Breaking Barriers: Black History Month and the Intersection of Mental Health and Substance Use Disorder

Nick Dansby, RCP • Feb 23, 2024

February marks the celebration of Black History Month, a time to recognize the invaluable contributions of African Americans throughout history and today. Beyond the achievements and milestones, it’s imperative to shed light on the intersections of mental health within the black community. First-hand experience has exposed the gaps in access to treatment. Historical adversities like slavery and systemic exclusion from leverage, equity, inclusion and basic human rights have left a lasting impact, manifesting as socio-economic disparities and barriers to mental health treatment today.


The Connection Between Black History and Mental Health:

While mental health conditions don’t discriminate based on race, the challenges of accessing adequate mental health treatment are more common for people of color, particularly African Americans. Misdiagnosis, limited access to healthcare, and the scarcity of African American mental health professionals contribute to a significant disparity in mental health outcomes. After an unprovoked assault in 2017, I was told by a therapist that I had exhibited symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). However, the follow-up, specialist referral, an official diagnosis and treatment were all lacking. 


Key Trends:

The statistics reveal a harsh reality. African American adults are 20% more likely to experience mental health issues than the rest of the population. Black young people face challenges in accessing mental health services compared to their white counterparts. Only 25% of African Americans seek treatment for mental health issues, in contrast to 40% of Caucasian individuals. Socioeconomic factors further propagate the situation, with those living below the poverty line being three times more likely to report severe psychological distress.


The Role of Stigma and Lack of Representation:

Misdiagnosis by healthcare professionals, societal stigma, and a shortage of black mental health practitioners contribute to the current plight of access to mental health resources in the black community. The underrepresentation of blacks in mental health professions, as highlighted by the statistics, creates a significant gap in culturally competent care. 6.2% of psychologists, 5.6% of advanced-practice psychiatric nurses, 12.6% of social workers, and 21.3% of psychiatrists are members of underrepresented groups. Remember my therapist who informed me about my PTSD? Well, she was also black. I’ve often wondered if she was equipped to complete a full diagnosis, with recommended treatment. Or did she face barriers in performing her professional duties? 


Paving the Way for Change:

Black History Month serves as a reminder to work continually towards breaking down those barriers for the underrepresented, ensuring equal access to mental health and substance abuse resources. Notable figures like Dr. Solomon Carter Fuller, Dr. Paul Cornely, and Mamie Phipps Clark have paved the way for equitable healthcare, making significant contributions to psychiatry, public health, and psychology, respectively.


A Call to Action:

As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wisely stated, progress requires relentless forward movement. Beyond February, it is our collective responsibility to advocate for equal access and dismantle the barriers preventing adequate mental health care. By building awareness, supporting initiatives that promote inclusivity, and demanding change at all levels, we can contribute to a society where mental health is prioritized for everyone. And, hopefully, we may all experience a world where all voices of positive self advocacy are welcomed and encouraged. 


Sources:

Excerpts and data used from Discoverymood.com, National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), American Psychological Association,  American Psychiatric Association, and Plymouth Psych Group


By Megan Miller, CAC 29 Oct, 2024
I grew up full of fear. Everything terrified me. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t until I started smoking pot at 14—because I was too afraid to stand up to peer pressure—that I finally felt a sense of freedom and relaxation for the first time. I chased that high for the next 16 years. Somehow, I managed to graduate college with an OxyContin addiction, and after that, with nothing tethering me to the real world, things got a lot worse. I went to detox for the first of many times in 2005. I left there thinking I wasn’t an addict and that my use had just gotten out of control. That denial kept me in and out of treatment for the next decade. Heroin became my entire life. I couldn’t hold a job, I overdosed, I got Hepatitis C from sharing needles, and I didn’t care about anything except getting high. I was so full of shame at what my life had become, but I just couldn’t stop. I was great at trying to stop, but I couldn’t stay stopped. The gift of desperation came to me in April 2012. I couldn’t keep living the way I was. I finally wanted to live instead of die. That compulsion to use left me when I finally surrendered to it. Today, I wake up grateful for the life I have. My 6-year-old daughter is the greatest joy of my life, and she has never seen me use. Today, with the support of my wonderful husband, my family, and my recovery network, I live a full life of joy and purpose. There is no more rewarding feeling in the world than sharing the gift of recovery with others.
By Dave Aumiller, CPS, NCPRSS 03 Sep, 2024
Overdose. It’s a word that catches in my throat and a topic that stops me in my tracks. As a person in long-term recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) and Substance Use Disorder (SUD), I have overdosed many times. I have been revived by paramedics three times. Waking up in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there—scared. Or in the back of an ambulance, sick and angry for being Narcaned, a crazed hostage of my addicted mind. Or in a front yard, soaking wet from someone throwing me in a cold shower, unsuccessfully trying to revive me before leaving me outside—confused. These experiences don’t account for the countless times I have overdosed and been revived by a concerned party—now scarred by the trauma of my disease in its final stage, trying to carry out its final act, resulting in an untimely death. Overdose. After all of this, it was the kindness and care of others that made the difference between another chance and another day. Another dose of hope and life. An opportunity to begin again. On a day like today, reflecting on a topic that is so close to the heart of everyone connected to this reality, I am grateful. I am hopeful. I am humble. Because I know how lucky I am. How undeserving I was. And I live my amends and gratitude by doing my best to embody and live the values of a recovery that works. I also keep close to my heart, at the forefront of my mind, and on the tip of my tongue, the names of the countless others who weren’t as lucky as I. In honor of Overdose Awareness Day, I will say the names of my friends who weren’t fortunate enough to receive as many chances as I did, and I will live in their names—sober today and willing to extend a hand to anyone who needs it in their journey to recover and spread hope to both the sufferer and the caregiver.  Today, let us remember those we have lost, cherish the moments we have been given, and continue to fight for a future where overdose is a distant memory. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can spread hope.
By Shannon Schwoeble, CPS 29 Aug, 2024
I was devastated when I heard that another close friend I'd made in treatment was gone. Seven friends in my first six months—two had come into treatment, left, and passed away while I was still there. In the years that followed, many others who had walked this path alongside me were lost as well. Nine in my first year of recovery. I found myself asking, "Why am I still here? Why didn’t they ‘get it’?"  Survivor’s guilt was not something I expected to experience in recovery. It hit me hard and fast when I began my journey in 2011. I was terrified. I would sit and think about friends I had just seen or spoken to—did they seem different? Did they sound off? I was so scared of who I would lose next. Through my work with a therapist and finding my own voice, I learned to transform my survivor's guilt into hope. I realized that by using my voice, sharing my story, saying their names, and talking about the profound impact each of them had on me—in life and in death—I could help others understand that recovery is possible. Perhaps, something I share will give someone struggling a glimmer of hope that they, too, can find recovery. On Overdose Awareness Day, August 31, we remember and honor those we've lost to this devastating disease. In loving memory of Ben, Pat, Krista, Harry, Christina, Brook, Dustin, Jeff, Jamie, and everyone we have lost—you are remembered and loved, today and every day.
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