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I grew up not far from The North Wales Hospital, known to all who dared breathe its name as Denbigh Mental. Located on the outskirts of the pretty market town of Denbigh, it was an old fashioned asylum – an imposing Victorian Gothic building that would not be out of place in a horror movie.

Its mythology was as intricate as its architecture: this was a place that was only spoken about in hushed tones. Built for 200 people, at its busiest, it housed 1,500 patients. Some were caged, many were restrained, the straightjacket was ubiquitous, and experiments with lobotomies were routine. The place was feared, but worse than that, the thought of “going mental” was positively appalling.

The shame of having a loved one committed to Denbigh Mental was enough to silence an entire family. Mysterious illnesses were concocted; stories of being seen by medical specialists in other parts of the country masked the reality of having a family member in the big house on the hill.

Being mentally ill was the worst possible blight.

As I think about it now, there were likely severely mentally ill patients there, sufferers with schizophrenia, paranoid delusions and all manner of psychoses – but I’m pretty sure, given how crude diagnosis was in the day, that there were also women with post partum depression, men who had not fared well in either World War, people who had suffered the devastating effects of poverty and childhood trauma, maybe even those on the autism spectrum who had no mental illness, but were deemed “different”. If they were at Denbigh Mental, they were all, whatever their story, mad.

And “madness” meant deep shame, an institutionalized life, and massive stigma for families who couldn’t speak the pain of their relatives.

Denbigh Mental closed for good in 1995. It’s not that long ago.

Just six years after that, I read the most fascinating book about depression by Andrew Solomon called The Noonday Demon. A sweeping 800-page overview of the history, sociology and pharmacology of this commonplace illness, the quotation that I found most economical and poignant was this one:

“Grief is depression in proportion to circumstance; depression is grief out of proportion to circumstance.”

It’s normal to be very sad when awful things happen, but to be crippled by grief, sorrow or anxiety when trying to get through one’s day-to-day life is a sign of illness.

This is the illness that Clara Hughes has been so eloquent about.

Her heartbreaking story of being on top of the world as an athlete but in agony on the podium is her very personal way of breaking down the stigma that has plagued mental illness for centuries. Had Clara been born a hundred years earlier (and in a windswept corner of Wales), she could have been involuntarily committed to Denbigh Mental, possibly shunned and most likely spent years in the asylum.

The good news is that we talk about depression and other mental illnesses now.

And while people still call in to the office with “the flu” when they’re in the depths of despair or at the height of anxiety, there is finally a way to talk about the most commonplace illness among us.

And, talking about this – and bringing the issue out of the shadows — is so important.

So, for every “lunatic” that I didn’t know or care about at Denbigh Mental for all those years, I will be supporting Bell’s Let’s Talk campaign today in support of mental health initiatives.

For every text or call I make, or for every Tweet, Instagram post, Facebook video view or Snapchat geofilter sent using #BellLetsTalk, Bell will donate 5 cents more to mental health initiatives.

This will be an important topic of conversation today at Calder Bateman.

We’ll be sharing resources with each other, discussing our experiences and encouraging dialog about mental health. We’re ready to talk – but perhaps more importantly, listen – to each other about mental health.


About the author

Catrin Owen
As the frontwoman of an 80's Welsh punk band, Catrin is no stranger to winning over a crowd. Today she not only facilitates sessions with some of Alberta’s most powerful leaders and passionate advocates, she guides the path for Calder Bateman. Catrin is always prepared to help bring clarity and understanding to some of the province’s most complicated issues.

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