Hi! I’m Samantha.

My story begins in 2019, after a typical Sunday dinner with my family. Nothing about the evening felt unusual, it had been just like any other. That is, until the drive home, when something in me shifted. I made a spur-of-the-moment detour into the Sheldon Chumir Emergency Centre in downtown Calgary. Inside, I sat in front of a triage nurse and quietly said, "I think I'm depressed."

Two hours later, I walked out with a diagnosis: Major Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

For some, a moment like this might have felt understandably devastating. For me, it was a turning point, and a huge weight lifted from my chest. After years of quietly unraveling, of living in a fog that had settled permanently over me, I finally had an explanation. I had spent years feeling secretly ashamed of who I was, unsure if I would ever love myself again or experience a feeling of genuine happiness. But now, I had a lifeline, and a path forward.

I’d known for a while that something wasn’t right. I had tried to seek help. I spoke to a doctor, but downplayed my experience. “I don’t think I’m actually depressed,” I would say. It didn’t look like the movies; I wasn’t stuck in bed, crying uncontrollably, or abandoning my social plans. I was the opposite: constantly busy, performing well in a demanding job, and always out with friends. But I didn’t feel happy. In fact, I didn’t really feel anything at all.

One doctor suggested I talk to a therapist. And while that may seem like a reasonable suggestion, in the depths of depression, even making a phone call or navigating finding a reputable therapist felt impossible. Eventually, I gave up. And things slowly became darker.

It wasn’t until that Sunday that I something in me said, “Try one more time.” I simply couldn’t live this way anymore. It was either seek help or make an irreversible decision. I’m acutely aware of how fortunate I am to have made the choice I did.

Looking back, the timing of that night feels nothing short of fateful. Just six months later, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and the world shut down. Isolation became our new normal. I think often about how lucky I was to have gotten help before being left alone with my darkest thoughts. It made me realize how fragile the line can be, and how easily people can fall through the cracks.

I realized I couldn’t keep my story to myself. If I wanted others to know that help was out there, I had to talk about it.

So I did. I started sharing my journey - openly, honestly, and unashamedly. And something surprising happened. People started reaching out. Some asked questions about what “getting help” looked like. Others sent heartfelt messages saying my story gave them the nudge they needed to seek support.

This is what inspired me to create Drop the Mask. It’s an evening designed to make conversations about mental health more approachable, less heavy, and rooted in connection and hope. It’s a reminder that talking about our mental health doesn’t have to be so serious. Sometimes, it can be as simple as asking, “how are you doing?” over a glass of wine.

Several years after that detour to the ER, I still navigate ups and downs, but I no longer do so in silence. I know how important it is to share where I’m at with friends, family, and even colleagues, and I want others to feel that, too.

Drop the Mask transforms what’s often a solemn or scary topic into a night of community, levity, and compassion. It has opened the door for me to build connections with others who share my vision, and to strengthen the community around us. I feel truly privileged any time someone entrusts me with their story.

So let’s go ahead and drop the mask. Navigating our mental health is hard enough, let’s not make it harder by going it alone.

Drop the Mask is registered federally under the Canada Not-for-profit Corporations Act under 13124291 CANADA FOUNDATION.