled them. I was horrified. I felt so alone in the world, because I thought I was the only kid taking them. I was amazed years later, when I found out that antidepressant medications were some of the top selling drugs on the market.  

What wouldn’t I have given, at 14, to hear someone explain to me that I wasn’t alone, that mental illness was common, and that I shouldn’t blame myself for it?  How many times had I laid in bed at night, wishing for somebody to tell me that thinking about death didn’t mean I was crazy, it simply meant I needed help?  And instead of having somebody straight up ask me if I was planning to kill myself, I would have given anything for someone, anyone, to sit down with me, and look at me in the eyes, and say that it was OK to talk about those things, that I wasn’t going to be judged, and that those negative thoughts could, or would, go away eventually. 

Over the next few years, my mental health issues worsened. I experienced hypomania for the first time, self-harmed on a weekly basis, was hospitalized multiple times and received multiple diagnoses, ranging from anxiety to mood to personality disorders. I stayed as busy as I could and held onto the belief that productivity would help me get away from all the turmoil I felt internally.   Of course, that was far from the case.  I received several treatments for my mental health challenges. I tried a dozen medications, had a trial of ECT, saw multiple counsellors, and finally, started a program of Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), which changed my life completely.   My DBT therapists, as gentle and assertive as they were, never doubted my ability to learn valuable skills that would help me cope with the ups and downs of every day life. They told me to trust the process, and encouraged me to try using mindfulness to ease some of my emotional suffering. Overall, they made me feel important, loved, and more confident.   

Despite all these treatments, there was one piece of the puzzle missing: peer support.  

During my first year studying at The University of British Columbia (UBC), I was encouraged to attend a support group on campus, hosted by The Kaleidoscope Mental Health Society and led by other students. After months of resistance, I decided to give it a try, mostly because I wanted my psychiatrist to stop bringing it up during our weekly 50 min appointment.  After so many days of loneliness, and pure exhaustion, I was unexpectedly thrown into a room full of strangers. People like me. Some people in that room had been involuntarily hospitalized, and they knew how hospital food tasted. I added that if you were smart enough, you could order ice cream when the nurses brought you your menu to be filled out with Crayola pencils in the mornings.  Most of the people in that room knew all too well what it was like to balance work, school, and other commitments. When I talked about academic stress, my urges to die and the loneliness I felt, they were able to comfort me, look at me in the eyes and say, “me too.” To this day, these are the most powerful words I have ever heard or spoken.   

I attended this support group for many years, and many of these individuals ended up becoming my closest friends. Nowadays, we build IKEA bookshelves together, have dinner at nice restaurants, chat over coffee and plan trips together.  But at the core of our friendship is our shared lived experience. We have learned to hold space for another. To refrain from unsolicited advice, to advocate for strong boundaries, and to love each other deeply.   

Navigating the mental health system in Canada is difficult. I have lived, first-hand experience, and work in the field. I work as a Youth Peer Support Worker with Foundry Virtual. I talk to families, caregivers, and young people aged 12-24 on a weekly basis. I hear their heartbreaking stories and lend a listening ear.   I could tell you all I know about our system. The wait lists, the costs of private therapy, the lack of mental health professionals. I could recite facts or share statistics, but I suspect you all already know that. Everyone knows that there is a growing mental health crisis in Canada.   

I don’t have the answers when it comes to fixing our mental health system and will eventually have to accept the way things are. In the meantime, I do know that I am proud to be a peer support worker and recognize the value of peer support in our lives.   There will never be enough psychiatrists, social workers, or psychologists. But I believe there will always be someone else out there who can hold your hand and say, “I’ve been there too.” Those kinds of interaction are powerful. They are life changing and more importantly, they foster hope.  At work, I love speaking with young people. I love to get to know them, their interests, their fears and get excited to discover the things we have in common. Whether it is a shared diagnosis, a medication prescription or simply a favorite TV show, there is always a way to connect.   

Young people need to know that they are not alone and deserve to speak with someone who will validate their feelings, someone who really “gets it.” Let those people be youth support workers.  Families deserve to know that they are not alone too. Parents need validation that they are doing the right thing under these difficult circumstances. Let these parents talk to other caregivers. Let’s encourage them to grow and forgive themselves for not being perfect. I’m not a mom, but I can only imagine that parenting must be the most difficult job in the world.   

I can’t change an entire system, but I can advocate for peer support, and for shared stories of hope. I can’t pay for other people’s treatment or fix someone’s housing situation, but I can keep listening and learning from others and all the wisdom they have to offer.   Ultimately, peer support has been a key part of my recovery. It helped me become future-oriented, provided hope in difficult times, and made me feel less alone.   Nowadays, what motivates me to stay well is the desire to model recovery, to share my story, and help other youths and their families.   When I interact with youths who are struggling, I remember what it was like, to be a teenager with mental health issues. When I can validate their worries, foster hope using my words, and share warmth with my sense of humor, it is my way of taking care of my younger self.   I want to give those youths what I needed the most back then but didn’t have. They desperately need and deserve help – just like I did, and still do.   

Feeling inspired? Learn more about Daphnée:

Daphnée studies English literature at UBC. In her free time, she enjoys writing, volunteering with inner city kids, taking bubble baths and cuddling with her stuffed animal, a little fox named Cheeko.   She tries her best not to take life too seriously.

Check out some of her other publications here: 

Macleans, Mind Your Mind, The Mighty, and Visions: BC's Mental Health & Substance Use Journal  

If you're a youth living in BC between the age of 12-24, feel free to access peer support through  Foundry's Provincial Virtual Services, where you can get the chance to meet Daphnée! 

Unsinkable Storytelling Author: Daphnée Levesque