Opinion: Mental health services do not need to be perfect to be better

by Cllr Jemma Coles, Liberal Democrat councillor for Mid-Worle on North Somerset Council

When someone is struggling badly with their mental health, asking for help is already a huge step.

It can take everything they have just to say out loud that they are not coping. It can take even more for a family member to pick up the phone and say, “I’m really worried. I think they are in crisis.”

So what happens next really matters.

What worries me is how easily mental health crisis support can feel confusing, inconsistent and hard to navigate at the exact point people need it to feel calm, clear and safe.

This is not about blaming frontline staff. I know there are good people working in mental health services, often under huge pressure, doing their best in a system that has been stretched for years.

But we have to be honest about what that system can feel like from the other side.

One of the issues that worries me is the lack of consistency. People in distress may not always see the same support worker. That means they can end up having to explain their story again and again.

For anyone, that would be frustrating.

For someone dealing with trauma, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts or a mental health crisis, it can be much more than frustrating. It can feel exhausting. It can feel unsafe. It can feel like the help is making them relive the worst parts of their life every time they walk through the door.

Mental health support should not work like that.

If someone has already found the courage to tell their story once, the system should do everything it can to make sure they are not forced to keep repeating it.

Support should feel like a relationship, not a form-filling exercise.

And that is part of the wider problem. From the experiences I’ve heard about, support can feel all over the place. A different worker. A different conversation. A different explanation. A leaflet or handout might technically contain information, but it does not always feel personal, helpful or human.

Written information has its place. Of course it does.

But a leaflet is not crisis care.

A worksheet is not a safety plan.

And a phone number is not the same as someone taking responsibility for what happens next.

I do not think most people expect magic. They know services are under pressure. They know staff are busy. They know there are limits to what can happen overnight.

But people do expect to feel heard.

They expect that when they say, “I am in crisis,” or, “my loved one is in crisis,” someone will help them understand what to do next.

Family support around mental health crisis should be much clearer. When someone is very unwell, families and close friends are often the people holding everything together at home. They are the ones watching the changes, noticing the warning signs, staying up at night, trying to keep someone safe, and wondering whether they are doing the right thing.

But families can also feel completely lost.

They may ring one number and be told to ring another. They may explain that the person is in crisis and be told it is not the right service. They may try to do the responsible thing and still come away feeling like nobody is really holding the situation.

That is frightening.

And it is not good enough.

Of course there will always be different services for different levels of need. Of course there are safeguarding rules, consent rules, clinical thresholds and emergency procedures. I understand that.

But from a resident’s point of view, none of that helps when someone they love is falling apart in front of them.

There is also a gap we do not talk about enough:

What happens after someone has been seen by hospital or crisis services?

What happens when they are sent home, still deeply unwell, and their family is expected to somehow keep them safe?

What happens when the people around them are scared, exhausted and not clinically trained, but suddenly feel like they have become the unpaid crisis team?

Most families will do anything for someone they love.

But love is not a crisis plan.

Families need more than “call this number if things get worse.” They need plain, practical advice about what warning signs to look for, what to do if things escalate, how to reduce immediate risk, when to call emergency services, and what support is actually going to happen next.

They need to know who is responsible.

They need to know who will follow up.

They need to know what to do at 2am when things feel unsafe and everyone else seems to have gone home.

And when services say there will be a call, a visit, a check-in or regular support, that needs to happen.

Because in a mental health crisis, trust matters.

A promised check-in might sound small on paper. To a frightened family, it can be the thing they are holding on to. When it is delayed, missed, shortened or inconsistent, it damages trust very quickly.

Weston is a brilliant town, but we also know there are people here living with real pressure behind closed doors.

Some are older and isolated. Some are young and overwhelmed. Some are carers who are exhausted. Some are dealing with grief, addiction, debt, poor housing, family breakdown, trauma, or work that does not pay enough to breathe.

Mental health crisis support is not a side issue. It affects families, workplaces, schools, housing, policing, hospitals and the whole community.

When crisis support is poor, the pressure does not disappear. It lands somewhere else.

It lands on families.

It lands on GPs.

It lands on A&E.

It lands on police officers.

It lands on voluntary groups.

And sometimes it lands in the worst possible way, when people reach a point they cannot come back from.

That is why this matters.

I do not want this to become another gloomy view about a broken system, because that does not help anyone. I want it to be a practical call for better.

Better continuity, so people are not constantly starting again.

Better crisis pathways, so residents know where to go and what will happen when they ask for help.

Better family support, so loved ones are not left carrying fear and responsibility on their own.

Better communication between services, so people do not feel passed from pillar to post.

Better follow-up after hospital or crisis contact, so families are not left holding serious risk without proper guidance.

And better support that feels human, not just a stack of handouts and a phone number.

Mental health services do not need to be perfect to be better. But they do need to feel like someone has taken responsibility for the person in front of them.

Because when someone is in crisis, they need a steady hand, a clear route, and care that remembers they are a person.

If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health you can call Samaritans on 116 123

If you're under 19, you can also call 0800 1111 to talk to Childline – the number will not appear on your phone bill