Get Curious: One Action You Can Take To Help Others, And Yourself
By Merle Massie, Executive Director, The Do More Agriculture Foundation
One of the most common questions we hear at The Do More Agriculture Foundation is: how do we do more for mental health?
I’m so glad you asked. I’ve got one idea that you can try today.
Do you have a friend, family member, or neighbor (or maybe, it’s you) who has a particular diagnosis related to mental health, such as a mental injury or a mental illness? Maybe they’re in grief from a recent loss. Maybe they live with anorexia or bulimia. Perhaps you know someone with a diagnosis of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) which can impact how they move through life. Perhaps they’re under treatment for depression or anxiety – both incredibly common in agriculture. Maybe you have a friend or neighbor or family member with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, or are simply, like all of us, under a lot of stress.
Whatever it is, here’s one thing you can do today: get curious. Go learn.
With the internet at our fingertips, it’s easier than ever to quickly get a much better understanding of the illness or injury at hand. Dive in, and soak up information.
Before you start, two quick cautions:
Choose reputable sites;
Recognize your biases.
Let’s unpack those two cautions.
There’s a lot of noise online when it comes to mental health. Activating curiosity about a particular diagnosis means choosing to read reputable, science-based and clinical sources first. Build your knowledge about the injury, illness, or disease, just as you would with a diagnosis of Parkinson’s, Alzheimer's, or any form of cancer. Major internationally-known research hospitals and research centres, or foundations dedicated to mental health are good places to start. They curate accurate information and usually present it in ways that help us all better understand the key points. As you continue to learn, seek out clinicians and professionals. Learning from credible sources is time well spent.
The second caution is that we are all products of our culture. That means, we carry biases, stereotypes and assumptions about mental health and those who have particular mental illness diagnoses, even when we think we are not carrying this cultural baggage. Recognize these biases and assumptions and stereotypes when they pop up, name them, and ask them to quietly sit in the corner. Set them aside so that you’re unlocked and fresh, and can learn.
When my brother was first hospitalized and we received the diagnosis of bipolar disorder, a lot of things fell into place. The diagnosis became a stepping stone, unleashing me to do what comes naturally: get curious and dive in to learn. I knew nothing. And I needed to learn.
I went straight to the bookstore and found the section with published medical books, including those on bipolar disorder. (His diagnosis came before the internet had taken off, and certainly well before we had anything like usable rural internet, so the bookstore and the library became my local haunts.) I bought and borrowed everything I could find. And read them, cover to cover.
What I learned about his diagnosis set the stage for much better understanding, support, help for active management, preparedness, and a much better connection. I learned how it felt for him to be in a manic phase, and how the illness could shape his responses or even lead him to stop treatment. I learned how he felt during a bout of mania, what helped when he was in a state of recovery after mania, and better understood bouts of depression.
I learned the risk factors that come with bipolar disorder, particularly the higher risks of suicide. I learned that my brother had many of the highest risk factors for suicide as a person struggling with bipolar disorder, including being male, being single with no children, being middle aged, having an illness that didn’t always respond to treatment, being a person with a recent major loss when our Dad died, plus the added risk factors of living rural with not great access to support, and access to lethal means of suicide.
These understandings – both about the illness, and the inherent risks – helped to build a bridge between us. I brought myself closer to him with my curiosity, my willingness to spend time and energy to learn about the illness that enveloped his world and spilled across our family and friends. He didn’t need to spend time teaching or explaining; we could move into connection and shared understanding, and build paths forward together.
That mattered for him. It mattered that I’d learned – for him. My interest in this aspect of his life built connection.
And, it mattered for me. We were shocked and sad when he did choose suicide. The hole in our family was real, and our grief deep. And because of all the active learning that I’d done, we understood that serious mental illness carries risk. We understood that we had, indeed, done all that we could. And just like letting our Dad go when the cancer took him, we honoured David when his illness took him.
Our ability to learn and understand offered better connections while he was here, and a measure of peace when he left. Our curiosity and willingness to engage and grow made all the difference.
So, I continue my practice. Whenever I have a friend, neighbor, or family member facing a diagnosis and illness, I get curious. I go online and to the library and to the bookstore. I order books, find credible websites, take classes, and I learn. I invest in learning so that I do the work to close the gap between them and me. It can’t be on the person who is ill to educate me, tell me what I need to know. Learning about the illness is my responsibility, and my gift, to them.
Curiosity is a gift. You can take action and learn. That’s one thing you can do, right now.