What Nobody Talks About in Winnipeg: Mental Health in Newcomer Communities

In a city as diverse and resilient as Winnipeg, the conversation around mental health is beginning to shift. Thanks to advocates like Sereta Alicia, a digital marketer and mental health speaker originally from Jamaica, the shame and silence long attached to mental illness are being dismantled—one honest conversation at a time.

Sereta has shared her own journey with anxiety and panic disorder. Her story, though deeply personal, reflects a broader reality faced by many Winnipeggers, particularly within immigrant and BIPOC communities: the weight of stigma, the difficulty of access, and the pressure to keep going while quietly unraveling inside.

Her first panic attack struck at age 25 while visiting Colombia. “There wasn’t enough air in the universe for me to breathe,” she recalls. After multiple hospital visits and tests, she was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder—not a physical illness, but a mental one. And with that diagnosis came another challenge: confronting the cultural shame around mental health.

“In Jamaica, mental health equals instability,” Sereta explained. “They call people like me ‘mad.’” For years, she hid her diagnosis, refused medication, and prayed it would pass.

That silence is not unique to Jamaica. Within many newcomer communities in Winnipeg—whether Caribbean, Eastern European, or South Asian—mental health remains cloaked in secrecy. Seeking help is often seen as a weakness. That belief, Sereta notes, is costing lives and peace of mind.

By speaking out, she offers something vital: representation and relatability. Naming her experience permits others to do the same.

“Mental health is not always about a breakdown,” she said. “Sometimes, it’s waking up and feeling nothing—just ‘meh.’” That emotional gray zone resonates with many Winnipeggers, especially through isolating winters, economic stress, or post-pandemic burnout.

Sereta’s presence in Winnipeg is helping normalize therapy, decolonize healing, and turn mental health into a community-wide conversation. Her storytelling not only reduces stigma but also underscores the need for stronger local infrastructure—peer-led support groups, culturally responsive therapists, and accessible mental health resources. She advocates not just for individual healing but for systemic compassion.

Her journey is also about reclaiming agency. She’s learned to identify triggers such as lack of fulfillment, poor boundaries, and burnout, and she leans on tools like breathing exercises, journaling, therapy, and the radical act of saying “no.” Her greatest lesson? It’s okay to put yourself first.

“You can’t help anyone if you’re empty,” she said, comparing self-care to the oxygen mask on a plane. “Secure your mask first.”

In a society where women are expected to give endlessly and men are told never to break, that message is transformative. It challenges generations of conditioning that taught us to be everything to everyone.

The costs of ignoring mental health ripple across Winnipeg: overcrowded ERs, overwhelmed schools, and the quiet absence of those too burned out to participate.

By voicing her struggle, Sereta reminds us that community healing begins with honesty. It starts not with a passing “How are you?” but with a deeper “How are you really?”

And in a city where generosity is a defining value, perhaps it’s time to extend that same kindness inward. As Sereta puts it: “Today I might not feel great. But I give myself grace. And I know tomorrow might be better.”

That, in itself, is an act of resilience.