{"id":2249,"date":"2026-09-03T16:49:17","date_gmt":"2026-09-03T16:49:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/caadi.ca\/?p=2249"},"modified":"2026-09-04T19:23:52","modified_gmt":"2026-09-04T19:23:52","slug":"maladie-mentale-maladie-physique-pourquoi-ne-les-regardons-nous-pas-de-la-meme-facon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/caadi.ca\/en\/maladie-mentale-maladie-physique-pourquoi-ne-les-regardons-nous-pas-de-la-meme-facon\/","title":{"rendered":"Mental illness, physical illness: why don't we look at them in the same way?"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n

Mental illness, physical illness: why don't we look at them in the same way?<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n

What our reactions to suffering can reveal about our perceptions of health<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

A person arrives at work with a cast on their leg. Their family and friends can naturally offer help, ask how they are doing, and understand that they need some time to get back into their usual routine.<\/p>\n\n

Another person returns to work after a depressive episode. Their loved ones may also want to help, but don't always know how to react. Some may wonder if they are truly better, worry when they seem tired, or simply struggle to understand what they are going through.<\/p>\n\n

In both cases, the person returns after a period of compromised health. However, the way their suffering is perceived and received can sometimes differ.<\/p>\n\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

Two sufferings, a different reception<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

When reactions differ between these two situations, it is not necessarily due to a lack of compassion. They could also be influenced by certain representations of health and illness that we have learned, sometimes without even realizing it.<\/p>\n\n

A broken leg is visible, easily named, and generally involves a treatment process that most of us are relatively familiar with. Depression, an anxiety attack, or a psychotic episode, on the other hand, can remain largely invisible to outsiders, be difficult to explain in a few words, and follow a recovery path that is not always linear or predictable.<\/p>\n\n

This difference in visibility could then contribute, among other factors, to how we interpret suffering and how we react to it, both individually and collectively.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

What we don't see, we sometimes find hard to believe<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

It's easier to trust what can be observed. An X-ray, a wound, a limp: these are concrete pieces of evidence that leave little room for doubt.<\/p>\n\n

Psychological suffering, however, must be recounted in order to be understood. It rests on the trust we place in the words of others. And this trust is not always a given\u2014partly because our cultural representations of mental health have long associated the invisible with the uncertain, or even the suspect.<\/p>\n\n

Doubting a little, spontaneously, in the face of suffering that one cannot see, often stems from deeply ingrained habits of thought \u2014 which one can choose to examine rather than simply follow.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

The often unspoken question of responsibility<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

There is an even more subtle, but perhaps more decisive, difference: that of perceived responsibility.<\/p>\n\n

People with diabetes are generally less directly blamed for their pancreas not functioning normally, or people with epilepsy for their seizures. However, when faced with depression or anxiety disorders, variations of this kind of remark still circulate, sometimes with the best of intentions.<\/p>\n\n

Research in social psychology has documented this mechanism: the more a condition is perceived as being within one's personal control, the more it elicits mistrust, social distance, or even anger rather than compassion. Conversely, a condition perceived as being completely beyond a person's control tends to elicit more empathy and support.<\/p>\n\n

This mechanism has nothing to do with clinical reality \u2014 depression is no more \u201cchosen\u201d than a fracture \u2014 but it continues to influence, often silently, the way we welcome the suffering of others.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

The trap of a solution that is too simple<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

An intuitive answer might then be the following: if mental health disorders were understood more through their biological dimensions \u2014 a matter of neurons and neurotransmitters, just as a matter of insulin \u2014 perhaps they would finally be regarded with the same naturalness as a physical illness.<\/p>\n\n

This intuition is sound, but the reality is more perplexing. Research has shown that explaining a mental disorder through biological or genetic causes does not necessarily reduce social distance from those affected\u2014and can even, in some cases, increase it. Understanding a condition as deeply rooted in a person's biology can, for some, make it seem more permanent, more intrinsic to who they are\u2014a phenomenon that research has termed \"genetic essentialism.\"<\/p>\n\n

This paradox doesn't mean we should turn away from science to better understand mental health\u2014quite the opposite. Rather, it reminds us that no explanation, however rigorous, is enough on its own to change a society's perspective. Our perceptions aren't corrected solely by facts; they are also transformed by proximity, contact, and the stories we take the time to hear.<\/p>\n\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

A distinction older than our reactions today<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

This separation of body and mind, as if they constituted two independent territories, is not a recent phenomenon. It is rooted in certain legacies of Western thought, which have long treated the body as a machine and the mind as a separate, almost immaterial domain.<\/p>\n\n

This legacy continues to influence, often without our awareness, the way we classify suffering: that which can be \"repaired\" like a machine, and that which we don't always know where to place.<\/p>\n\n

We now know that this separation is artificial: the body and mind constantly influence each other, and mental health also results from complex interactions between biological, psychological, social, and environmental factors. But an old representation, once deeply ingrained in a culture, does not simply disappear because scientific knowledge has since complicated our understanding of the link between body and mind.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

What the law recognizes, and what representations take time to catch up with<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

In Quebec, the Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms already protects individuals against discrimination based on mental health issues, just as it does on physical disabilities. The Commission des droits de la personne et des droits de la jeunesse (Human Rights and Youth Rights Commission) regularly reiterates this point: the courts have long recognized that people living with mental health issues are subject to persistent prejudice, often fueled by fear that is not always based on facts.<\/p>\n\n

In this sense, the law is often ahead of social perceptions. A protection may exist on paper for decades, without collective reflexes \u2014 in an interview room, in a work corridor, in a conversation between neighbors \u2014 having had time to catch up with it.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

What this changes in practical terms<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

These perceptions are not merely theoretical. They can influence who gets accommodations at work without having to justify themselves at length, who feels comfortable naming what is wrong, and who fears being seen differently once their diagnosis is known.<\/p>\n\n

They can also take root within the person concerned: some people who are experiencing a mental health disorder may sometimes ask themselves the same questions as those around them \u2014 \"am I exaggerating?\", \"should I just be stronger?\" \u2014 and may end up reproducing in themselves the doubt they have perceived in others.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

A gaze that moves, but not in the same way everywhere<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

It would be unfair to say that nothing has changed. A 22-year study in the United States (1996 to 2018), based on nationally representative interviews, shows that the desire for social distance towards people experiencing depression has decreased significantly over time \u2014 at work, in friendships, in the family \u2014 a sign that collective representations can evolve.<\/p>\n\n

But this same study also shows that, for schizophrenia and alcohol addiction, the trend has not only remained stable: in certain specific respects, it has worsened. The perceived dangerousness of people described as living with schizophrenia increased significantly over the period studied, as did the moral judgment made about people living with alcohol addiction.<\/p>\n\n

This distinction is important: it suggests that it is not mental health in general that is becoming more or less accepted, but that certain forms of suffering continue to be perceived as more \"close to home,\" easier to imagine experiencing oneself, while others remain associated with fear or distance. The journey is therefore not over, and progress is not at the same pace for everyone.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

No judgment, no guilt-tripping<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

When we react differently to visible and invisible suffering, it doesn't necessarily mean we lack compassion. We may also be carrying, often unknowingly, representations inherited from our culture, our history, and what we've been taught to consider \"real\" or \"serious.\"<\/p>\n\n

The goal, therefore, is not to feel bad for having ever thought, even for a moment, that a depressed person \"should just get their act together.\" This kind of thought can arise in many of us, sometimes without us immediately realizing its implications.<\/p>\n\n

What is possible, however, is to notice this reflex when it occurs, and to gently ask oneself where it comes from \u2014 and whether it really corresponds to what we know today about human suffering.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

A question to keep with you<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

And if, next time, you asked yourself: would I react the same way to suffering that is visible... and to suffering that is not visible?<\/p>\n\n

This question does not require an immediate answer. It simply requires that we keep it with us, long enough so that it can, one day, change the way we welcome the suffering of others \u2014 and sometimes, our own.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

JIRIS will assist you<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n\n

At JIRIS, we believe that mental and physical health deserve the same consideration, dignity and attention, without psychological suffering needing to be further proven to be taken seriously.<\/p>\n\n

Our training courses invite us to explore where our reflexes of judgment or doubt come from, not to make us feel guilty, but to better understand how they have taken root \u2014 and how they can, with time and attention, become more flexible.<\/p>\n\n

Recognizing that we carry inherited representations is not a personal failure. It is often the first step towards beginning to look at suffering, in all its forms, with a little more accuracy.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n
\n\n \n
\n
\n \n \n To go further<\/span>\n\n \n
\n
\n \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/i> <\/div>\n\n
\n \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/i> <\/div>\n <\/div>\n\n \n <\/a>\n <\/div>\n\n
\n\n
\n

<\/p>\n