Before I had any experience with it, the concept of mental disease and those afflicted with it seemed a distant, almost nonexistent, worry. So, I was alarmed to find that I could relate to my mother when depression robbed her of her voice in the same way a stutter had once muted mine. Daily, I would watch her would struggle to communicate the depth of her worsening condition to kind, but ultimately mistaken spiritual healers who offered her all but the medical help she needed. To better understand her disorder and its treatment, I started volunteering at my local psychiatric clinic, where we were taught to overcome patients’ silence by taking relationship-based approaches to administering care. As I built personal bonds with the patients here,
