Navigating Public Tragedy: Holding Space for Complexity as Mental Health Professionals

 

In light of the recent, heartbreaking cases involving youth, I, like many of you, have been grappling with the public discourse and our role within it. The conversations are charged with pain, fear, and a desperate search for answers.

Several people I know, colleagues and members of the public alike, have asked whether the person accused of this heinous act is “psycho” or simply “mad.” As professionals caught between clinical facts and public sentiment, I’ve been reflecting on how we can contribute most effectively.

It’s tempting, when we see terms like “mental” or “psycho” being used flippantly, to launch into a corrective lecture. We feel a duty to defend the populations we serve, citing the robust evidence that people with mental illness are far more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators. This corrective impulse comes from a place of deep care and professional integrity.

But I’ve been wondering if our most powerful role isn't to correct, but to connect and reframe.

The public’s use of the word “crazy” is rarely a clinical statement. It is a visceral, human reaction to an incomprehensible act. It is their way of saying, “A healthy, well-functioning mind could not do this.” And on that fundamental point, they are right. Our task is to honor that intuition while gently guiding it toward a more precise and less harmful understanding.

Perhaps we can begin by introducing a simple, crucial distinction:

We might think of psychological distress on a spectrum. On one end, there are what we could call “Broken Bones” – these are the clinical conditions like major depression, anxiety disorders, and schizophrenia. They are illnesses of the mind that cause immense suffering, most often to the person who has them. They are treatable, and they are not predictors of violence.

The acts we are witnessing now seem to stem from something different: a “Broken Moral Compass.” This is not an illness of mood or reality-testing, but a profound impairment in the very foundations of empathy, conscience, and impulse control. It is a catastrophic failure in a person's ability to see others as human.

Making a clear distinction between the two, in my opinion, can be significantly impactful. Why? Well, because:

1. It Protects the Vulnerable. By separating the “Broken Bones” from the “Broken Moral Compass,” we stop the unfair stigmatization of the millions of people living with mental health conditions. We protect those who are already suffering from being falsely seen as threats.
2. It Focuses the Solution. If we mislabel this violence as a symptom of general “mental illness,” we miss the real target. The solution for a “Broken Moral Compass” isn’t just medication; it requires a societal focus on early childhood intervention, fostering empathy, building resilience, and identifying youth who are developing these dangerous deficits in character long before a crisis occurs.

So, when we engage in these difficult conversations, perhaps we should begin with agreement:

“You are right to be horrified and to look for a disturbance in the mind behind this act. Let’s talk about what that disturbance really is, so we can truly understand it and work to prevent it.”

This isn’t about diluting our clinical knowledge. It’s about translating it into a framework that the public can grasp – one that validates their fear while directing it toward accurate understanding and constructive action. In holding these two complex truths at once, we can be a calming, clarifying voice in the storm.

In conclusion, I believe what may serve us better is an approach that:

• Frames our response as a personal reflection, not a rebuttal.
• Uses “we” and “us” to create a sense of shared personal and professional journey.
• Acknowledges the “corrective impulse” we all feel, making it relatable.
• Offers a simple, powerful metaphor the public can grasp (Broken Bones vs. Broken Moral Compass).
• Clarifies why this distinction matters, both for reducing stigma and for guiding real prevention efforts.
• Positions us, as mental health professionals, as guides and bridge-builders rather than correctors.

If this reflection resonates, I’d love to hear how you hold space for complexity in your own practice or conversations.