By: A CMHA Toronto staff member who wishes to remain anonymous. Some details have been slightly changed to preserve anonymity. 

I consider myself fortunate to work in an organization that recognizes and values lived experience in mental health. When I completed my graduate studies, I never imagined building a career in this field, let alone in a place that places great value on lived experience. While “lived experience” can mean different things depending on context, here is what it means to me. 

Several years ago, I went through a profound shift in consciousness. It was sudden, intense, and unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Feeling confused and searching for answers, I reached out to the psychiatric services available through my university. The consultation with the psychiatrist was brief and discouraging. Within 20 minutes, and without exploring my cultural background or personal worldview, I was told I might have schizophrenia and advised to pursue a formal diagnosis. The suggestion was delivered in a detached and clinical way, leaving me shocked and disoriented. 

Coming from a humanities background, and unfamiliar with psychiatric diagnosis and schizophrenia, I asked the psychiatrist whether there might be alternative or cross-cultural frameworks for understanding what I was experiencing. He responded that we were not in a “third world” country and that in Canada, this was simply how such situations are assessed. As an immigrant from a country often labeled as “third world,” his remark felt dismissive and reflective of systemic racism, compounding my distress at an already vulnerable moment. 

I was familiar with critiques of Western psychiatry, but I never thought I would experience them firsthand. These approaches often frame emotional and psychological experiences as medical conditions, emphasizing biological or neurological causes while overlooking social, cultural, and environmental factors. The psychiatrist’s approach did not fully capture the complexity of what I was going through. 

During this period, I had developed close ties with members of an Indigenous community outside of Tkaronto. On the advice of a community member, I sought guidance from a traditional doctor (healer). Although I did not identify as particularly spiritual, my family ties and involvement in anti-colonial work had brought me closer to this community. During our meeting, the traditional healer shared that within their tradition, my experience was not considered an illness but a form of spiritual emergence. 

This interpretation contrasted sharply with the biomedical model. One perspective framed my experience as a disorder requiring treatment, while the other described it as a meaningful transformation, though one accompanied by difficulty and confusion. Neither framework fully captured my reality, but the latter offered a sense of affirmation and dignity that I found profoundly healing. 

In the absence of supportive alternatives within mainstream systems, I chose to engage in the traditional healing process. This meant participating in ceremonies under the guidance of experienced healers, joining in collective prayer, and spending time in nature, connecting with ancestors. Through this guided process, I came to understand my experiences not as a pathological crisis but as a transformative experience that allowed me to see life in new ways. What initially felt destabilizing and frightening became a source of strength and insight. 

In my current professional role, my lived experience shapes my practice in significant ways. It has deepened my empathy and compassion for those navigating similar paths, particularly for individuals who lack access to supportive or culturally appropriate care. I strive to hold space for people whose altered states of consciousness are met with confusion, fear, or pain, and to advocate for more inclusive frameworks for understanding mental health. This is what I bring to my work.