My first vehicle was a Jeep Cherokee Laredo. It was sold to my family by my uncle, giving us a deal and me my first taste of freedom. I loved this Jeep. It stayed with me through high school, college, and most of graduate school. One night, about 4 years into owning it, I came down to get ready to go to work only to find that my car had been broken into. Someone stripped the column around the steering wheel in a pretty poor attempt to hotwire my car. Thankfully, they were really bad at stealing cars, or else I would have been without a vehicle. The upside was that I had my Jeep still; the downside was that you could no longer start it with a key. Yes, you read that right: the only way for me to now start my Jeep was with a set of locking pliers that you pulled towards you to get the ignition going. It was the ultimate workaround.
For years, this was the only way I could start and drive my Jeep. Then other things started to break. A radiator here, a wheel there. It started adding up, but I was so committed to this vehicle that I did everything to save it. Sure, it worked, but not really well. I had to carry water with me in the Jeep to fill up the radiator so it wouldn’t overheat. I used a club—yes, those massive red safety things someone convinced us we all needed—as my car locks no longer worked, meaning that anyone could open a door and start my car. They just couldn’t drive it anywhere other than forward or backward.
While my Jeep was technically still a functioning vehicle, after a while, I had to accept reality that there were better ways to get around. I still recall selling the Jeep for a whopping $375, and realizing what a huge stressor it was on me. I mean, I missed my Jeep, but being able to drive down the road without fear of overheating or some other random breakdown was pretty amazing. Selling my Jeep was a bittersweet moment, but it taught me that sometimes, clinging to what's familiar can prevent us from finding something better.
Just like my Jeep, which kept me going despite its constant breakdowns, the current mental health system is holding on, but it's far from ideal. Yet, there’s something happening in the mental health field. It’s like a new drumbeat, a new rhythm to the movement. I don’t think I would have picked up on it had I not been so “ear to the ground” for so long. It’s hard to describe, but it feels almost urgent, like there’s a collective recognition that this moment is going to pass and we need to do all we can to take advantage of it. I see it in fundraising. I see it in organizational priorities. It feels real and potent.
If I were to summarize this “happening,” I think it revolves around this recognition that solving the mental health problems of our time needs something different than we’ve been doing—something bigger—something that isn’t just a cut and paste of what we think has worked in the past.
As I sat down to write this week’s post, I asked myself if there was anything of value in saying something I feel I have said a hundred times before. “The Jeep is broken,” and we all know it, but for whatever reason, we keep driving it around, putting more money into it thinking that will make it better when it doesn’t. But I do feel there’s value—and want to try and be more explicit about what to do.
In my world, I spend a lot of time talking about systems. I do it so often that I forget how complicated it can be. What I have started to realize is that I am talking to a lot of people who are also driving a broken Jeep, but quite like myself, are content to let it get us from point A to point B without considering there might be a better way. This in no way is meant to assume that people don’t want a better way or don’t see that things aren’t working—it’s almost more of a resolve—like an acceptance that this is what we have so we might as well make the best of it. We see outdated practices, underfunded programs, and a lack of innovation, but keep filling the radiator with water from an old milk jug we keep in the back seat.
Because of this, I have started to rethink how I talk about change for mental health. Here are some rules of the road I am using to better get at that next big push:
Simplify complexity: Learn how to communicate and break down intricate mental health concepts and systems into understandable and manageable components, making it easier for stakeholders to grasp and engage with the issues at hand.
Build the case that mental health isn’t only about health care: Highlight the importance of addressing mental health through a multifaceted approach that includes social supports, community resources, and preventive measures, not just traditional health care interventions.
Lean more into community and their solutions: Recognize and leverage the power of community-driven initiatives and local knowledge to create effective mental health solutions that are tailored to the specific needs of the population.
Stop assuming that just because something exists that it’s the best: Challenge the status quo by continuously questioning and evaluating existing practices to ensure the adoption of the most effective and innovative approaches.
Use data in real time to help assess what’s working and not: Implement real-time data collection and analysis to monitor the effectiveness of mental health interventions, allowing for timely adjustments and improvements based on current evidence.
Be nimble and prepared to change at a moment's notice: Maintain flexibility and readiness to adapt strategies quickly in response to new information, emerging trends, or unforeseen challenges in the mental health landscape.
At every moment, lead: Take proactive steps to be a leader who drives mental health initiatives, inspiring others through your decisive actions, clear vision, and unwavering commitment to improving mental health systems.
As Drew Houston, Co-Founder and CEO of Dropbox, said, “Don’t worry about failure; you only have to be right once.” Let’s get some wins, my friends, and begin to think a bit bigger about where we’re going and our role. Let’s embrace bold and lean into risk knowing that if what we are trying works, it will make a huge difference in countless lives.
I think this moment calls for us to really question whether we should be driving our broken Jeep in the mental health work we are doing.
Ben, thanks for a great article. I would add one thing to your wise list of recommendations: train the people who provide metal healthcare. As you know, primary care clinicians provide over 3/4 of all mental healthcare. Yet, our medical schools and residencies provide absolutely no training, particularly experiential training, to prepare graduates for the most common problems they see in practice, mental health disorders.
Thanks again for all your work. Bob.
Oh, so totally.. we have been at it for a while and came up with the same idea. The insanity of just tweaking has to stop