Mental Health in everlasting unprecedented times

In the modest homes that circle the small town squares, in the farmhouses where generations have kicked off muddy boots at the end of a long day, and even in the old Victorians that line Grande Avenue, a quiet emergency is taking shape. It does not always announce itself, but it is not invisible. Sometimes it shows up as silence. Sometimes it shows up with flashing lights and sirens.

Unfortunately, a mental health crisis too often results in law enforcement at the door instead of with adequate and appropriate care. That is not a personal failure. It is the predictable outcome of policy decisions that have treated mental health as something to stabilize after the fact rather than something to support before a crisis begins. When services are underfunded, understaffed, and impossible to access quickly, people will dial 911 because there is nobody else to call.

Our collective idea of what a mental health crisis looks like and who is impacted does not help matters. The economic strain of another farm crisis is weighing heavily on farmers as bills pile up. Widowers eat alone in houses that used to hum with life. Students scroll their phones at lunch, isolated in plain sight. These don’t even touch the many diagnoses that require a much higher standard of care — and for which care is often out of reach. In the absence of a functional mental health response, police officers become the default responders to situations they are not trained or resourced to resolve.

The 2025 to 2027 Community Health Improvement Plan, CHIP, released in April makes the crisis plain: mental health is now Linn County’s number one health concern. In 2018, one in five adults reported depression. By 2022 it was nearly one in four. Almost 32,000 residents said they had at least half a month of poor mental health. That number has risen by nearly a quarter in four years.

Young people are struggling too. In the Iowa Youth Survey, 40% of female students and 16% of male students reported persistent sadness or hopelessness. Among the students who considered suicide, almost half had already made a plan.

The most frustrating part is how LONG we have been trying, and struggling, to address mental health in this state. In 1855, the Iowa Legislature made one of its first major public investments in mental health care when it funded what would become the Mount Pleasant State Hospital. Local jails and “poorhouses” were overwhelmed with people who needed treatment instead of confinement. Lawmakers recognized that mental health was a public obligation tied to safety, dignity, and community well-being. For years, the institution struggled with overcrowding and underfunding, but advocates doggedly pursued more expansive care options and gradually were successful in opening new facilities and achieving education for health care workers specific to the needs of mental health care.

Today, 89 of Iowa’s 99 counties have a shortage of providers. Wait lists stretch from one season into another. Insurance restrictions, cost, and stigma have persisted in locking people out of appropriate care. There are never. enough. Beds.

The strain on rural families makes this even more urgent. Fertilizer costs jumped again this year. Tariffs have raised equipment and input prices. Export markets remain unstable. Farmers work long hours alone, which means financial stress becomes emotional stress with no ready outlet. The culture of rural self-reliance becomes a barrier to asking for help, even when things are at their worst. Times are tough all over.

Iowa maintains services like the Iowa Concern Hotline, the Stress on the Farm program, and the Farm and Ranch Wellness program. These targeted support services that are critical, but in a volatile funding environment they may be at risk — Michigan State Extension recently ended their program at a time when the suicide rate among Michigan farmers is five times that of the general population.

Isolation reaches beyond farms. Older adults living alone, single parents stretched thin by impossible schedules, and anyone who goes days without meaningful interaction face elevated risks of depression, anxiety, and suicide. The CHIP acknowledges this by prioritizing community rooted support. Peer groups like Problem Management Plus create space for people to be witnessed, understood, and connected. These are small but significant reminders that healing is easier in community than in isolation.

Linn County cannot watch this unfold from a distance. Talking openly about mental health is one of the simplest and most powerful ways to break stigma. Support exists, but people need to know where to find it.

Community responsibility extends beyond individual conversations. We need volunteers, advocates, and neighbors willing to push for stronger school based support, better workplace policies, and a coordinated countywide approach that does not leave families wandering through a maze when they are at their most vulnerable.

The CHIP sets a goal to reduce the percentage of adults who experience two weeks or more of poor mental health days each month. Achieving this goal would mean thousands more people living with greater stability and hope. It would mean a county that looks after its people with the same urgency our early lawmakers applied when they built the first state hospital.

We also happen to be at a pivotal moment for the decisions we make about who leads us through the next steps in addressing mental health. While modern politics might feel more like an unscripted Bravo docudrama, it is our responsibility to elect people that will actually address the biggest challenges we face — and work WITH our government to solve them rather than demonize them for dedicating their careers to building the country we deserve. Most critically: you have to FUND the outcomes you seek.

Mental health is health. The crisis is real, and the consequences are already here. Our capacity for change is real too, if we choose to remember who we have been at our best and who we still have time to become.

Sofia DeMartino is a Gazette editorial fellow. sofia.demartino@thegazette.com