Heard, Not Just Spoken
Today is World Mental Health Day. This year’s theme is “Lived Experiences Heard: Real Voices, Real Change.”
I keep coming back to one word in it.
Heard.
Not shared. Not spoken. Heard.
We spend a lot of energy asking people to speak, yet we spend very little checking whether anyone was actually listening.
What Gets Written on the Side
Every psychology textbook has notes. That’s where the exceptions go.
The main text describes the typical case, in clean bold headings. The notes hold the smaller print. Often missed in girls. May look different in men. Frequently masked.
And a lot of people live there.
The girl whose ADHD was never noticed, because she daydreamed quietly instead of disrupting class. The woman who spent years learning to mask her autistic traits so well that no one, including her, thought to look closer. The man whose distress came out as anger, or silence, or one more drink, because no one ever taught him it could look like sadness.
Maybe you’ve read a list of symptoms and thought: almost.
Close, but not quite. Not bad enough. Not the right kind. So you closed the tab, and decided it wasn’t really yours to talk about.
But a definition is a summary of many people’s lives. It isn’t a test you have to pass. If your experience lives in the notes, it’s still real, whether you ever say it out loud or not.
Two Kinds of Knowing
In 1976, sociologist Thomasina Borkman gave a name to something people in support groups already knew: experiential knowledge. The kind you only get by living through something.
She placed it beside professional knowledge, which comes from training, research and observation. One doesn’t replace the other. They answer different questions.
Professional knowledge asks: what is this, and how do we treat it?
Experiential knowledge asks: what is this like, and what would actually help?
Students are often trained in the first kind. The second can’t be taught in a lecture hall. It’s carried by the people who’ve lived it.
Nothing About Us Without Us
Imagine designing a ramp without ever asking someone who uses a wheelchair.
It might look fine on paper. It might even pass inspection. And it might still be too steep for the people it was built for.
The disability rights movement has a phrase for this: nothing about us without us. In mental health, it means people with lived experience aren’t just case studies, survey responses or the photo on a campaign poster. They help shape the services, policies and research that shape their lives.
That looks like:
- Peer support workers: people with their own lived experience, trained to walk alongside others through care.
- Lived-experience advisory groups: people who review how services and policies are designed before they launch, not after they fail.
- Co-designed research: people with lived experience help choose the questions, not just answer them.
A system designed from the textbook fits the textbook. A system designed with people fits people. That’s all “people-centred” really means.
What Listening Sounds Like
Most of us will never sit on an advisory board. But we all get chances to listen. In everyday life, it sounds like this:
- “What’s it like for you?” instead of “Have you tried sleeping more?”
- “That makes sense” instead of “But you don’t seem depressed.”
- Letting people use their own words. Not everyone will say a diagnosis. Some will say “off,” “flat” or “foggy.” Those count.
The “No Offence” Problem
I know it can be hard to speak up. I’m not going to tell you that you should.
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Somewhere along the way, “speak up” became the whole message. Reach out. Open up. It’s okay to not be okay. Said once, by someone who means it, it’s a kindness. Said by everyone, everywhere, all at once, it becomes a weight. One more thing you’re quietly failing at.
It’s kind of like “no offence.”
We say it right before something that might hurt, as if it makes it okay. “You’re safe to share” can work the same way. Saying it doesn’t make it so.
Safety isn’t announced. It’s built.
Whether you speak, when, and to whom is yours to decide. The more honest question isn’t whether you’re brave enough. It’s whether the places around you have earned it.
Read the Fine Print
Every October, the posts come back. A pastel graphic. A hashtag. A webinar invite. A wellness week squeezed in between deadlines.
Some of it is real. Some of it is mental health as branding, or to hop on the trend: a way to look caring without changing anything.
The difference is usually in the fine print:
- Follow the money. Real support costs something: counsellors, benefits that actually cover therapy, paid time to rest. A post costs nothing.
- Check the calendar. Does the conversation still exist in March?
- Compare the message to the workload. A meditation app doesn’t fix a schedule built for burnout.
- Look at who’s in the room. Are people with lived experience consulted, paid and listened to, or only featured in the photos?
- Ask for the results. Real programs track whether they work, like wait times or how many people use a service, and share it openly.
- Watch what happens after someone speaks. This is the only test that really counts. Are they supported, or quietly pushed to the margins?
If the fine print is empty, it’s awareness without action. Being talked about isn’t the same as being heard.
If and When You’re Ready
Your experience doesn’t need to fit a definition to be real. And it doesn’t need to be shared to be valid.
If you ever do want to put it into words, there’s no right way to do it. A conversation with one person you trust. A note on your phone that nobody else will read. Or nothing at all, for now. All of those count.
And if you’re on the other side of that conversation, the most helpful thing might also be the quietest.
Make it safe. Then wait.
World Mental Health Day ends at midnight. The notes don’t. The people living in them will still be there tomorrow, and the day after that, long after the hashtags fade.
So maybe awareness that lasts isn’t louder.
Maybe it just listens better.
This article is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you need support, reach out to a licensed mental health professional or someone you trust. In Canada, you can call or text 9–8–8 any time, day or night.
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