We Don’t Wait to Talk About Cancer, Why Wait for Mental Health?

When a child is diagnosed with cancer, people show up.
They don’t hesitate. They send flowers, food, cards. They fill waiting rooms. They check in constantly.

The response is instinctual: This child needs us. Let’s rally.

But when a child is admitted to a psychiatric hospital, what happens?

Most of the time. Nothing.

No calls. No visits. No posts. Just quiet.

Why is that?

Why does one illness bring out support and the other brings out shame?

We Lied to Protect Her. But at What Cost?

Our daughter Maddie spent time in the North York Youth Psychiatric Ward. Twice.

She didn’t want anyone to know. Not her friends. No one outside the family.

When her friends called, we told them she was in the hospital with stomach issues. We hated saying it, but we were trying to respect her wishes. And in truth, we didn’t know how else to explain it either.

Only her immediate family knew where she really was.

For two months, we were at the hospital every single day.
There’s only so much you can say when your child is hurting and trapped in her thoughts. So, we played games. A lot of games. We tried to be present. Tried to give her something to hold onto.

But we were it.

No friends. No peers. No teenage voices reminded her of the life that existed outside those walls.

Have You Ever Done the Same?

I’ve spoken with many parents who did exactly what we did.

They made up stories, softened the truth, protected their child’s privacy, and isolated themselves, too.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. And maybe you are.

But the silence around mental health is crushing. And it’s heavy for everyone involved.

What if Maddie had heard from a friend every day? What if she’d been reminded of the people who loved her, the ones who’d drop everything to support her if they only knew?

Would it have made a difference?

I believe it would have.

Eight Girls. One Door Slammed.

Six years later, I ran a school-based emotional learning program.
At the end of it, eight girls approached me and said, “This changed my life.”

They were glowing. Energized. Hopeful.

They believed in the program so much that they went to their school to ask if it could be offered to others.

The school slammed the door in their face.

Sound familiar?

Young people are asking for more support and being ignored. Pushed aside. Shut down.

That moment haunted me. It still does because it reminded me of Maddie. What might’ve been different if we, as adults, had just listened.

Connection Is the Real Medicine

We don’t treat mental illness the way we treat physical illness, even though we know better now.

Connection matters. Love matters. Support saves lives.

We didn’t wait to be there for Maddie. But we were the only ones who knew to show up. And I’ll always wonder what might’ve changed if more people had been allowed to walk through that door.

Not to fix her. Not to offer advice. Just to be there.

Like we do for kids with cancer.

It’s Time to Raise the Standard

We don’t wait to talk about leukemia.
We don’t wait to post about surgery or set up meal trains for physical illness.

So why do we wait when a teen is battling anxiety, depression, or suicidal thoughts?

Why are we still whispering?

We need to normalize support. Normalize visits. Normalize talking about it.

We must listen when a young person says, “This helped me.”
We must act when they say, “This changed my life.”

We didn’t lose Maddie because we didn’t care.
But maybe we lost her because the world was too quiet.

Let’s not be quiet anymore.