Mental Health “Support” That Doesn’t Support Anyone

You know what’s worse than ignoring people’s mental health struggles?

Pretending you’re supporting them while doing the absolute bare minimum.

This one’s not polite. It’s not a sanitized awareness post. This is frustration, heartbreak, exhaustion—and truth. Because I begged for Cincinnati Animal Care to take mental health seriously. Not in a “here’s a flyer and a hotline” kind of way. But in a real, systemic, proactive, we-give-a-damn kind of way.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t listen.

You want to know what the mental health resources looked like? A number to call. A link to click. A “talk to your supervisor” if you’re struggling. That’s not a support system. That’s a liability shield.

Real help? Real accommodations? Professional mental health training? A workplace built around understanding neurodivergence and trauma-informed care? Not even close. They don't offer it, they don’t invest in it, and they certainly don’t normalize it.

But they sure like to say they care.

You don’t support mental health by telling your staff to "take care of yourselves" while simultaneously denying requests for accommodations, brushing off injuries, and retaliating against people for needing help.

You support mental health by building systems that understand human difference. That anticipate the needs of neurodivergent employees. That recognize burnout not as a failure, but as a flashing warning light on a broken system. You build structures before people collapse—not after.

And if you’re a leadership team that claims to care, but your default response to stress is silence or sarcasm? Let me be clear: you are part of the problem.

Time after time, I brought up what was missing. What needed to change. I didn’t just talk—I showed what could be better. I laid it out. I offered solutions. I saw ten steps ahead, and instead of listening, I got written off as too much, too intense, too loud.

But here’s the thing—I do look ahead. That’s how I’m wired. My brain naturally picks apart every system it touches and looks for the weak spots. Not because I want to tear things down—but because I believe in building them back stronger. I see what others miss. And because of that, I’ve been mocked, dismissed, and ultimately punished.

Because when you can see farther, and people can’t—or won’t—keep up? They don’t get curious. They get hostile.

And yeah, I’ve been angry. I’ve been devastated. I’ve cried over this job. Over being tossed aside. Over being right about what was coming and getting zero credit for trying to stop it. But what hurts the most?

They have the word CARE in their name.

And they showed none.

No care for the staff. No care for our pain. No care for our loyalty, for the time we gave, for the bodies we broke trying to keep things running.

I’m not a licensed mental health professional. But I am someone who’s spent years learning—through research, lived experience, heartbreak, and healing. And if I can see the cracks in your foundation, your million-dollar org has no excuse for missing them.

When people are screaming that they’re drowning, throwing them a pamphlet is not enough. You need to pull them out of the water and change the damn tides.

But they didn’t.

I told them what was needed. They ignored it.

Now I’m telling you.

And the difference is: someone’s actually listening now.