From Children to Adults: How Do We Talk About Mental Health in New Orleans?
We’ve spoken to folks from New Orleans of all ages about what mental health looks like to them. Mandy Ortiz shares what we’ve heard so far and reflects on what a deeper conversation about mental health could look like and mean for the community.
By Mandy Ortiz
I was 10 years old when I went to counseling for the first time. I remember speaking with the counselor at my elementary school in Chicago about my homelife and how it was contributing to my then depression and anxiety. When I got home from school that day, my mother told me she received a call from the counselor. The counselor had dismissed my concerns and claimed I was faking my emotions. She didn’t believe that a child my age could experience such things. I wouldn’t speak to another counselor until I was 19. That was my introduction to mental health care.
About one in five Americans will experience a mental illness in a given year, according to a Center for Disease Control and Prevention survey. Yet, the conversations we have about mental health support are seemingly limited. Over the last month, myself and the other Fall 2022 Community Reporting Fellows have begun to interview members in our communities about our individual experiences with wellness to get a sense of the current culture surrounding mental health.
One of those interviews took place earlier this month, when we met with the middle school-age students (DJs) who work with Be Loud Studios, an organization that supports local youth in making radio segments and other digital media authentic to their voice.
We met at the 826 New Orleans workspace off St. Bernard Avenue. Walking into the space felt like walking into a dream. Bright, colorful posters with positive affirmations lined the walls. There were snacks and games and a box full of prizes for the Be Loud DJs (and visitors) to choose from if they won. Everyone in the room, including me, was encouraged to pick and use a DJ name that reflected who you are or what you love. (I chose DJ Bebesota thanks to my love for Bad Bunny.) As we all sat down together, I saw an environment where the students felt safe and supported enough to discuss difficult–but relevant–topics.
Before we broke off into pairs for our one-on-one interviews, the Lede Fellows and Be Loud DJs sat in small circles and shared out the words that come to mind when we hear the term “mental health.” Self-care. Yin and yang. Depression. Misunderstood. These were some of the words that came up during our conversations and stayed with me well after.
When I was in middle school, I didn’t have the space or language to discuss mental health and how it affected myself or my community. Here I was more than a decade later, surrounded by a group of children that very age speaking confidently about their understanding of mental health and its perception in society.
The students at Be Loud talked through the balance (yin and yang) that comes with navigating a healthy state of mind and the misunderstanding–or stigma–often associated with words such as depression or self-care. I was shocked at the maturity of our conversations, conversations I would find difficult to have with people my own age or with older generations. I was mostly in awe of the fact that a space where these kinds of conversations could safely take place existed at such a young age.
From an early age, I believe our culture teaches us to prioritize “acting well” without understanding what well could look like. I’ve spent years trying to navigate who I am while still processing and healing from what I experienced as a child. It is a lot to take on. You never fully feel caught up.
Which leads me to ask: What might our communities look like if we began having conversations on mental health from an early age and intergenerationally? Making space and normalizing these conversations is the first step.
This fall, our cohort will spend time working to document local stories around mental health and gathering mental health care resources to share with the larger New Orleans community. We are beginning by asking people in our community what mental health and mental wellness means to them. We hope this will lead to a deeper conversation on lasting impact and care. Here’s some of what we’ve heard so far.
Kaleb Huggins (he/him), 18
Freshman at Xavier University of Louisiana, student athlete
“[To me being] mentally healthy is just having that cognizance of positive thoughts and just talking to yourself right. Having that headspace when needed and being here and present in the moment and being fully aware of things going on. [It’s] being able to differentiate between negative thoughts, positive thoughts, just being healthy here and not letting your thoughts be swayed. Having your own decision making and having that firm head.”
Nakeshia Buckner (she/her), 19
New Orleans Youth Alliance fellow
“When I think about mental health, I think it’s the stability of learning how to adapt to chaotic situations or calm… I think it is being able to adapt and go for what you know and what you’ve learned, and make better improvements in what you’re still lacking on. So I feel like sometimes it’s good to go through chaotic experiences, because it also shows who you are as a person and what you need to fix and how you need to shape it going forward.”
Kali Serna (she/her), 29
Milo Gardens volunteer and Uptown resident
“[For me] mental wellness looks like nervous system regulation. When I’m mentally well, my nervous system is at ease. I’m at peace. I’m at peace with living. I am not in dis-ease from having to take care of my responsibilities, of taking care of myself or showing up for others. I am just peaceful with existing. I don’t feel jittery. I just feel centered. If I turn to my body first, I won’t go into the spiral of ‘Well, how does my brain feel? What are my emotions like?’ Emotions are just physical manifestations in the brain.”
Ahmaad Lott (he/him), 28
Digital media artist, New Orleans Youth Alliance Fellowship Coordinator and Algiers resident
“Since middle school, I’ve struggled with depression. It’s always been a thing that I’ve had to fight with. I was always that gifted kid, A+. It was one of those things that’s like, ‘Why are you sad? Everything’s good. Everything’s fine.’ So graduating from high school I was near the top of my class, a lot of people were encouraging me and saying ‘Hey, things are going good. You’re doing well.’ But in the meantime, I’m still just trying to figure out my own things and dealing with this. So going through college, I felt isolated. I had moved to Upstate New York, a place I’d never been to before, a place where I only had a few connections. While there was a tremendous amount of freedom and excitement that came with that, there were also all the problems that I had that were sidelined because I just had so much fun partying in college and enjoying the experience. It was hard for me to access resources to really understand what was going on. It had gotten to the point where my grades had slipped and I had to drop out. Dropping out made me realize that you can depend on folks in your community, but in order to do that, you have to find your place within that community, wherever you live.”
Mandy Ortiz is a multidisciplinary storyteller based in New Orleans, and a Fall 2022 Lede New Orleans Community Reporting Fellow. Ortiz, 23, was raised on the West Side of Chicago, the daughter of a Mexican mother and a Puerto Rican father. Ortiz graduated from Macalester College in St. Paul, Minn. and currently works in strategic planning and public relations.
This article is available to republish under a Creative Commons license. Read Lede New Orleans’ publishing guidelines here.
Support Lede New Orleans and its community-centered reporting by becoming a supporting donor.
To get weekly emails with New Orleans stories and events, sign up for Lede New Orleans’ newsletter.
