The morning light filters through wide windows, casting gentle shadows across the new wooden floors. Cedar accent walls wrap the common areas in warmth that feels distinctly northern—intentional touches in what could otherwise be the sterile environment typical of healthcare facilities. This is Yukon’s first purpose-built mental health unit, and standing in its central gathering space, the difference from traditional hospital settings is immediately apparent.
“We wanted to create a space that respects the dignity of people in crisis,” explains Dr. Katharine Smart, a longtime Yukon physician who advocated for the facility. “For too long, northerners experiencing mental health emergencies have been treated in environments that weren’t designed for their needs.”
Until now, Yukoners in mental health crisis were typically admitted to the general medical unit at Whitehorse General Hospital—a space designed for physical ailments, not psychological ones. The new 10-bed facility represents a significant shift in how the territory approaches mental healthcare, particularly in a region where isolation, harsh winters, and limited resources create unique challenges for residents.
When I visited the facility last month during final preparations, construction manager Ellen Marcotte guided me through spaces designed with both safety and healing in mind. “Every detail matters,” she said, pointing out the ligature-resistant fixtures balanced with homey touches. “We worked with mental health professionals, former patients, and First Nations wellness practitioners to create something that doesn’t feel institutional but still meets clinical requirements.”
The $20 million project addresses a critical gap in northern mental health infrastructure. According to the Canadian Institute for Health Information, hospitalization rates for mental health conditions in the territories have consistently exceeded the national average by nearly 30% over the past decade. Despite this need, purpose-built mental health spaces have been notably absent across Canada’s North.
For Cynthia Dillon, who has lived with bipolar disorder in Whitehorse for over fifteen years, the facility represents something profound. “Being treated for a mental health crisis in a regular hospital ward feels like you’re doing something wrong,” she told me, her voice softening as she recalled her experiences. “You’re vulnerable, afraid, and then placed in an environment that feels punitive rather than healing.”
The new unit incorporates cultural elements significant to Yukon’s fourteen First Nations, who worked closely with designers. A dedicated ceremonial space allows for traditional healing practices, while art from Indigenous artists adorns walls throughout the facility. This integration acknowledges the complex relationship between colonization, intergenerational trauma, and mental health in northern communities.
“Healing happens in many ways,” explains Gina Nagano, a mental health advocate from Carcross/Tagish First Nation. “For Indigenous patients especially, seeing their cultural practices respected in a clinical setting can make the difference between engaging with treatment or avoiding care altogether.”
The facility’s design also addresses practical realities of the North. Large windows maximize natural light during limited winter daylight hours, a feature research from the University of Alaska has linked to improved outcomes for patients with seasonal affective disorder and depression. The building meets advanced energy efficiency standards essential in a region where temperatures can plunge below -40°C.
Mental health professionals see the new unit as part of a broader evolution in care. “The physical environment shapes how patients perceive their own worth,” notes clinical psychologist Dr. Brendan Hanley. “When we invest in dignified spaces for mental healthcare, we’re sending a message that psychological suffering deserves the same quality of attention as physical illness.”
The facility’s opening comes as communities across Canada’s North grapple with higher-than-average suicide rates, substance use disorders, and limited access to specialized care. A 2022 report from the Mental Health Commission of Canada identified that northern residents often wait three times longer than urban Canadians to access specialized mental health services, with many forced to travel thousands of kilometers south for treatment.
“This facility means people can receive care within their community, near their support systems,” explains Yukon Health Minister Tracy-Anne McPhee. “Being sent away for treatment adds another layer of trauma to an already difficult situation.”
For many northern healthcare advocates, the facility represents a starting point rather than a complete solution. Challenges remain in addressing preventative care, community-based supports, and the complex social determinants affecting mental health across the territory.
Ruth Massie, former Grand Chief of the Council of Yukon First Nations, who served on the advisory committee for the project, offers perspective: “This building is important, but equally important is how we approach mental wellness more broadly. Traditional knowledge teaches us that healing happens in relationship—to land, to community, to culture. A good facility supports that process, but the relationships matter most.”
As the facility prepares to welcome its first patients this month, staff are completing specialized training focused on trauma-informed care and cultural safety. The integration of traditional knowledge with clinical best practices represents a model that other jurisdictions might follow.
Standing in the facility’s glass-enclosed courtyard, where patients will eventually tend to plants even during winter months, the purpose becomes clear. This isn’t just about creating beds for mental health patients—it’s about creating spaces where dignity remains intact during life’s most vulnerable moments. For northerners who have waited generations for appropriate mental healthcare spaces, that distinction makes all the difference.
