BIPOC Mental Health Month — A Call for Treatment Beyond Sisterhood and Self-Care
Treatment options abound, it’s time for a new cultural response to mental health for Black Americans
Commonly referred to as Minority Mental Health Awareness Month and now, additionally, BIPOC Mental Health Month, July is a national month of recognition and awareness of the unique relationship that Blacks, Indigenous People, and People of Color have with mental health and access to treatment in the U.S.
Mental health and trauma impact our physical health, our life expectancy, our general well-being, and our loved ones. In short, neglecting to address our mental health prevents us from living our fullest, healthiest, and happiest lives in almost every aspect. Reciprocally, embracing the topic leads to longer lives of positive impact.
Bebe Moore Campbell, the trailblazing black woman who advocated for the month of recognition and other initiatives that address the stigma of mental health in communities of color said,
“Stigma is one of the main reasons why people with mental health problems don’t seek treatment or take their medication. People of color, particularly African Americans, feel the stigma more keenly. In a race-conscious society, some don’t want to be perceived as having yet another deficit.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Being somewhat of a natural empath, as well as a person who always strives to be a source of light and positivity, and, finally, a school counselor by training (though, I do not currently practice), it is fairly easy for me to talk about mental health at a big picture macro level. And in today’s world, with the growing number of celebrity campaigns, promotions for self-care plans, mindfulness apps, teletherapy options, and abundant calls for more mental health resources in the face of national crises, it’s a pretty controversy-free platform to stand by. Yet and still, assessing and addressing my own personal mental health has been one of the most frustrating, vulnerable, lonely, exhausting, terrifying, liberating, and rewarding daily challenges for me.
I’m black. I’m black and I’m proud. I’m black and my existence is resistance. I’m black and I overcome struggle. Even in deep sadness, my cultural pride rests in how the legacy of Blacks in America is one of being able to laugh, sing, work, and hope, all in the face of persistent oppression. And that narrative paints the world like a child’s tale where the villain is the world around me and my internal strength is the hero that will save the day.
Is it possible that we can internally also be the villain and sometimes need something outside of us (us being our individual selves, close family circle, and traditional norms) to change our behaviors so we might save the day? Dare we encourage ourselves to overcome and also examine the mechanics of overcoming? Can we have a real conversation about treatment?
The beautiful and tragic play for colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf doesn’t hide in title or content its intent to portray the relationship between black women, black families, and mental distress. I find myself interrogating the message that is intended to give us colored girls hope.
For the veteran who clearly suffers from PTSD, he is too far gone, and now an abusive alcoholic. Nothing to be done there. For the ladies who are going through deep tragedy, their girlfriends, mothers, and sisters help them make it through. Religion and spirituality help and laughter and love seal the deal.
Just like ginger and mint for an upset stomach, those are the natural remedies to healing. However, in the same way that we explore more options when our physical pain is chronic and escalating in severity, we can explore more ways of addressing mental pain and harmful cognitive and behavioral patterns. After all, if the natural remedies fall short, the common backup treatments of harmful self-medication and self-soothing can carry their own damaging life-altering risks.
To be fair, clinical psychology is a relatively young field in comparison to other branches of medicine. To give you an idea, the first school of medicine in the United States, the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania, was established in 1765. However, the school did not formally establish a Department of Psychiatry until 1912. Therefore, the training of mental health professionals and access to treatment has a shorter, less widespread history that surely impacts who and how families understand it as a health service to be utilized. It can also seem more expensive and confusing to seek mental health expertise. Whereas appointments with primary care specialists may costs between $10-$30 with insurance, the average cost of therapy is $60-$120 per session. This, of course, doesn’t include costs of any needed medications or medical professionals to monitor medication use.
Simultaneously, the history of racism in America has impacted our ability and perspective of help-seeking in America, especially with a small percentage of black professionals in the field (only 4% of psychologists in the U.S.) and the historical mistreatment and misdiagnosis of blacks by medical professionals. As a result, we have a culture that has grown accustomed to pain without proper treatment or address.
Campbell said of her own family’s experience with treatment,
“Once my loved one accepted the diagnosis, healing began for the entire family, but it took too long. It took years. Can’t we, as a nation, begin to speed up that process? We need a national campaign to destigmatize mental illness, especially one targeted toward African Americans. The message must go on billboards and in radio and TV public service announcements. It must be preached from pulpits and discussed in community forums. It’s not shameful to have a mental illness. Get treatment. Recovery is possible.”
As we move into an era with more abundant resources specifically aimed at providing affordable and culturally competent treatment for black Americans, it is time for us to fully experience goodness for goodness sake. And I believe it will be tied to our ability to expand our response to pain, trauma, and distress beyond the limited supports we have had to solely depend on in our collective past. It is time to be culturally curious and adamant about mental health, mental illness, and treatment and move beyond the kinship of struggle.
In honor of this month, I dedicated time to write my own story here and share resources that positively shaped me as I began to explore options for myself. May it encourage someone else’s journey.
