Colin

Alumni Member

J. Colin Simpson (they/them) is a writer, visual artist, and long-time advocate for mental health reform, lived experience leadership, and community-driven care. Having lived with bipolar disorder and multiple addictions, Colin understands firsthand the barriers people face when seeking support for recovery, wellness, and resilience —and the urgent need to redesign the mental health system to be more inclusive, accessible, and effective.

Colin’s journey into mental health work began in 1986 when they became an FCSS director in rural Alberta, joining a regional mental health council and training in suicide intervention. They were struck by the high rates of suicide and addiction in their hometown, and their personal experiences—growing up as a bullied gay teen, navigating the mental health system without a diagnosis, and eventually receiving a bipolar diagnosis at 40—deepened their commitment to advocacy.

Now over 28 years into their recovery journey, Colin has built a life centered on empowering others through advocacy, policy reform, and lived experience leadership. They believe in flipping traditional power structures, ensuring that the people most impacted by mental health policies are not just consulted—but leading the conversation.

Colin is a strong believer in holistic approaches to mental health, recognizing that wellness is about more than just diagnosis and medication. They advocate for community-based recovery, peer support, and alternative paths to healing that respect the full person, not just their symptoms.

Outside of advocacy, Colin is a creative spirit—a painter, a writer, and a lover of storytelling. They believe in the power of the arts to heal, connect, and challenge perspectives.

Q&A

Can you share a bit about yourself and what inspired you to join the Council?

I’m Colin, a writer, a visual artist, and someone who has been living with bipolar disorder and multiple addictions for most of my life. I’ve been in recovery for over 28 years, but I’ve spent even longer fighting against a mental health system that wasn’t built for people like me.

I grew up in a small Alberta town, a queer kid who didn’t fit in, who was bullied and pushed to the edges. I wasn’t diagnosed with bipolar disorder until I was 40, but by that point, I had already seen how broken the system was—for myself and for countless others. My work in mental health started in 1986, when I became an FCSS director and joined a regional mental health council. I saw far too many suicides, too many people turned away, too much stigma masquerading as "help."

So I got involved. And I’ve stayed involved ever since, because the system isn’t going to change itself. The Council for Community Mental Health is about flipping the script—moving decision-making into the hands of people who actually live with these experiences every day. That’s exactly where it belongs.

What do you personally bring to the Council? (What are the unique perspectives that you bring?)

I bring a sense of humor, and 40 years of seeing the cracks in the system up close.

I’ve been on both sides of this work—as someone who has fought my way through the system and as someone who has worked in mental health advocacy, trying to make it better from the inside. I know what it feels like to be dismissed, over-medicated, under-supported, and told to just "comply" with treatment that doesn’t fit.

I also know that recovery isn’t a straight line. It’s messy. It’s personal. It’s different for everyone. And that’s exactly why the system needs to ditch the one-size-fits-all model and start listening to people who have actually been through it.

Beyond that, I bring a deep belief in the power of storytelling, creativity, and lived experience leadership. People heal in different ways—through community, through the arts, through peer support, through connection. We need to expand the definition of what mental health care looks like. That’s what I fight for.

What are your interests outside of mental health advocacy?

I’m an artist, a writer, and a storyteller at heart. I paint, I create, I find ways to turn the chaos of lived experience into something meaningful. Art has always been a place where I can be real, be messy, and tell the truth in ways that words sometimes can’t.

I’m also a big believer in humor as survival. If you’ve lived through the kind of things I have, you either learn to laugh about it or it eats you alive. I choose to laugh.

I also love community building—the kind that isn’t just about sitting around a boardroom table but actually being with people, talking, sharing, lifting each other up. That’s what I live for.

What are your hopes for the future of mental health in our community?

That we burn the current system down and build something better. (Kidding. Sort of.)

Realistically, I want to see a mental health system that actually puts people first. No more endless waitlists, cookie-cutter treatments, or decisions being made by people who have never lived through it themselves.

I want to see peer support and lived experience leadership at the center of mental health care, not as some afterthought or box to check off. I want to see a system that recognizes that healing is different for everyone, and that sometimes the best support isn’t found in a hospital or a therapist’s office—it’s found in community, in connection, in knowing that someone actually gives a damn about you.

What message would you like to share with someone who might be struggling with their mental health right now?

You don’t have to be "fixed." You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to fit into someone else’s version of "recovery."

You just have to keep going.

It’s okay to be messy. It’s okay to not know what the next step is. But you don’t have to do it alone. There are people who will sit with you, who won’t judge you, who will actually listen. Find those people.

And if you don’t have them yet, reach out anyway. Because you matter. And we need you here.