by Psyche Ready, with support from the DAC team
Earlier this semester, on September 26th, it was a blustery, gray day, and I had two doctor’s appointments back to back. The last one was at UConn Health, which is on the other side of Hartford, and I was driving home to Windham, headachy and tired. I remembered that I had registered to attend a Zoom panel.
I pulled into a Starbucks parking lot and opened my laptop, and logged into Zoom. The session had already begun. The event was “Deaf Perspectives on Mental Health and Suicide Prevention,” a free online panel sponsored by UCIS, the University of Connecticut Communication Access and Interpreter Services. I have had quite a bit of indirect interaction with UCIS, because many of the meetings and classes I have attended over the last five years have been ASL interpreted and live-captioned.
I will never forget the first meeting I ever attended at UConn–my grad student orientation. It was translated into ASL and live-captioned. I mentioned to the staff beforehand that I was hard of hearing, and asked for a seat up front–what I usually do to ensure I can participate. They assured me that the meeting was already being captioned, and promised to save me a front-row seat. Before the meeting, I was emailed a link to the live captions. During the training, I had my laptop open and was able to follow the live text of what was being said around me. I had to blink back tears. It was so awesome. I could hear well the presenters leading the training, who were loud and animated, but I couldn’t hear the questions asked by attendees in the back rows. Instead of straining and puzzling, I could look down at my laptop and wait for their words to be typed out in front of me.
I remember that day, I felt like a princess.
It is not princess treatment, of course, to be given access to a meeting that everyone with full hearing by default has access to. But I felt like one still, because I’d never had full access before. Importantly, I learned something else that day that I didn’t know I needed to learn: that it was okay to be hard of hearing and to want to participate fully anyway.
Connecting back to this September and the Zoom webinar: I registered to attend this meeting, first, because I am both hard of hearing and mentally ill. Second, because I am deeply invested in student mental health. My dissertation investigates the experiences of UConn students living with mental illness, and I’ve interviewed (so far) 21 students who have told me about their experiences here at UConn. I carry their stories around with me, now, and I walk through the world, thinking: how can I help? This event seemed like it might answer some of my questions.
The event description reads:
“This is a moderated virtual discussion about mental health and intersectionality, from a Deaf perspective. People from marginalized communities experience disproportionate mental health diagnoses, and the suicide rate among these communities reflect similar data. Many people are members of these groups in some way: they may be Deaf and Hard of Hearing, have visible or invisible disabilities, identify as LGBTQ+, or find their BIPOC identities adding to the risk factors while trying to navigate community and resources.”
I joined the Zoom call from my car, and then got right back on the highway. It was raining. I was alone. The voices from Zoom played out of my car’s speakers. I love driving alone because I can play my Chappell Roan or Welcome to Nightvale at full blast, so I can hear everything.
This event was different from any I’d ever attended because many panelists were presenting in ASL. The panelists were: Gregg Spera, Jazie Perry, Nathan Robinson, and the moderator was Elisa Valles, LMHC.
Although I was only listening to the call, so I couldn’t see them sign, I could hear the delay between the signer and the translation to spoken English. I could pick up on the slight difference in cadence between extemporaneous speaking and translated speaking: it sounds slightly more polished, and there were long pauses while the panelists signed and the translators watched. There was something about these unconventional rhythms that put me into a state of careful perception. I listened with my ears and my heart.
I never know how mental health is going to be handled in a setting like this one. People tend to discuss it obliquely, or in platitudes–with emphasis on wellness, and healing, and yoga. They refer to balance and self-care. Although these are all important things, I bristle at the platitudes a bit. My own experience of mental illness, and many others’, is not so palatable. It’s uglier, darker, stickier, nastier, and scarier. Even in circles where mental health is discussed, I often feel I need to self-censor, and keep to myself the extent of my own discomfort and struggle.
This event was not about platitudes. As I drove and listened, I was surprised by the candor with which the panelists spoke about depression and suicide. Suicide is a part of life for many of us with mental illness, and it is a part of my life. I have lost two very close friends, one of them my best friend, to suicide. A few years ago I lost a friend at UConn to suicide, a fellow grad student and comrade. I have had periods of suicidality in the past. In our culture, however, we are often not really allowed to talk about this. There is shame and fear around suicide. I thought of the chapter from Care Work by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha. They write:
“Like any smart crazy, I don’t want anything I can prevent on my permanent record, and I definitely don’t want Danger to Self or Others. I’ve been fighting this my whole life, and I’ve seen the oppression and hardness that that label can mean to folks in my life who’ve had it.
But if you normalized it. Because it is normal. This secret. That so many of us wrestle with suicidality. Then maybe, maybe just maybe I’d tell you where I was at.”
Two years ago, a grad student at Yale, just a few dozen miles down the highway from me, was forced to withdraw after attempting suicide. We are quite literally not allowed to talk about our depression or suicidal ideation. Yet when someone dies from suicide, people always ask: why didn’t they say anything? Why didn’t they tell me?
Because of the stigma against frank talk about mental illness, it felt positively magical–princess-like–that this panel was a space where presenters and attendees could be honest about our real lived experiences, and about how to help ourselves and each other. As the panelists signed and the translators spoke, I listened to social workers and activists and volunteers tell their stories about the challenges they face in supporting the mental wellness of the deaf/HOH community. I could feel the desperation in what they communicated, but also the devotion. And their commitment to community, mutual support, and hope. As written in the event description:
“This event aims to foster conversations about how to tap into existing support networks and build new ones to keep ourselves and those we love safe. Feel free to ask honest questions without fear of reprisal. This is an inclusive space, and we welcome all.”
I learned so much from this panel. It was a frank discussion of suicide and thoughts of suicide as a reality for many individuals with mental illness, but especially for the deaf and hard of hearing community. I also learned that suicide is a greater risk for deaf individuals. Deaf/HOH individuals have only slightly higher rates of mental illness than the average person, but importantly, they face significantly more challenges in accessing mental health services. Isolation and loneliness are realities for many disabled and/or deaf individuals, which can increase symptoms of mental illness and suicide. However, even when a Deaf/HOH individual is able to reach out for help, it can be nearly impossible to identify appropriate mental health providers. Very few clinicians communicate via sign. It is difficult for many to secure (and pay) an ASL translator to be present in a therapist’s office. For anyone who is dealing with suicidal thoughts, it is already so hard to find a clinician you feel safe with, and it may take weeks or years to develop the trust to disclose that information. For the deaf/HOH person who is communicating via translator, they have to build that trust with two individuals. This is a doubly vulnerable situation.
The session concluded with a list of resources, and a promise that UCIS would mail out a typed list, which they did, and I’ll copy and paste it below. It’s tough out there. Many of us are struggling with our mental health right now. And it’s hardest for those of us who are multiply marginalized. But there are resources. There are places to reach out for help. Some of these are posted below. If you have more, please add them in the comments!
I am so grateful that I participated in this meaningful panel event, and that UCIS has offered it regularly at UConn, and will continue to do so. If you’re interested, you can sign up for notifications through the UCIS website.
Resources for Suicide Prevention
NAMI | National Alliance on Mental Illness
Behavioral healthcare, social service, and advocacy information for D/DB/HoH: www.healthbridges.info (Pittsburgh, PA)
Donati Counseling in Massachusetts
Folx Health– largest health and wellness for LGBTQIA+ community
North Suffolk Community Services. Heather Hall, hhall@northsuffolk.org
Deaf Wellness Center – University of Rochester Medical Center
Deaf Counseling Center – Deaf Therapists for Deaf Clients
My Deaf Therapy – Deaf Therapists
National Deaf Therapy – ASL Therapy by Deaf Therapists
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention
Out of the Darkness Walks hosted by AFSP in most all states
American Association of Suicidology – Together, We Will Make An Impact!
Suicide Awareness Voices of Education (SAVE) | SAMHSA
International Association for Suicide Prevention
The Trevor Project – Suicide Prevention for LGBTQ+ Young People
988 Lifeline – If you need emotional support, reach out to the national mental health hotline: 988.
DeafLEAD – DeafLead runs ASL Virtual option through 988
2024 National Strategy for Suicide Prevention – HHS.gov
Suicide Prevention Resource Center
LivingWorks ASIST – Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training
QPR Institute – Question, Persuade, Refer – Practical and Proven Suicide Prevention Training QPR Institute (en-US)
LivingWorks – Safe TALK
Suicide Prevention – National Institute on Mental Health (NIH)
Disability & Access Collective 