Pop culture really does a number on our perception of the world.  Imagination can only take us so far, and that’s when movies and TV and social media fill in the gaps. And they don’t do it well either. The trouble lies within what we are told, with no real reference point or experiences to challenge what we’ve just seen. I can’t think of a better pop culture dupe then how mental health, and more specifically, mental health treatment facilities, are portrayed in the media.

“Will there be white padded walls?”. Those were the words I managed to choke out when I was being oved from the hospital ER to the in-patient psychiatric unit at Joseph Brant Hospital in 2023. In between the sobs and feeling like I was about to pass out, that’s what I asked because that’s what I assumed was waiting for me on the other side of the door. And if you think about it who would blame me? If we think back (even in present day unfortunately) is there anything in modern day culture to tell us otherwise?

The media portrayal of mental health and the treatment of its varied illnesses truly set us up for failure. We picture closed off rooms with padded walls, ceilings and floors. We picture tiny windows from which to view whatever part of the outside world was visible. Straightjackets and handcuffs advertised like it’s part of some kind of welcome basket. The people are shown to be manic and wild and quite simply, a complete mess. Who could blame anyone for not wanting to go into a place like “that”. And therein lies or main problem: what is meant to benefit is set up to hinder. From the perspective of someone who was convinced they were headed to a padded room, let me paint a different picture.

Firstly, everyone’s experience is different from the next. I’m sure there are some experiences that do require pieces of the above. Would they be considered frontline treatments? In large majority, no. In my case, when I was walked through the door to the in-patient ward, we swung a quick left into my room. It was an open-door policy, no locks but the ability to close it when needed or wanted. At first I was in a two person room, though on occasion I was alone. There were two beds. Each of us had a desk and a chair, a built-in wall closet for our belongs and a shared washroom.

The unit itself was met with different emotions. Shaped like a giant “L” it did it’s best to support and stimulate residents. There was a large kitchen with a fridge, water dispenser and a microwave. There was a group meeting room for art, yoga and activities, and a large entertainment room at the base of the “L” that had couches and recliners, video games and systems, board games, books and puzzles. Down the long glass hallway were recliners and 2 private showers. It was far from what the movies made me think I had coming and yet somewhat disenchanting at the same time. While the space has had little updating since it’s conception in the 1960’s, the staff makes up for what the space is lacking. Somewhat dated furniture and having the group room in the dining room (due to limited space) are some challenges that come to mind. Thankfully for those future patients, the unit will be undergoing some much-needed revitalization through fundraising (thank you Walk to the Lighthouse!) and support from the provincial government. There is real opportunity there for an overhaul that will make the unit feel more updated.

Of course, on my first few days I mostly just slept and cried. Crying because I was scared, anxious, frustrated, every emotion ripped through me without warning. I started my approved medications and then came the acclimation to my new temporary home. There was a surprisingly large amount of freedom. And I say surprisingly large because I was made to believe that I’d be followed around by nurses in crisp white nursing uniforms with little hats, documenting my every move. This was not exactly the case. I placed my food orders the night before for the following day, off a decent menu (berry cake bread and pancakes were my favourite). Routine check ins with my doctor and nurses allows me to vent in intervals that allowed me to reflect on various parts of my day. Staff helped with my medication and therapy. I slept when I needed to, showered when I wanted to and took the me time I had been lacking. My family came to visit, it felt safe. I was able to visit my family on a day pass.

Want to know the most ironic part? I miss it sometimes. This was written on January 17th, 2025, with the two-year anniversary of my hospitalization having been on January 14th. And when I think of the hospital now, I feel warmly nostalgic. Although I was terrified to go in as an inpatient, it was based around the reality I thought there would be. When I left, I had the utmost appreciation for what that reality turned out to be. It was the place where I started to heal. It was the place where I grew. Am I on a journey to beautify or glam up the experience of struggling? Absolutely not. Are these all things I wished I’d known before becoming hospitalized? Absolutely yes.

Would I recommend someone wanting to go in? Honestly yes. Is that a controversial opinion? It could be, but it’s an honest opinion at the very least. If the stigma hadn’t stopped me from seeking the help I needed, I often wonder what could have or would have been. But at least I know now what the hospital was and still is. And if you should happen to find yourself in a similar situation, take a deep breath. The experience won’t be perfect, but it will be completely yours. And there is a certain type of power in taking back the stigma and turning it into something more.

Yours,

The girl in green