Bravely Connected

For the past several months, I’ve been talking a lot about dreaming. I’ve been preparing to launch Dream Academy in my community and encouraging people to discover what’s already inside of them—their strengths, ideas, passions and possibilities, but today, I want to tell you about my dream.

It’s a dream that has taken almost 30 years to get here.

And while it starts in my little neighbourhood of Ogden in Calgary, I don’t think it’s really about Ogden. I think it’s about all of us.

Because underneath this dream is a question I can’t stop thinking about:

What if belonging is one of our most powerful mental health interventions?

After nearly 30 years working in mental health, resilience and youth work, I’ve become convinced that connection isn’t simply something that makes life nicer. It may be one of the most important ingredients in helping human beings become resilient.

But I didn’t always know that.

I Thought My Job Was to Remove What Was Wrong

My mental health work began on the streets of East Vancouver. Picture me: five feet tall, fresh out of college, working with young people experiencing addiction, poverty, gangs and mental health challenges I barely understood. At first, I thought my job was straightforward:

Get kids off the street.

Get them away from gangs.

Remove the danger.

But eventually I realized something.

Removing what was wrong wasn’t enough.

Over the decades that followed, I watched mental health challenges among young people increase significantly. Anxiety existed when I started this work. Depression existed. Addiction existed, but while those challenges seemed to be increasing, I watched something else decrease:

Community.

Connection with neighbours. A sense of village. The experience of belonging somewhere, and I began wondering: What if those two things are more connected than we realize?

What Grade Eight Students Taught Me About Bravery

For many years, much of my work happened in schools. I developed a method of teaching mental health and resilience through dance circles. Over about 20 years, those circles became an unexpected social experiment—especially with Grade Eight students.

If you remember Grade Eight, you’ll understand why I affectionately call it the vortex of life. I would put students into a circle and ask them to do something terrifying: walk into the middle and dance. Think about that. Even as a confident adult, walking into the middle of a group while everyone watches you can be uncomfortable.

Now imagine doing it at 13.

Over thousands of these moments, we began watching carefully.

What made someone anxious?

What made someone brave?

A pattern emerged. When there was disengagement and disconnection, anxiety increased, but when students experienced encouragement, camaraderie and connection, something changed. Bravery increased.

And the most fascinating part was who sometimes stepped into the middle. It wasn’t necessarily the confident student. Sometimes it was the student with significant social anxiety. Sometimes it was a student who had recently been hospitalized because of their mental health. Teachers would approach me afterward and say:

“I can’t believe that student went into the circle. They never participate.”

So I became fascinated by a question: What could make someone experiencing significant anxiety suddenly willing to do something so brave?

Eventually, it led me to one of the foundational ideas behind my work:

Belonging Creates Resilience

Belonging doesn’t magically eliminate anxiety. It doesn’t erase depression, addiction or trauma, but belonging can create conditions in which people become capable of more than they—or we—thought possible. My curiosity eventually led me into the study of interpersonal neurobiology and the work of Dr. Dan Siegel.

Our brains are shaped through experience and relationship. Words spoken to us, things that happen to us, relationships we’ve experienced and patterns we’ve repeated all contribute to the pathways our brains develop. Then one day we decide we want to change. We want to be braver. We want to become less anxious. We want to leave an addiction behind. We want to believe something different about ourselves, and someone tells us to change our mindset.

If only it were that easy.

Some patterns have been reinforced for years, but relationships can become part of how new patterns form too. Someone pays attention to you. Someone listens. Someone looks you in the eye. Someone creates a consistent, brave space where you can show up, experiment, fail and try again.

That can be incredibly powerful. It led me to realize: Our well-being doesn’t depend only on a “me.” It depends on a “we.”

That realization eventually changed the entire direction of my work.

So I Turned My Neighbourhood Into a Sandbox

My family moved back to Calgary from Vancouver in 2006, and today I live in my grandparents’ house in Ogden. Ogden has always had a bit of a reputation. Even when I was a kid, people called it “the hood.” It’s the kind of neighbourhood that can easily be overlooked or underestimated.

A few years ago, a church building in the neighbourhood was torn down and replaced with an affordable housing development that included community space on the main floor. I went for a tour. As I walked through the affordable housing units, I became excited thinking about families beginning their lives there. Then we reached the community space, and someone said: “We’d love for someone to start something here for the community.”

Something inside of me started burning. Maybe you’ve experienced that feeling. You know you’re supposed to do something before you know exactly how you’re going to do it. That was the moment for me. There was just one problem.

I had no money.

No funding. No team. Not even reliable income for myself, but I had spent decades learning about resilience and belonging.

So I started wondering: What if I took everything I’d learned and tested it in the sandbox of my own neighbourhood?

Could belonging help transform a community?

Could it help people move out of poverty?

Could it support recovery?

Could it engage young people before destructive patterns took hold?

Could we take some of what I’d watched happen in those school circles and see what happened when we applied it to an entire neighbourhood? For about a year and a half, I became a fundraiser. Somehow, month after month, the rent came in. Eventually, we found support, but those first years taught me something important. I didn’t simply want to create another place that helped people. I wanted to create a place that activated people.

And that’s where this idea of activating the fringe began.

What If There Are No “Those People”?

We have an interesting way of talking about social problems. We talk about those people.

Those families.

Those youth.

Those people struggling with addiction.

Those people living in poverty.

Those people with mental health challenges.

But eventually I discovered: “Those people” live next door. Sometimes, I’ve been one of “those people.” We simply don’t know one another’s stories. You can live beside someone for years and have no idea what they’re carrying. This isn’t unique to Ogden.

There are people living on the edge everywhere. People living with disabilities. People surviving on low incomes. People who have been unemployed for years. People recovering from addiction. Newcomers establishing a life. Single parents. Young people who don’t fit the mould. People who used to be confident but have been beaten down by life.

The fringe isn’t always financial. Some people have plenty of money and are profoundly lonely. Some appear successful while privately struggling. Some have gifts and abilities that haven’t been activated in years. Many have stopped believing they have anything meaningful left to contribute.

Which makes me wonder if we’ve been asking the wrong question.

Stop Asking “What’s Wrong?” and Start Asking “What’s Strong?”

Much of our approach to helping people begins with deficit.

What’s wrong?

What’s missing?

What’s the problem?

What can’t this person do?

But what if we started somewhere else?

What’s strong?

What ability is here?

What potential hasn’t been activated?

What does this person carry that their community might actually need?

Because perhaps one of the most powerful things we can offer another person isn’t simply a service. Perhaps it’s the opportunity to discover:

You have something we need.

This is where I believe community development and mental health begin to intersect.

And it’s also where my dream for this year begins.

The Problem Isn’t Always Willingness

One of the groups we’re beginning to think differently about in Alberta is people living with disabilities who may have an opportunity to participate in employment, but there’s something we need to understand.

Imagine spending 10 or 20 years navigating systems where, in order to receive support, you’ve repeatedly had to demonstrate your limitations.

• You’ve had to explain why you can’t work like everyone else.
• You’ve had to advocate for your deficit.

The story you’ve repeated becomes:

• Here’s what’s wrong with me.
• Here’s what I can’t do.
• Here’s why I’m limited.

Then suddenly we say:

“Okay. Now go get a job.”

That’s an enormous leap. We’re asking someone who has spent years proving what they can’t do to suddenly believe they have something meaningful they can contribute.

I don’t think that’s simply an employment problem. It’s a capacity problem.

So what if instead of demanding an enormous leap, we sponsored someone’s first step?

What Could You Do for Two Hours?

What if conventional employment wasn’t always the starting line? What if we began with:

What are you good at?

What gives you energy?

What do people already come to you for?

What could you learn?

What could you make?

What could you sell?

And then:

What could you do for two hours a week?

That question may sound small. I think it could change everything, because resilience isn’t always about taking an enormous leap. Sometimes resilience is about increasing capacity one small step at a time.

We understand this with young people. I know a principal who worked with students who couldn’t manage a full school day. Instead of saying, “You have to come back for eight hours,” he might say:

“Could you come for one hour?”

Then later:

“Could we try two?”

Little by little, capacity grows.

Why couldn’t we think similarly about employment and contribution? What I see in my neighbourhood is that people want to contribute. We see it when people living on disability supports show up to paint houses and landscape yards at community events. We see it when people receiving support spend hours helping with clothing giveaways. They aren’t lacking a desire to contribute. They need opportunities that match the capacity they currently have—and a pathway to build from there.

There Is Dormant Capacity Everywhere

Every person you see today has something to offer. There are people all around us carrying ideas, skills, creativity, wisdom and lived experience, and when we fail to discover and activate those gifts, we don’t only lose individual potential.

We lose capacity as a neighbourhood.

This is why neighbourhood-based development matters to me. Large nonprofits and citywide organizations play an incredibly important role, but what if there were also pathways right outside someone’s front door? A place close to home where you could discover what you’re good at. Where someone knows your name, where you could try something without having everything figured out, where you could contribute for two hours before trying ten, where someone could say:

“I see something in you.”

Mental Health Isn’t Only About What’s Happening Inside Us

One book that has influenced my thinking around depression is Johann Hari’s Lost Connections. He explores depression through a broader lens that includes disconnection from people, meaningful work, purpose and community. That matters to me because mental health isn’t only about what’s happening inside a person.

We also need to pay attention to what’s happening around them.

Do I belong?

Does anyone notice me?

Am I needed?

Can I contribute?

Does my life matter?

These are deeply human questions, and they have shaped the theory of change we’re experimenting with in Ogden:

Isolated → Connected → Contributing → Earning → Giving Back

Someone moves from isolation into relationship. Relationship becomes a launchpad for contribution. Contribution may eventually become an opportunity to earn, and perhaps one day the person who needed support becomes the person mentoring someone else.

Their strength becomes their pathway.

Maybe they’re an incredible gardener.

A baker.

An artist.

A facilitator.

Someone who is wonderful with children.

Someone who can fix things.

Someone with lived experience another person desperately needs.

What if instead of trying to squeeze people into whatever opportunity happens to exist, we became curious about the strength already sitting in front of us? What if that strength became contribution, and what if contribution eventually became income?

You Are on the Other Side of Someone Else’s Well-Being

None of us develops resilience alone.

Someone listened to you.

Someone encouraged you.

Someone opened a door.

Someone introduced you to another person.

Someone noticed something in you before you saw it yourself.

Which means:

You have a key to someone else’s well-being.

Listening isn’t small. Inviting someone isn’t small. Introducing people isn’t small. Seeing someone isn’t small. Which brings me to the question at the heart of my dream:

What If Neighbourhoods Became Platforms for Human Potential?

Not neighbourhoods that simply contain services. Neighbourhoods that bring people to life. Maybe we’ve been asking an incomplete mental health question. When someone is struggling, we understandably ask:

“How can we help you feel better?”

“Who could we refer you to?”

“What service do you need?”

Those questions matter, but what if sometimes one of the most powerful things another human being could hear is:

“We need you.”

I see something in you.

You have something to contribute.

Would you like a chance to try?

Imagine how differently we might see people if we started there.

My Dream: 10 People

This year, I want to put this idea to the test. Alongside Dream Academy, I’m launching my annual birthday GoFundMe campaign, Release a Dream: Change a Life.

And I have an audacious goal. I want to support 10 people in my community for a year. I want to create low-barrier employment opportunities that allow people to begin with their strengths and the capacity they currently have. Maybe that’s only a few hours at first, but we’re going to walk with them. Help them discover their strengths and gifts. Surround them with a brave community. Give them opportunities to develop skills. Help them contribute. Create pathways toward earning, and, little by little, increase capacity.

Ten people doesn’t sound like many, but think about the ripple.

What happens when one person’s confidence changes?

What happens to their family?

Their mental health?

Their economic situation?

Their relationships?

Their children?

Their neighbourhood?

And what if this works?

What if other neighbourhoods started asking the same question? Who is sitting behind a door in our community with capacity we’ve never activated?

Who Is on the Fringe of Your World?

I want to leave you with a challenge. Think of one person on the fringe of your world. Maybe they’re on your street. Maybe they’re in your classroom. Maybe they’re in your workplace. Maybe they’re part of your organization but somehow still standing at the edge.

Ask yourself:

What might be underactivated in this person?

What do I see in them that they may not see in themselves?

And then ask:

How could I help activate it?

Maybe you listen.

Maybe you invite.

Maybe you introduce them to someone.

Maybe you give them a small opportunity.

Maybe you simply say:

“I’ve noticed something you’re really good at.”

Because I’ve come to believe something after all these years:

There isn’t a social issue we face where community doesn’t have a role to play in the solution.

We need professionals.

We need services.

We need systems.

We need counselling, programs and supports.

… But we also desperately need one another.

Maybe community transformation doesn’t always begin with another big program, maybe sometimes it begins when one person looks at another person differently.

Not:

What’s wrong with you?

But:

What’s strong in you?

Not only:

What do you need?

But:

What do you have?

And perhaps most powerfully:

We need what you have.

There may be extraordinary human potential sitting right behind the door next to yours.