The Dawn of Diverge

Written and Edited by Maria Hamlin

Accessibility, support, wait-times, accommodations. You’ve probably heard these terms before in many contexts; maybe in the media, maybe in a comment or two from a professor or classmate, or maybe in your own personal life as well. How much do we understand about these systems as a community? How much is unknown? Many of us in university navigate them, each with our own personal stories and struggles, and it wouldn’t be out of place for you to ask yourself these questions at least once in your university career. We see these systems in place at Dalhousie, but what does are they like for someone who relies on them? How do we know that they fully support students the best that they can?

I have never been an A student, but I knew what trying hard felt like for me. When I began experiencing clinically significant symptoms during my undergraduate degree, I knew something was wrong. I was terribly afraid that my life was ruined, and though I was never a star student before, I had built so many things around me that I now believed I would never be able to have.

I tried to remain proactive; I emailed professors for extension requests and set up meetings with those who I could share my situation with. While I appreciated the support I received, everything was slipping out from under me. There was only so much I could manage on my own, and I began having to make choices. Do I sacrifice my GPA, money, or the time spent doing my degree? All of this weighed on me while I suffered through wait-times and emergency room visits. Because my family lived in another country, I couldn’t help but feel completely alone, and all I had were monotonous replies from faculty and 811.

With limited support from health providers and academic's around me, I turned to online forums, in-person communities, and friends with shared experiences in hopes that they would be able to provide me the support that I needed. This ended up being one of the best things for me when I was at my lowest, and I found that not only was I learning from these communities, but they were learning from me. Everything I tried was documented and shared, no matter the outcome. I took pride in being able to give back to a community that stood by me; it was the light of my day to know that my experiences and ideas were able to help at least one person out there.

Over time, I was able to take all of the collective advice I had received and use it to my advantage, making my way through the world with more ease. I consider myself very lucky for someone in my position; I got into doctors offices quicker than most, I almost didn’t get referred (but did), my psychiatrist happened to be patient enough to go over-time with me and meet twice in 48 hours, and I was just stubborn enough to reach out and try to make things work. But what if I hadn't? I can’t help but mourn for those who fall short of reaching the end, and rather, those who reach their limit. Those who find no answers, those who don’t have family doctors to make these referrals, nor the money or the time to commit to getting the support they need. Sadly, this is the reality for many, including students, making the college drop-out rate due to mental health and illness a whopping 64% according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

There is still work to be done. Yes there are systems, but let’s make them better. Yes there are resources, but we can increase them. You can make it through as one, but why not make it out as many. Just because the help is out there, that doesn’t mean that everyone can reach it, so let’s give them ground to stand on.

This is where you come in, where all of us come together and become the ground to stand on for those who can't fight alone. We will push for change where it's needed the most, supporting each other along the way. Welcome to the start of change, welcome to the beginning of Diverge.