Mental illness has long made people uneasy. Not simply because it exists, but because it can feel unpredictable. When behaviour does not follow familiar patterns, people instinctively become cautious. Sometimes that caution hardens into fear.
Popular culture has played a role in shaping this reaction. For decades, films and novels have leaned into the idea of mental illness as something dangerous or menacing. Suspense thrives on unpredictability, and few things are more unsettling than behaviour we cannot easily explain. Those stories linger, often colouring how we perceive real people living with mental illness.
For several years, I served as the Official Representative for the Saskatoon Mental Health District. During that time, I learned how misleading our assumptions can be. Mental illness does not usually present as constant chaos or obvious dysfunction. More often, it is selective. An individual may be entirely rational, capable, and socially appropriate in most aspects of life, while struggling with very specific delusions, compulsions, or distortions in narrow areas. That contrast can be unsettling precisely because it defies stereotypes.
Nowhere is this tension more visible than in our cities.
In Saskatoon, as in many communities, homelessness has become increasingly visible. For business owners and employees, encounters with homeless individuals — some of whom are dealing with untreated mental illness or addictions — can create real disruption and genuine fear. The nuisance is not imagined, and neither is the discomfort. Employees worry about safety. Businesses worry about customers. These concerns are legitimate and deserve to be acknowledged honestly.
At the same time, it is important to remember that homelessness is not itself a moral failing, nor is mental illness a reliable predictor of violence. Many individuals living on the streets are far more vulnerable than threatening. They are struggling publicly in ways most people are fortunate never to experience. Holding both truths at once — concern for public safety and compassion for human vulnerability — is difficult, but necessary.
Highly publicized acts of violence complicate this balance further. When a violent crime is linked to mental illness, particularly within a family, the fear cuts deeper. Violence committed by a stranger is disturbing; violence committed by a child against a parent is profoundly unsettling. It challenges our sense of safety at the most intimate level and reinforces the idea that unpredictability equals danger.
But even here, perspective matters.
Such tragedies are rare. They are not representative of people living with mental illness as a group, nor do they justify broad conclusions. They do, however, remind us of the consequences of untreated illness, fractured support systems, and gaps in care. Fear, in these moments, is understandable. What matters is what we do with it.
When I was younger, my mother would not hesitate to invite a homeless person into our home for a meal. It felt natural to her — an act of kindness rather than risk. I suspect that instinct would come less easily today, shaped as we are by constant exposure to worst-case stories. Caution has replaced trust. Distance has replaced familiarity.
The challenge is this: how do we become more aware and understanding without being reckless?
Tolerance does not require naïveté. Compassion does not demand that we ignore warning signs or legitimate concerns. Understanding mental illness does not mean denying that some individuals can pose risks, particularly when illness goes untreated. What it does require is resisting the urge to reduce a complex reality to fear alone.
Mental illness is not a single condition. It is not a personality. It is not a synonym for danger. Most people living with mental illness are far more likely to be victims than perpetrators. Many manage their conditions responsibly and quietly, contributing fully to their families and communities.
If there is a lesson worth holding onto, it is this: fear thrives on distance and ignorance, while understanding grows from knowledge, proximity, and humility. We do not need to romanticize mental illness, nor should we dismiss the real challenges it can present. But we can choose to respond with thoughtfulness rather than reflex.
In doing so, we create space for safety and compassion — and for a society that responds to complexity with care rather than fear.