Selling Prevention in a Culture Addicted to Crisis

Your teen is sleeping 14 hours a day. Something feels off. You know it. You feel it in your gut.

But you don't call anyone.

Because what would you even say? "My kid sleeps a lot"? That's not a crisis. That's a teenager. You don't want to overreact. You don't want to be that parent. And honestly? No one's told you this is the part that matters.

So you wait.

Want to be proactive? Want to get ahead of it before it becomes something worse? That'll be $150/hour. Out of pocket. No coverage. No safety net.

We get punished for paying attention.

The healthcare system is designed backwards: We fund crisis. We ignore prevention. Wait until your teen is in a hospital bed, and suddenly everyone's got answers. Act on what you're already seeing? You're on your own.

So what do parents do? They wait. They tell themselves it's fine. They can't afford to be proactive. Or they can, but they're not convinced it's necessary yet.

And sometimes, waiting costs them everything.

I know because I waited. And Maddie died.

Now I'm trying to sell prevention in a system that only pays for crisis. And it's the worst business model imaginable, and the only ethical one.

Why Crisis Wins Every Time

Crisis is dramatic. Prevention is boring.

When a hospital saves a teen after a suicide attempt, it makes the news. There's a GoFundMe. The community rallies. When a parent notices warning signs early and gets support before crisis? Nothing. No story. Just silence.

Crisis is measurable. You can count ER visits, hospitalizations, suicide attempts. Prevention is invisible. You can't count the crisis that didn't happen. The hospitalization that was avoided. The kid who's okay because someone noticed early.

And here's where it gets perverse: Crisis gets funded. Prevention gets ignored.

The healthcare system will pay for psychiatric hospitalization, crisis intervention, emergency therapy after an attempt. It won't pay for early intervention before crisis, preventative mental health check-ins, or mentorship for at-risk teens. That's all out of pocket.

So the system literally rewards waiting until it's bad enough. A parent with resources tries to be proactive and pays $150/hour. A parent without resources waits until crisis and gets coverage.

Everyone waits. Because the message is clear: It's not serious until it's an emergency.

Filling a cavity before it becomes a root canal is covered, encouraged, considered smart. Supporting a teen before they become suicidal is your problem, your expense, your risk.

We've built a system that punishes prevention and rewards crisis. And then we wonder why kids are dying.

The Invisible Success Problem

Here's the challenge I face every day: When MentorWell works, nothing happens.

A parent notices something feels off. They attend a workshop. They join a support group. They learn to ask better questions. Their teen opens up. They get a mentor. Things get better. No crisis. No hospitalization. No emergency.

There's no dramatic before and after. No viral story. Just a kid who's okay. A family that's intact. A crisis that never happened.

How do you sell that? "Give us $150 so nothing bad happens" doesn't exactly inspire action.

I can't measure the suicide attempt that didn't happen. The hospitalization that was prevented. The kid who stayed in school, kept their friends, graduated. I can only measure how many parents showed up, how many teens got matched with mentors.

But the real metric, the only one that matters, is invisible: How many kids didn't end up where Maddie did.

And you can't put that in a pitch deck.

The Funding Gap

For dental care, preventative cleanings are covered every six months. Cavities are covered. Root canals are covered. The logic is simple: It's cheaper to prevent than to fix.

For mental health care, preventative check-ins aren't covered. Early intervention is out of pocket. But crisis hospitalization? Suddenly covered. The logic: We only pay when it's bad enough.

The message: Your child's teeth are worth preventing problems. Your child's mental health is not.

I live this reality every week. A parent calls me: "My teen seems off. Sleeping more. Withdrawing. Should I be worried?"

I tell them yes. Let's get them connected with a mentor. Join our parent group.

They ask how much. I tell them: $79 for the workshop, $100/month for the group.

"Will this be covered?"

No.

"I'll wait and see if it gets worse."

Three months later, same parent: "My teen tried to kill themselves. They're in the hospital."

Healthcare system: "We've got you covered."

The system punished them for waiting. But the system only pays when they wait.

What We're Actually Talking About Here

Let's be clear about the stakes.

We're not talking about cosmetic surgery or wellness perks. We're talking about saving lives. And saving millions of dollars.

A psychiatric hospitalization costs $10,000 to $15,000 for a single stay. Many kids are hospitalized multiple times. A completed suicide costs society millions in lost productivity and economic impact.

Six months of preventative mentorship? $1,600. A parent support group for a year? Free to $1,200. A Lifeline Workshop that teaches parents to recognize warning signs? Less than $50/year.

The math is f##king insane. We'll spend $15,000 on a hospitalization without blinking. But we won't spend $150 to prevent it. We'll absorb the million-dollar cost of a completed suicide. But we won't fund the $1,600 that might have prevented it.

Now consider, 1 in 4 working parents will actually need this at your company.

This isn't about ROI anymore. This is about moral bankruptcy.

The system would rather pay millions after tragedy than hundreds before it. We ration prevention like it's a luxury. We fund crisis like it's inevitable. And we call this "fiscal responsibility."

Meanwhile, parents are taking out credit cards to pay for therapy the system won't cover. Families are going into debt trying to keep their kids alive. Kids are dying because their parents couldn't afford to be proactive.

And the system shrugs. Because the crisis is covered. The prevention wasn't.

Scan the QR Code and check out what you’re actually seeing. #TeenSignalCheck

The Crisis Paradox

When I started The MentorWell, I thought mentorship would be a no-brainer for parents. Let's get ahead of things. I'm seeing signs that make me feel unsure about my teen that I shouldn't ignore.

Lots of people reached out. Only a handful saw the value of mentorship as an out-of-pocket expense worth paying for.

Who actually responded? Parents in crisis: "My kid is in crisis and they refuse to see a therapist, but I think they would see a mentor."

My answer: "I'm sorry. We're past the point of no return for mentorship alone."

I have to decline them.

This has happened a dozen or more times. Then comes the pleading: "They're not too much in crisis."

That's like saying "This cancer is not usually the fatal kind."

Here's the cruel irony: The parents who need mentorship won't pay for it when it would work. The parents who would pay for it need more than mentorship can provide.

Isn’t that like refusing to by life insurance until you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and then decide to apply?

The pattern is always the same. Before crisis: "Is mentorship really necessary? They seem mostly fine. That's expensive." During crisis: "Will a mentor fix this? Can they see them twice a week?"

The window where mentorship actually works, that space between "something feels off" and "we're in crisis", that's exactly when parents won't invest in it.

By the time they're desperate enough to pay, it's too late for what I offer.

So I'm stuck. I can't help the people who are asking, because they've waited too long. And I can't convince the people I could help, because they're not scared enough yet.

This is the prevention paradox. It only works before people think they need it. And people won't pay for it until they're convinced they need it. By which point it's too late.

The system has trained parents to wait. Wait until it's bad enough to justify the expense. Wait until it's crisis enough to be covered. Wait until there's no question it's serious.

And by then, a mentor can't help. They need a therapist. Or a psychiatrist. Or a hospital. All of which the system will suddenly fund.

The Business Case I Have to Make

Since I can't sell prevention the traditional way, I have to sell it sideways.

To parents, I don't sell prevention. I sell awareness. Not "prevent your teen from becoming suicidal", that's too big, too scary. But "notice what you're already seeing". That's smaller, safer. Not "your teen needs intervention," which sounds like admitting failure. But "something feels off," which gives permission to be uncertain.

To businesses, I don't sell mental health. I sell productivity. Not "support your employees' struggling teens," which sounds like a nice-to-have. But "22% of working parents have a child experiencing mental health challenges. That’s 1 in 7 of your employees, costing billions in lost productivity." Not "be a good corporate citizen," which is CSR fluff. But "for every $1 invested, you get $4.70 back." That's ROI.

To the system, I don't sell prevention. I sell crisis reduction. Not "let's prevent problems," which sounds boring and unmeasurable. But "every $1 in prevention saves $4 to $7 in crisis intervention costs." Not "early intervention is good," which is obvious. But "the cost of one psychiatric hospitalization funds six months of preventative support for 20 families."

I'm selling prevention by never calling it prevention. Because prevention doesn't sell. But awareness does. Productivity does. Cost savings do.

It's exhausting. And it's the only way it works.

Why I'm Doing It Anyway

People ask me: "Why not pivot? Focus on crisis response? That's where the money is."

Because I've already lived the crisis response story.

Maddie was in crisis. The system kicked in. It was too late. The EMTs came. The hospital tried. Everyone did their job. And she's still dead.

Crisis response saved exactly zero people in my family. In fact, it almost cost another life. Mine.

You know what might have saved her? Someone noticing six months earlier. Someone teaching me what "sleeping 14 hours a day" actually meant. Someone giving me permission to say "something feels off" before I had to say "my daughter tried to kill herself."

That's why I'm building this. Not because it's a good business model.

I'm building this because the alternative is more Maddies. More families sitting in hospitals wishing they'd noticed sooner. More parents living with "I should have..." for the rest of their lives.

The system is backwards. It funds reaction and ignores prevention. It punishes proactivity and rewards waiting. It pays attention to emergencies and ignores the signs that lead there.

So I'm building the thing the system won't fund. The infrastructure for noticing early. The support for the space between fine and crisis. The permission to pay attention before emergency.

Because it's necessary. And that’s the commitment I made to honour Maddie.

What Actually Changes This

You can't shame the system into changing. "You should care about prevention" gets nods and continued crisis funding.

You can't logic it into changing. "Prevention is more cost-effective" gets agreement and continued crisis funding.

You can't wait for policy to change. By the time the healthcare system covers preventative mental health, how many more kids die?

What actually works is parents demanding it, from a place of "I see something and I'm not waiting until it's an emergency." When enough parents refuse to wait, the system has to respond.

Employers funding it helps because they can measure the productivity cost. B2B becomes the bridge to changing coverage.

Proving outcomes the system understands matters. Not "we prevented crisis," which is unprovable. But "families in our program use emergency services 40% less." That's measurable.

Making prevention look like crisis avoidance works. The reframe isn't "invest in mental health" but "reduce your crisis response costs." Speak the language they understand. Money.

And building it anyway. Don't wait for the system to fix itself. Build the thing that should exist. Prove it works. Make them pay attention.

The system won't change because it's right. It'll change because prevention becomes impossible to ignore.

The Long Game

I'm building a business the system doesn't want to fund. I'm selling prevention in a culture addicted to crisis. I'm trying to convince parents to pay for awareness before urgency.

It's the worst business model imaginable. And it's the only ethical one.

Because here's what I know: Crisis response saves people after they fall. Prevention stops the fall. We fund the necessary. We ignore the effective. And kids keep dying.

So I'll keep building this impossible business. I'll keep turning away desperate parents who waited too long, wishing I could have reached them sooner. I'll keep watching the system spend millions on crisis while nickel-and-diming prevention.

Because Maddie deserved a system that didn't wait for her to be in crisis before offering help.

And every other kid does too.

That's why I'm doing this. Even when it makes no business sense. Especially then.