My first holiday season in Oregon was not planned. I did not move here for a new job, family or a change of scenery. I came because I had to. I was fleeing a domestic violence situation with my two young children. I arrived in crisis, hoping the hardest part was behind me. It was not.
In those first weeks, even getting out of bed felt impossible. I was taking care of my two young kids while fighting an inner battle of hopelessness. I called clinic after clinic, desperate for help, and heard the same response: “I’m sorry, we don’t have anyone available.” Each rejection pushed me further down. At my lowest, I was about to give up and still could not access care.
Then one receptionist at a clinic offered something different. She told me about a virtual intensive outpatient program called Charlie Health. For the first time, I had a real option. And that option saved my life.
More than 850 Oregon families will set a holiday table this year with one chair permanently empty because of suicide, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Our state has the 13th highest suicide rate in the country, and nearly one in three Oregonians report struggling with mental health.
There is no one-size-fits-all approach that works for a million people. Telehealth was not just the right fit for me, but the only fit for me. And research shows I’m not alone: studies demonstrate that telehealth-delivered cognitive behavioral therapy can significantly reduce suicide attempts and suicidal thoughts, and that patients receiving more telehealth services have better continuity of care.
When I started treatment, I couldn’t imagine leaving the house. Some days I couldn’t imagine even showering. With virtual care, I didn’t have to. I cooked dinner for my kids between groups. I didn’t need to find child care or get dressed. And I wasn’t alone: I was surrounded by other single mothers who were struggling.
The program and telehealth gave me my life back. One piece of the program that always resonated with me was a trauma-healing graph that showed recovery isn’t linear. Sometimes you slide back, but you keep going. The tools I gained didn’t just empower me, they empowered my children too. Now my 4-year-old daughter will say, “Mom, I need a breath that helps me,” and we do box breathing together, a technique I learned during treatment.
Today my life looks completely different. I am in school to become a dental hygienist. I have a car in my name. I get up, I take care of myself, and I am building a future for my kids. Most importantly, I am here. And because of telehealth, I always will be.
Despite this, Oregon’s virtual mental health services operate in a legal gray area. Providers face complicated and inconsistent regulations, including shifting rules on licensing and approval of fully virtual programs that have not kept pace with how many Oregonians rely on them. These gaps create real uncertainty, leaving patients like me worried that the support we depend on could be taken away at any moment. Every year it feels as if access is at risk.
Oregon’s leaders, including Gov. Tina Kotek, have acknowledged that mental health support must be accessible to every community in the state regardless of income or location. But acknowledgement alone is not enough. In a statewide crisis, Kotek, the Oregon Legislature, and the Oregon Health Authority can work with experts across the public and private sectors to create clear and supportive rules that protect access to virtual mental health resources now and for years to come. This means reducing red tape, safeguarding virtual programs like Charlie Health, and ensuring qualified clinicians can provide virtual care when Oregonians need it.
For some people, telehealth is a convenience. For others, like me, it is the difference between being at the table with your children during the holidays or being the empty seat.
This holiday season, I am grateful for the virtual care that saved my life. Now it is time to make sure every Oregonian has the same chance.
Ashley Cramer is a caregiver, student, single mother and mental health advocate who lives in Portland with her 2 children. This guest commentary is from news partner Oregon Capital Chronicle, and it may or may not reflect the views of The Corvallis Advocate, or its management, staff, supporters and advertisers.
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