By Isaac Samuels, Think Local Act Personal

For over 25 years now, I’ve been on a journey living with mental distress, a path full of ups, downs, struggles and, thankfully, moments of real breakthrough. Mental health for me has never just been about symptoms or diagnosis. It’s been about understanding myself as a whole person, my experiences, my racialised identity, my strengths and the challenges I face, and how I can keep moving forward despite it all.

One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn is that living with mental distress isn’t something to be ashamed of. Too often, mental health gets treated like a personal failure or a problem to fix. But from my experience, it’s much more complex and human than that. It’s about recognising the full richness of people’s lives, not just the difficulties they face. I like to think of it as moving from a deficit model, where people are seen only in terms of what’s wrong, to an abundance model, which sees us as whole individuals full of potential and resilience, even when life is tough.

That shift in mindset has been huge for me. It started when I got involved with peer support, connecting with others who’d been through similar struggles. Being around people who truly ‘get it’ changed everything. It wasn’t about fixing each other, but about sharing, learning and walking alongside each other. Peer support gave me a sense of belonging and hope when I thought there wasn’t any.

For example, there was a time when I felt completely overwhelmed and isolated. I was battling with depression and anxiety and the usual mental health services weren’t enough. It was peer support groups, informal chats with others who understood and small acts of kindness that helped me through. A simple phrase from a fellow peer stuck with me, “You’re not broken, you’re just navigating a tough path.” That helped me see myself with more kindness.

Self-care has also been a game changer. Early on, I used to push myself to keep going, ignoring my limits until I crashed. Now, I know the importance of tuning in to what my body and mind need, whether it’s rest, fresh air, a good laugh or just saying no to something overwhelming. Self-care isn’t selfish, it’s essential. It’s part of my recovery toolkit, alongside medication, therapy and support from friends and family.

Being a brown man living with mental distress has added another layer to my experience. Racialised identity shapes so much about how we’re seen and how we see ourselves, including within health systems that haven’t always been designed for people like me. I’ve faced moments where I felt invisible or misunderstood because of my background. That’s why culturally sensitive support and recognising the impact of racism are vital. It’s not just about treating symptoms, but about addressing the whole context of someone’s life.

For instance, when I first reached out for help, I encountered a few professionals who didn’t seem to understand the impact of racism on my mental health. It made me feel even more isolated. But finding peer groups and community spaces where people shared similar experiences helped me reclaim my narrative. It reminded me that my story matters and that recovery isn’t a solo journey.

The social determinants of health, like housing, income and community connections, have also been central to my wellbeing. I’ve seen how unstable housing or financial stress can drag you down, making mental health worse. Good support isn’t just about therapy or meds, it’s about having a safe place to live, meaningful work or activities and people who care.

That’s why co-production is so important. When people with lived experience are involved in designing services, we get support that actually fits our needs. Too often, decisions are made ‘for’ us rather than ‘with’ us. When my voice and others’ voices are heard, we move closer to systems that work for real people, recognising our strengths and challenges without judgment.

Over the years, I’ve learned that recovery isn’t a straight line. Some days are brilliant, others are hard. But with the right support, especially peer support, and a focus on the whole person, it’s possible to build a life that feels meaningful and manageable. It’s about finding what works for you, trusting that you deserve good things and holding onto hope even when the path is rocky.

Here are a couple of voices from people with lived experience that really inspire me:

· “Recovery is about reclaiming your life, not just surviving.”

· “When someone listens without judgment, it changes everything.”

These words remind me that recovery is about connection, respect and dignity. It’s about being seen for who we are, not just the mental health labels we carry.

So yes, the journey is tough. But there’s more hope now than ever before. Our voices, the voices of lived experience, are finally shaping mental health conversations and services in meaningful ways. Change has happened, but it needs to keep going, especially at a local level, where people’s real lives are lived.

I’m proud to be part of that movement, pushing for support that honours our whole selves, strengths, struggles, identities and dreams. Because at the end of the day, mental health is about people. And people deserve to be heard, supported and valued.