“Stereotypes are fast and easy, but they are lies, and the truth takes its time.” – Deb Caletti
Re-reading my last blog, I was embarrassed to realize that I had inadvertently demonstrated how societal stereotypes can creep into our thinking and behavior (and writing). Specifically, in an attempt at humor, I called upon the sit-com stereotype of the sensible wife who must temper the foolish inclinations of her husband. Think Everybody Loves Raymond, Home Improvement, or (for those ancient enough to have viewed it) The Honeymooners. I am frequently critical of that stereotype when it appears. But I easily slipped into using it. I do understand that a resolution to eat more lasagna is not in the spirit of positive change resolutions for the New Year. And my spouse is not an infallibly wise woman who must compensate for her clueless husband. Rather, we both make mistakes (Shocking, isn’t it?) and are partners in helping each other toward clearer thinking, efforts we like to call “providing adequate supervision” for each other.
The purpose of my observation about stereotyping, however, is not to talk about my obviously ideal marriage. Rather, I want to use my ill-considered use of a stereotype as a stimulus to further discuss mental health stereotypes that can and do enter our minds and influence our thinking and behavior. I have referred to these in previous blogs, but now I want to discuss more specifically what a few of those stereotypes are.
The most common stereotype—is the idea that individuals with mental health conditions are “dangerous.” Although the vast majority of people with mental health conditions are not dangerous, the belief that they are is widespread. Numerous studies have found that, when people are asked what descriptive terms come to mind related to mental health conditions, “violent” and “dangerous,” are among the most common descriptors to emerge.
Also, as suggested in my Halloween blog, the dangerousness stereotype is found all around us in portrayals in films and other media. A recent study of the 100 top-grossing films in the U.S. in 2024, for example, found that 53% % of characters with a mental health condition were shown as perpetrators of violence (USC Annenberg Inclusion Initiative, 2025). Findings across multiple decades and multiple countries have produced similar findings.
A similar trend is found in news media. Although violence among people with mental health conditions is relatively rare, news media tend to report on instances of violence far more than on other (especially other positive) events involving people with mental health conditions. For example, a study of U.S. news offerings between 1995 and 2004 (McGinty, Kennedy-Hendricks, Choksy, & Barry, 2016) found that, in articles involving mental health conditions, “the most frequently mentioned topic across the study period was violence” (55 percent overall, far above the actual small percentage of people with mental health conditions who commit violent acts). Again, many studies, across multiple countries and multiple decades, have produced similar findings. It is hard not to be influenced by this dangerousness stereotype when that stereotype is promoted on such a regular basis.
The dangerousness stereotype is so embedded in public consciousness, in fact, that writers and filmmakers sometimes rely on disclosure of a character’s mental illness to heighten a sense of menace and possible impending violence. I recently went to see Housemaid, a 2025 thriller with (Spoiler Alert) an erratic employer whose menace is intensified by revealing that she has previously been hospitalized in a psychiatric institution. The dangerousness stereotype also has been called on in current politics, as well, with encouragement of anti-immigrant sentiment through warnings that other countries are emptying their “insane asylums” and sending their “dangerous inmates” over our borders to wreak havoc and harm our citizens. High-level assertions that homeless individuals with mental health conditions are a threat to public safety and that involuntary hospitalization is a key to keeping our communities safe (see Presidential Executive Order #1432: Ending Crime and Disorder on America’s Streets) also demonstrate and reinforce the dangerousness stereotype.
N.B.: To be clear, I am not asserting that people with mental health conditions are never violent. Some individuals with mental health conditions, like others without mental health conditions, do commit violent acts. However, to stereotype people with mental health conditions as generally violent is highly inaccurate. Let me state again: The vast majority of people with mental health conditions are neither violent nor dangerous.
A second major stereotype is that people with mental health conditions are fundamentally different from others. In fact, in past centuries, people with mental health conditions were viewed as less than human, and treatment reflected these views. In the 1700s, for example, those with mental health conditions were perceived as “beasts” and confined to cells, sometimes in chains, with deplorable living conditions, like animals in a neglected zoo. And like animals, they were sometimes objects for recreational viewing by members of the community who paid to see them on display. There were even some (including physicians) who believed that those with severe mental health conditions lacked the ability to experience pain or temperature extremes the way others can, with such a view lasting well beyond the 19th century. I recall an instructor of mine describing one of his first experiences on a psychiatric ward on the highest floor of the hospital. When he entered the ward, he at first thought he had entered a geriatric ward, as all the patients had white hair. It took him a few moments to realize that the white was not hair, but snow that had fallen on them through the many gaps in the roof of the building, a byproduct of a belief that they were not affected by frgid conditions. Thankfully, we have grown beyond this particular belief, although residuals of it, and other forms of the belief in lesser humanity, are still sometimes uttered or acted out, as when our country’s leaders and media outlets refer to “mentally ill monsters.
Another manifestation of the “differentness” stereotype is the expectation that those with a mental health condition will actually look different from others. Most people, for example, have heard of the now-discredited theory of phrenology, which postulated that psychological characteristics could be inferred from the contours of the skull; those with different mental health conditions would have different skull shapes. Also, believing that there was something unique in the appearance of people with mental health conditions, (e.g., eyes, posture, skin coloration, facial expressions), 17th and 18th century physicians created medical atlases to try to identify and “show” the presumably distinctive appearance of different kinds of mental health conditions (See Sandor Gilman’s interesting book, Seeing the Insane, for a detailed account of attempts to visually depict mental health conditions.).
Artistic renderings of psychiatric patients have likewise shown people with mental health conditions as standing out physically from other members of society—with tattered clothing, disheveled hair, and malevolent expressions (e.g., in Picasso’s drawing, The Madman). Other widely viewed—and contemporary—representations (e.g., in graphic novels, advertising, films, and other visual media) involve similar images, sometimes chosen specifically to fit public stereotypes. I once went to a talk by Dean Brooks, the superintendent of the psychiatric hospital where One Flew over Cuckoo’s Nest was filmed (and who also played the role of hospital chief in the film). In providing insights from on the set, Dr. Brooks described how the film’s makers had considered using actual patients at the hospital as extras, as patients in the background. However, it was ultimately decided not to involve the actual hospital residents because they did not look distinct enough to represent psychiatric patients on the screen.
The “differentness” stereotype can also sometimes be seen in reactions to encounters with those who do not fit that stereotype. When I was teaching, I made it a point to connect my students with real people with mental health conditions, as a way to go beyond sterile textbook definitions of psychiatric conditions and to counter stereotypes my students might have. Thus, I regularly invited individuals living with mental health conditions to speak to my classes. One speaker produced a particularly striking response from my students. The speaker was a middle-aged man who was a vice president of a company he had founded. He arrived in suit and tie, carrying a corporate briefcase, and spoke articulately about times when confusion and paranoid fears had overwhelmed him, including instances when he was arrested for his erratic behavior, which included running naked through the streets. When he finished his talk and went back to work, I asked for student reactions to the man’s presentation. The most common was some form of incredulity about the mismatch between the speaker’s “normal” appearance and the history he described. Said one student directly, “He didn’t look like I expected.”
As I have noted previously, those with mental health conditions are NOT distinctly different from others. Their appearances reflect shared human genes. Their clothing is what most of us wear. They laugh and grieve, smile and frown, worry and rejoice. They accumulate wrinkles with age, squint without needed glasses, and change shape with diet and exercise. And, as there are literally millions of people with mental health conditions, it is almost certain that they reside in our own social orbits—merchants, teachers, employees, co-workers, friends, relatives, etc. The “differentness” stereotype may be persistent and pervasive, but it is inaccurate.
There are a few additional stereotypes that I feel I should address. However, I realize that my musings in this piece are a bit lengthier than in previous ones. I try to keep each piece to a reasonable reading length (unscientifically defined, in part, by my own limited attention span), and I fear I may be exceeding that now. Accordingly, I will reserve my next set of musings for those additional stereotypes.
Meanwhile, I encourage readers to critically assess their own thinking with respect to the above stereotypes. To what extent have these potent and pervasive stereotypes infiltrated your own thoughts, feelings, and behaviors?
Otto Wahl, Ph.D.
MHC Development Committee Member
