The Failures of Minnesota’s Children's Mental Health Programs: The Urgent Need for Reform

Overview: The Failures of Minnesota’s Children's Mental Health Programs and the Urgent Need for Reform

As a mother of a child with severe emotional disturbances and a history of distressing events, I have spent years navigating Minnesota’s children's mental health programs in search of proper care and support for my daughter. From Children's MN to Prairie Care, Riverside Fairview Hospital, and most recently Nexus Family Healing/Nexus East Bethel, I have repeatedly encountered systemic failures that expose deep flaws in our mental health care system—failures that disproportionately affect Black families. These failures are not just personal; they reflect a collective crisis that calls for immediate reform.

Despite these institutions' promises of holistic and compassionate care, the reality is starkly different. Poor communication, inadequate treatment planning, and a lack of cultural competence have consistently hindered my daughter’s progress. Instead of receiving the support these programs are funded and licensed to provide, my family has been left to navigate these challenges alone, further compounding the emotional and mental health toll on my daughter. As I cry out for support, I am met with a system that too often criminalizes my daughter’s behaviors rather than addressing them with the care and compassion that should be standard.

This article is a call to action for professionals within these institutions to acknowledge and address the deep-seated inequities and neglect that have left Black families like mine suffering. It is time to dismantle the racial biases that permeate our mental health care system and implement meaningful changes that honor the needs of every child, regardless of race or background. This is a story of systemic failure, but more importantly, it is a plea for justice and accountability for all families navigating Minnesota’s children's mental health system.

I am crying out for support regarding my daughter’s behavioral health and how the collective system's failure to respond adequately with the support they are funded for and licensed to provide neglects my daughter's needs.?

The Promise of Care and Its Hollow Reality

These institutions make promises to families that they will offer holistic, compassionate, and effective care to youth suffering from severe emotional disturbances. The reality, however, is vastly different. Time and time again, “professionals” meet me with poor communication, inadequate treatment planning, and a system that refuses to work collaboratively with me, the one person who knows my daughter’s needs best.? One might agree that the institutions penalize my daughter because my advocacy requires them to serve her well when they deliver their mental health services.? As a result, my family experienced tremendous amounts of harm caused by several institutions.? Will we ever find the support and level of care that my daughter deserves? Or will she have to enter the correction system, thus criminalizing her behavioral health illnesses?

Children’s MN excluded me from critical decisions about my daughter’s care. Social workers and medical staff provided minimal updates during her week-long stay, and when they did, the information was often contradictory and confusing. I was even barred from the hospital after being wrongfully accused of making a threat—a claim based on a distorted interpretation of my words. In a system that claims to prioritize family involvement, I found myself shut out, left powerless to advocate for my daughter’s well-being.

During a diagnostic assessment at PRARIE CARE in Bloomington, my daughter experienced a chronic psychiatric episode; she was clearly disassociated from the present moment.? I worked to translate the moment to the assessor as I have experienced it many times before.? The assessor identified domestic and substance abuse in the home as contributors to her behavior, although I didn’t report nor were we experiencing or suffering such experiences at that time.? When I called the assessor out via email to the agency about the inaccuracies, the assessor was defensive and refused to speak with me about them.? I eventually found the record release department and addressed the inaccuracies.? I don’t know how DX was adjusted or if it was adjusted.?

At Riverside Fairview Hospital, I took my daughter to the ER after several suicide attempts, and they released her within hours, saying she was not a risk to herself or others.? They have set appointments for diagnostic assessments.? I would confirm her appointment in my chart.? When the time came to attend the appointment via telehealth, the appointment would no longer be available in my chart.? I would call the units she was released from, and they would bounce me around between the BEC, Extended Care, ER, and a care coordinating team.? None of the professionals answering the phones were helpful.? This has happened several times between July 2024 and July 2024.??

At Nexus East Bethel, my daughter was discharged abruptly without a proper treatment plan, despite clear communication from me and her care team about her severe behavioral issues. Instead of helping, Nexus vilified my daughter for the very behaviors they had promised to address. The lack of accountability and the dismissive, often defensive responses from leadership showed me that these institutions are more concerned with protecting their image than providing the care they claim to offer.

Barriers for Black Families: A System That Fails Us

What I have experienced is not just poor care; it is the result of a system that fails to accommodate Black families, operating under assumptions that prevent us from receiving equitable and meaningful support. At Children’s MN, for example, assumptions about my socioeconomic status influenced the level of care my daughter received. Social workers presumed I was a welfare recipient, dismissing my professional background and expertise as her mother. Instead of listening to me, the person who knows my daughter’s needs best, they made referrals for redundant services—such as case management we already had—while neglecting critical services we did not have in place, like a WARM clinician.

This was not an isolated incident but part of a larger pattern in how Black families are treated in mental health care. The assumption that I lacked knowledge about my daughter’s needs and care plan led to a dangerous dismissal of my input. My advocacy was treated as though it were an inconvenience rather than essential to my daughter’s recovery. I was brushed aside when I raised concerns about the lack of care coordination. When I questioned the treatment plan, I was labeled difficult. This experience was replicated at every institution we engaged with, from Nexus East Bethel to Fairview, where my voice was systematically minimized.

These interactions are not just frustrating—they are symbolic of the deep racial disparities that continue to plague our healthcare system. Black families are often pathologized, and we are forced into a system that views us with suspicion rather than empathy. When social workers and healthcare providers operate under assumptions about Black parents—that we are uninformed, uncooperative, or under-resourced—they fail to engage with us as partners in our children’s care. This bias leads to worse health outcomes for our children, as our concerns are ignored and our needs are dismissed.

In each encounter, professionals failed to engage with me collaboratively or meaningfully. Despite my extensive knowledge of my daughter’s behavioral health needs, my input was treated as less valuable than the rigid, standardized processes these institutions insisted on following. This dismissal of Black parents’ expertise is part of a broader system that marginalizes our voices. While these institutions claim to provide care, they often undermine our efforts to advocate for our children’s well-being.

The failure to see Black families as equal partners in care is one of the most significant barriers to receiving the support we need. Too often, the system pathologizes our children, framing their behaviors as criminal rather than symptoms of emotional distress that need compassionate, specialized care. My daughter was treated as a problem to be contained rather than a child to be healed. This bias against Black children, combined with the lack of cultural competence among professionals, contributes to a cycle where Black families are left unsupported and traumatized by the very system that is supposed to help us.

We need professionals in these institutions to recognize that Black families deserve the same respect, care, and partnership as any other family. Dismantling these racial biases is not just about improving care for individual families like mine—it is about addressing a fundamental inequity in our healthcare system that continues to harm Black children at an alarming rate.

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The Trauma of Being Left Unsupported: A System That Harms Rather Than Heals

The emotional toll of this experience has been profound—not just for me as a mother, but more tragically for my daughter, who entered these programs seeking care and healing but was instead met with misunderstanding, neglect, and even criminalization. Her needs were misunderstood, and the behaviors that should have been treated with compassion and expertise were criminalized. This became painfully clear during her time at Nexus, where a physical altercation with another resident resulted in her being vilified by leadership while the other youths involved were white and protected. My daughter was not seen as a child in need of support but as a problem to be managed or removed.

This kind of response sends a clear and harmful message to children like my daughter: that their pain and struggles are not worthy of understanding. Nexus's failure to acknowledge the trauma my daughter was experiencing, coupled with their focus on maintaining the integrity of other residents at her expense, left her feeling more isolated than ever. When she came home, she was not only emotionally fragile but deeply traumatized by the very system that had promised to help her. She expressed feelings of betrayal, telling me that no one had truly listened to her or believed in her when she needed it most. This is the result of a system that does not understand or prioritize the needs of Black children with severe emotional disturbances who are survivors of distressing events.

The involvement of law enforcement in these incidents only exacerbated the trauma. Rather than treating my daughter’s behaviors as symptoms of her emotional distress, Nexus escalated the situation by involving the police. This decision further criminalized her instead of providing the therapeutic support she so desperately needed. This not only reinforced the stigmatization of her behaviors but sent the message that she was not worthy of care, only control.

In addition to this, my daughter’s concerns about inappropriate behaviors by other residents were dismissed by Nexus, deepening the sense of betrayal my daughter and I felt. I repeatedly raised alarms about over-sexualized behavior that was triggering her anxiety and emotional distress, yet these reports were brushed aside. My daughter felt invalidated, further fueling her emotional instability. Rather than being reassured that her environment was safe and her concerns were valid, she was made to feel her voice did not matter.

The lack of proper care coordination only compounded the trauma. The expectations of medication management, delayed responses from staff, and inconsistent treatment plans created a chaotic and unpredictable environment that did more harm than good. Instead of the stability and structure she needed, my daughter was thrust into an environment that felt more like punishment than care. These failures didn’t just leave us without the help we desperately needed—they actively harmed my daughter. Her mental health deteriorated as a result, and she began to lose faith in a system that was supposed to be her lifeline: a system I encouraged her to participate in because her DX and CASII assessed that it was the setting she needed to heal and grow.

This trauma does not exist in a vacuum. It is part of a larger pattern where Black children with severe emotional disturbances are not seen as deserving of care but instead, as problems to be managed or discarded. The emotional damage caused by being left unsupported in such critical moments is immeasurable. My daughter, like many Black children, was treated as though her distress was a behavior to be corrected rather than a symptom of a deeper emotional wound that needed healing. This kind of systemic failure does not just fail to help—it actively harms, creating a cycle of trauma that could have been prevented had the system indeed done its job.

For professionals in these fields, the impact of failing to provide compassionate, appropriate care cannot be overstated. Children like my daughter deserve to be seen, heard, and supported—not criminalized, dismissed, or silenced. It is time for a profound shift in how mental health care is delivered to Black families, particularly those navigating the challenges of severe emotional disturbances. The stakes are too high, and the cost of inaction is too great.

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The Inability to Hold Institutions Accountable: A Systemic Resistance to Justice

Perhaps the most troubling aspect of this ordeal is the systemic resistance to accountability. I have encountered it across multiple institutions: Children’s MN, PRARIE CARE, Nexus, and Riverside Fairview Hospital. Despite my persistent efforts to seek justice through formal grievances, I have faced significant barriers at every turn. This resistance is not just frustrating; it is a deliberate form of institutional obfuscation that prevents families like mine from holding these organizations accountable for their failures.

I have been met with a particularly egregious example of this resistance at Riverside Fairview Hospital. After my daughter’s traumatic experience there, I attempted to file a formal grievance to address the severe shortcomings in her care, only to discover that all of her data had been removed from the hospital’s MyChart system. I can now not access the dates, times, and critical details necessary to substantiate my claims. This data erasure complicates my efforts to hold the hospital accountable and raises serious ethical questions about its commitment to transparency. How can families like mine seek justice when the information we need is intentionally inaccessible?

At Children’s MN, my attempts to address the harmful way my daughter was treated have been similarly stonewalled. During my daughter’s stay, communication with staff was nearly non-existent, and I was barred from the hospital under pretenses. I attempted to follow up and formally address the numerous issues I encountered—lack of communication, failure to involve me in her care plan, and inappropriate use of law enforcement—but my grievances were met with resistance. The staff seemed more interested in protecting themselves than in addressing the severe harm done to my daughter. This defensive posture only reinforced my belief that Children’s MN is more invested in shielding itself from liability than ensuring accountability and justice for the families they serve.

Nexus East Bethel has shown a similarly troubling pattern of deflecting accountability. My daughter's stay at Nexus was marked by a series of missteps, including the abrupt and inappropriate discharge of my daughter without consultation or a formal treatment plan and the failure to protect her from further harm. When I tried to escalate my concerns, Nexus leadership responded with defensiveness, dismissing my grievances as mere "differences in perspective." They downplayed the severe breaches in care that occurred, and their formal response lacked empathy and accountability. Even after I submitted detailed documentation of their failures, their responses were designed to minimize their responsibility rather than address the harm they had caused.

While PRARIE CARE was a one-time short encounter, their behavior was similar. Based on the assessor's assumptions, they described my home environment and me as a concern and a contributing factor in untrue ways.?

This inability—or refusal—by institutions like PRARIE CARE, Riverside Fairview, Children’s MN, and Nexus to hold themselves accountable creates a dangerous family environment. Families like mine are left without recourse, transparency, and genuine efforts to address grievances. Our children’s health and well-being are compromised, and the systemic failures that caused the harm go unaddressed, leaving other families vulnerable to the same mistreatment.

What’s worse, this systemic resistance to accountability disproportionately affects Black families, who are already navigating a healthcare system rife with bias and neglect. When institutions fail to listen, fail to provide transparent care, and fail to be held accountable, they are perpetuating a cycle of harm that keeps Black families at a disadvantage. It is no longer just about poor care—it is about being denied the ability to seek justice and recourse when that care fails.

These institutions must be held accountable for the harm they cause and their attempts to shield themselves from critical client feedback, which can lead to feeling scrutinized. Professionals working in these systems must recognize that meaningful change can only happen when families can raise their grievances and expect a fair, transparent, and accountable response. Until then, the system will continue to fail the very people it is meant to serve.

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A Call to Action: The Time for Change Is Now

To the professionals within these systems, this is not merely a failure of care but a profound moral failing. You hold the power to create change, but it requires far more than good intentions or superficial fixes. It requires the courage to dismantle the racial and systemic biases that have long permeated our institutions. It requires acknowledging that Black families, like mine, deserve the same care, respect, and transparency as any other family. Most importantly, it requires holding yourself and your colleagues accountable when that care falls short. The stakes could not be higher—our children's well-being, futures, and lives depend on it.

Here is what must change:

1. Collaborative Care: Parents and families must be treated as equal partners in their child’s care. Our voices are not peripheral—they are essential. Involve us, communicate with us, and respect our expertise. We know our children better than anyone else, and our advocacy should be considered a critical part of the treatment process, not an inconvenience to be brushed aside. Family collaboration is the cornerstone of adequate care; the system is failing Black families without it.
2. Cultural Competence: The unique needs of Black families must be understood and respected. It is no longer enough to assume that one-size-fits-all care will work for everyone. Address the harmful assumptions and implicit biases that lead to substandard care for Black children. Training in cultural competence is not optional—it is an absolute necessity. Professionals must learn how to listen, understand, and provide care that reflects the diverse realities of the families they serve.??

a.?????????????????? Ask yourself: where is the real anomaly? Is it with Black families continually seeking equitable care and advocating for their children’s well-being? Or is it within a system that consistently fails to serve us with fairness, respect, and compassion? The problem lies not with us but with the systems that are supposed to care for and support our children.

1. Transparency and Accountability: Families deserve full access to their child’s care records, treatment plans, and decision-making processes. Systems must be put in place to ensure that we can hold institutions accountable when they fail. Removing data or making it difficult to file grievances is not just unethical but an outright injustice. Accountability is the only path to trust; without it, the system will continue to perpetuate harm. This is not just about protecting institutions from liability; it’s about protecting children and families from further systemic trauma and learning to facilitate systemic healing.
2. Mental Health, Not Punishment: Our children are not criminals. Youth with severe emotional disturbances need comprehensive mental health care, not punishment. The involvement of law enforcement in therapeutic settings is not only inappropriate—it is dangerous. When institutions respond to emotional crises with criminalization instead of care, they fail in their fundamental mission. The vilification of behaviors that these programs are supposed to address must stop. Mental health care should focus on healing, not control.

My daughter’s health and well-being have been compromised by a system that has failed her—and us—at every turn. These institutions promised to help but instead left us to suffer alone, caught in a cycle of trauma and neglect. I am speaking out for my family and every family who relies on your care and expertise. The time for excuses is over. It is time for real, meaningful change.

I urge you to take immediate action—not just for us but the countless other families whose lives hang in the balance. The lives of children like my daughter depend on it, and your moral obligation demands it.

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