Essay: Demanding change for mental health care in Iowa
BY CALAN SMIDT
Editor’s note: This essay discusses suicide. If you or someone you know may be considering suicide or is in crisis, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
As a parent, one of the most harrowing experiences imaginable is watching your child battle with any illness or instability. It is a journey fraught with fear, confusion and heartache, often compounded by navigating a difficult health care system. My own journey through my child’s depression culminated in his suicide attempt on Dec. 10, 2021. This was my violent introduction to the desperate need for change in how we approach mental health care, especially here in Iowa.
My son’s struggle with depression began like a quiet storm — gradually intensifying until it consumed him. I remember the subtle shifts in his behavior, the once-bright light in his eyes dimming as the weight of his inner turmoil grew heavier. His interest in school diminished, and he lost his desire to play soccer, a game he had loved and competed in since age 4. At first, I attributed it to typical teenage mood swings, COVID-19 and changes in his ADHD, but as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became undeniable that something much darker was at play.
We did everything we were supposed to do. He had been receiving care through a local hospital’s behavioral and neurological wing since he was young to manage his ADHD. However, in the summer of 2021, the care we depended on was transitioning to a more specialized hospital. We were assured we would be supported during this transition. Somehow, though, he got lost in the shuffle. Finding a therapist, counselor or anyone who could offer a glimmer of hope in the darkness that was taking hold became a struggle. At every turn, we encountered barriers.
Iowa’s fragmented and under-resourced mental health system failed to provide the support and resources my son desperately needed. Long wait times for appointments left us feeling utterly helpless as I witnessed his condition deteriorate before my eyes. Even when we managed to secure appointments, the limited availability of specialized care often made it feel like too little, too late. Inadequate medication monitoring exacerbated our frustration and despair, leaving us questioning if there was any end in sight to this nightmare.
But perhaps even more insidious than the shortcomings of the system itself was the pervasive stigma surrounding mental illness. Iowa isn’t alone — a culture of silence and shame persists around issues of mental health. This stigma not only prevented my son from seeking help sooner but also made it difficult for me, as his parent, to advocate effectively on his behalf. I felt isolated, alone in our struggle, afraid to speak out for fear of being judged or ostracized by those around us. Or just ignored entirely.
And then, on that fateful day in December 2021, every parent’s worst fears were realized. My son’s text messages became increasingly incomprehensible, like gibberish signaling a distress I couldn’t yet comprehend. My intuition was on high alert. Without hesitation, I made my way out to his car, an unspoken urgency propelling me forward. As I swung open the door, the sight that greeted me was one I’ll never forget — my son, slumped over, unresponsive. It was as if time stood still, the weight of the moment crashing down on me like a tidal wave. In that instant, fear, grief, anger, guilt — emotions I could scarcely name — swirled around me, threatening to consume me entirely.
The days and months that followed are now a blur of time spent at the hospital and various doctor’s appointments, in conversations with the school, and with a raging sense of injustice. I found myself grappling with conflicting emotions. I wanted to place blame, to hold someone accountable for failing my son. Yet, I also wanted to extend my understanding to those in the system, to acknowledge the overwhelming demands they face. But this was my son, and the inadequacies of the system felt like a personal affront. Quick appointments, lack of follow-ups, a palpable absence of genuine investment — each failure fueled my anger and frustration. I wanted to fight the world, to shake it awake to the realities so many families were facing. But where to begin?
I started with the local school board.
The district had long been acquainted with the devastating ripple effects of bullying and suicide. It had once earned the unfortunate moniker of “Suicide High” in the early 2010s — a painful reminder of the lives lost in a tragically short span of time. I couldn’t help but recall the posters and brochures plastered throughout the halls and handed out as far back as kindergarten. It was a feeble attempt to address a problem that seemed insurmountable. It didn’t seem real until it became my problem. And here we were.
I notified the school board of what had transpired with my son and made it clear I would be speaking at an upcoming board meeting. I didn’t want to blindside them, but they needed to understand the gravity of the situation — the bullying, lack of resources and support, and the reality of what is happening to students. My student. It was the only recourse I had, the only means to channel my grief and anger into something tangible.
During this tumultuous period, I found solace in an unexpected source — my participation in the Leadership Iowa program. As personal turmoil unfolded, my Leadership Iowa classmates offered me a lifeline — an opportunity to connect with fellow professionals from diverse backgrounds, all united in our commitment to effect change. They became my pillars of support, standing with me as I prepared to address the school board.
On the night of the meeting, I arrived with my short speech in hand, nerves buzzing with anticipation. As I checked in, I was heartened to see members of my Leadership Iowa class filtering into the room — a symbol of solidarity for mental health awareness. Their presence was a source of strength, a reminder I was not alone in this fight. With trembling hands, I delivered my speech to the board, each word a testament to the pain and frustration that had brought me to this moment. And as I concluded, the room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air.
But what followed was a moment of profound solidarity. One by one, my fellow Leadership Iowa classmates rose from their seats — a silent show of support as they exited the room with me. In that moment, I knew I wasn’t just speaking for my son. I was speaking for every parent, every family, every individual who had been failed by a broken system. And together, we stood fearless, demanding change because everyone deserves better.
The journey through my son’s depression and subsequent suicide attempt was a wake-up call, highlighting the urgent need for change at both the systemic and societal levels. It has taken me this long to heal myself and be able to speak about the realities of what so many face. We cannot continue to ignore that reality or sweep it under the rug due to discomfort or shame. We must break down the barriers that prevent individuals from accessing timely and adequate care, and we must do so with compassion and urgency.
As a community, we need to prioritize mental health education and destigmatization efforts. We must create places where individuals feel comfortable seeking help without fear of judgment or discrimination. Additionally, we must advocate for policy changes that prioritize mental health care funding and improve access to services for all, regardless of socioeconomic status or geographic location. This can’t be a political issue because it’s a reality for so many neighbors, friends and family members.
For parents navigating similar challenges, I urge you to persist, even when the odds feel insurmountable. I know it can seem hopeless. But keep going. Continue to reach out to support groups, advocacy organizations and mental health professionals. They can offer guidance and assistance. But most importantly, please remember you are not alone. Together, we can work toward a future where every individual, regardless of age or circumstance, has access to the care and support needed to thrive.
For anyone who finds themselves in the same space as my son, I want you to know that there is life after this difficult period. I would be lying if I said every day would be perfect — it won’t be. You’ll have bad days; we all do. But there are happiness, joys and wonders awaiting you. This is an incredible world with so much to see and do, and it is better with you in it. You are loved, wanted and needed.
Life didn’t end for my son following his attempt on that dreary December day. He returned to in-person classes a few weeks later. It wasn’t easy, but he persevered through that last semester and graduated on time with his classmates. Witnessing him cross that stage, arms raised in triumph, was one of the most profound moments of my life — of his, too. Today, he continues to navigate his path, as all young adults do. I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to witness his journey — to see him stumble, rise, succeed and stumble again. That’s the essence of being a young adult. How fortunate we are that he is still here, ready to face each new day with determination and resilience.
In solidarity with all those who continue to battle this broken system, let’s stand fearlessly and demand change. Our voices must rise together and advocate for a better, more compassionate approach to mental health care. We cannot afford to remain silent, as lives truly depend on our collective action. For the sake of our children, our families and our communities, let us push for the resources, support and understanding that everyone deserves.
Calan Smidt is an Iowa mother passionate about advocating for mental health resources. She lives in Central Iowa.
