Since my husband and I went public with our family’s story about our son’s severe mental illness, my phone, inbox, and social media messages have been full. People reach out constantly — some looking for help for themselves, others desperate to find treatment for a loved one.
They come from every corner of Iowa, and beyond. Some ask if they can share my contact information with a friend, neighbor, a coworker in crisis or even a constituent.
My answer is always yes. I do my best to respond, though I can’t always keep up. I try — because I know how much it means to have someone simply answer.
Sometimes the help is straightforward. I can recommend an access center, a provider, a support program, or a specific contact who might make a difference.
Other times, the conversations are anything but simple. Some callers are angry — furious at a system that has let them down. Some sob uncontrollably.
Some ramble through the chaos of their loved one’s illness, and I have to listen carefully to piece together enough information to know where to start.
All of them need to be heard. All of them deserve compassion.
But these stories stay with me. They break my heart. They keep me awake at night. They fill me with rage at the injustice of a system that continues to fail people who are sick, scared, and out of options.
And even as I work with providers and advocates across the state — many of whom are deeply dedicated — it’s hard to hear story after story of people being failed by hospitals, agencies, and professionals we trust to help.
It’s devastating to learn about a young woman who died within days of discharge from a psychiatric hospital — her parents, who were her legal guardians, never even notified that she’d been released. We know suicide risk skyrockets in those first days after hospitalization.
It’s infuriating to hear about a man “streeted” from an emergency department because he was psychotic and using drugs— drugs that were the only thing quieting the voices in his head — because he couldn’t access real treatment, and just kept being streeted by the people who are supposed to help him.
It’s exhausting to advocate for someone who clearly qualifies for an Assertive Community Treatment program, only to be told he’s “too sick” for admission, even though the program’s own criteria say otherwise.
These calls are constant. They come in frequently. I do what I can to connect people to help:
• Office of Recovery Services: 855-622-4692• Your Life Iowa: 855-581-8111• 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline• Iowa Warm Line: 844-775-9276 (Peer-run, non-crisis, 8 a.m.–2 a.m. CST)• Treatment Advocacy Center Helpline: 703-951-9760
But the calls I truly dread are the ones that come after someone has been arrested for something they did while in untreated psychosis.
Once a person is criminalized for being sick, it becomes so much harder to get them treatment instead of punishment.
If you’re one of the people reaching out, please know it’s OK to keep doing so (lcarpenter@iamentalhealth.com). I don’t have all the answers, but I will always try to help, to listen, and to keep pushing for a system that treats people with severe mental illness with dignity and care.
I believe it will get better — but only if more people care enough to speak out, to get involved, and to refuse to accept the way things are.
If you’re ready to be part of that change, I hope you’ll consider signing up for updates from NAMI Iowa (NAMI Iowa Newsletter Sign Up) and the Treatment Advocacy Center (TAC Action Center – Treatment Advocacy Center)
Every voice matters—and every call for change helps bring us one step closer to a system that truly helps the people who need it most.
This guest column was originally published by Kali White VanBaale’s blog, “Minding the Gaps” on Substack. It is republished here via the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative.