From a "Broken Mind" to Miss Washington: How True Medical Care Reclaims a Future

"When I was 17 they told me my mind was broken."

​This is how I started my monologue as part of the talent portion of competition at Miss Volunteer America, one of the most prestigious stages in pageantry.

​The Silent Beginning of Psychosis

My dance with schizophrenia began at 15 when I had a visual hallucination in my loft bedroom in rural North Carolina. I saw a deer who spoke to me, telling me I was God and instructing me to post on Twitter. I obliged. Most of the tweets were gibberish, but I found them helpful later on because they provided an exact timestamp documenting my first break from reality.

I didn't know what had happened. I had never received a formal mental health education, I didn't know what psychosis was, and I certainly didn't think I had schizophrenia based on the extreme portrayals I had seen in movies and headlines. I just knew something about me was not normal.

I hid my episodes from my parents. I grew up with the most supportive and unconditionally loving parents you can imagine, but because of media portrayals of mental institutions, I was terrified of being hospitalized involuntarily. I spent the next two years isolating myself when I felt episodes coming on, or blaming them on severe anxiety if they happened in front of my family.

By the time I was 17, the boundaries of my reality were dissolving. During a beach trip with friends, I spent the night locked on a balcony, crying and hallucinating a man trying to take photos of me. One of my friends told me I had "ruined the vibe" of the night. They blacklisted me after that. When I returned home, the detachment from reality, confusion, delusions, and auditory hallucinations grew severe enough that my worried parents encouraged me to see a psychiatrist.

The Standard of Clinical Neglect

The first psychiatrist I saw promised confidentiality, so I bared my soul in the most raw, vulnerable way I ever had in my life.

Her response was chilling. She confirmed I had schizophrenia, and then proceeded to list all of the negative things that would now accompany my life: limited job opportunities, worsening symptoms, and even a shortened lifespan. I was released without a prescription, without a treatment plan, and without any accurate educational materials. I left in complete disbelief. 

Over the next few years, I sought help two more times, receiving the exact same bleak prognosis with zero medical guidance.

I continued on for years untreated and unmedicated, dragging my severe mental illness into my college career until I hit a breaking point. Paralyzed by frequent derealization and suicidal ideation, I was eventually mandated to meet with the university's office of well-being. But the therapist-run group quickly passed the buck, telling me my symptoms were simply "out of their range of knowledge."

Desperate for localized help, I looked for standalone outpatient programs or psychiatric facilities, but found only substance abuse rehab centers whose programming didn't apply to my condition. The system was entirely unequipped to handle a complex brain disease.

​Crossing the Country for a Standard of Care

The turning point came from my boyfriend, a Washington state native. Knowing the severity of my illness, he noted that Washington possessed reputable, standalone mental health facilities known for their quality of care. With my parents' support, we packed our lives into boxes and moved across the country to Redmond.

For four months, I commuted to an intensive outpatient treatment program in Seattle. The number one takeaway from that program was that I had to love and honor my condition rather than suppressing and hating it. Instead of constantly thinking, “I wish I weren’t like this,” I began accepting, “This is part of my story, and I can still have a meaningful life.”

The Path to the Crown

On my very last day of outpatient treatment, I turned on the TV and happened to watch a pageant. I was in such a vulnerable state of "now what?"

Seeing accomplished, educated, and beautiful women stand on a national stage to advocate for a movement was life-changing. It clicked for me that a pageant title is a megaphone for a platform. I immediately googled how to join my local system and submitted a late application to the Miss Auburn competition.

Because I was the last girl to sign up, I was the last in line. I watched the girls in front of me do their pageant walks before attempting my own. When the runners-up were called, I assumed I hadn't placed at all. As the mayor prepared to crown the winner, I scanned the crowd for my mom—the only person who had come to see me.

Then, my name was called.

I nearly collapsed. I finally felt seen and appreciated for who I was, for the hard work I put into staying alive, and for my efforts to change the perception of schizophrenia. Only one person was in the theater for me, but the entire audience stood when I was crowned Miss Auburn 2025.

​Wearing the Mega-Phone

Fast forward through a year of intense advocacy, community events, and hosting an immersive schizophrenia simulation called Step Into the Mind, I was crowned Miss Washington Volunteer 2026.

Representing my state nationally allowed me to bring my diagnosis completely out of the dark. Every conversation, interview, and appearance became an opportunity to challenge stereotypes and show that a medical diagnosis does not define a person’s potential. Wearing the crown wasn’t about perfection; it was about representing the millions of people living with serious mental illness who deserve to be seen with dignity and possibility.

When I stood on the national stage at Miss Volunteer America and opened with the words, “When I was 17 they told me my mind was broken,” I was showing the world how wrong that conclusion had been. My mind was never broken. It was experiencing an illness that I did not yet understand, and like any other medical illness, it deserved treatment, compassion, and hope instead of fear and shame.

One of the most meaningful parts of that national pageant wasn’t the stage, it was the environment behind it. Throughout the week, there was a psychiatrist on call, alongside hostesses who were nurses and social workers. When I began to experience light symptoms during a rehearsal, I wasn't rushed or dismissed. Instead, a staff member simply sat with me for hours until I felt grounded enough to return. In a space known for flawless perfection, I was given permission to be human.
​

​Treatment Saves, Neglect Costs

For years, the standard of neglect nearly cost me my life. My mind was never broken—the system was. I had to leave my home state and cross the country just to find a community that treated severe mental illness with medical accountability instead of clinical abandonment.
Treatment didn’t just save my life; it gave me my future back.

If there is one thing I hope legislators and families take away from my story, it is this: a schizophrenia diagnosis is not a death sentence, but untreated neglect is. When we invest in a true Standard of Care, we aren't just managing an illness—we are unlocking the human potential of millions of people who deserve to be seen, supported, and heard.

When I was 17, they told me my mind was broken. The rest of my life is proof of what happens when we choose to fix the system instead.

Note from Kerry Martin, Senior VP of Strategy & Impact, Bipolar 1 Survivor

My friend Chandler is only 23 years old. Let that sink in. The poise, courage, and sheer grace she possesses while standing on national stages to humanize schizophrenia is nothing short of awe-inspiring. It is an absolute honor to have her co-chairing our Right to Care Alliance alongside me, leading a unified force of peers who are lobbying for the medical rights of our SMI brothers and sisters across the country.

But as we celebrate Chandler’s remarkable triumph, we must also confront a chilling reality: Access to life-saving medical care in America should never depend on your zip code.

Chandler survived because she had an extraordinary, unconditionally loving family and a support system with the financial resources to pack up her life and flee across the state lines of North Carolina and Georgia just to find a standard of care in Washington. But what about the millions of young people who don't have the means to cross state lines? What happens to the ones left behind in states where clinical abandonment remains the status quo?

We cannot build a healthcare system that requires families to become geographic refugees just to keep their children alive.

As Chandler so powerfully reminds us: "A schizophrenia diagnosis is not a death sentence, but untreated neglect is." We are going to keep shattering the silence until a true, federally protected Standard of Care exists in all 50 states, ensuring that every individual living with SMI is seen with the dignity, treatment, and infinite possibility they deserve.

— Kerry

Author

By Chandler Groce | Right to Care Alliance Co-Chair & National Youth Peer Ambassador, NSSC