The Submission They Refused
The Panel They Didn’t Want. The Conversation They’re Still Avoiding.
I want to tell you a story. One that perfectly captures what’s broken in construction—not just on the ground, but in the boardrooms, the speaking halls, and behind the scenes where decisions are made.
Months ago, I submitted a panel proposal to a major industry event—one of the largest construction shows in North America. The topic? Mental health in construction. Not as a buzzword, not as a box to tick, but as the urgent, life-altering crisis it is.
I had curated a powerhouse panel:
The Chief Medical Officer of Canada’s national suicide prevention hotline (988.ca), who’s also a Senior Psychiatrist and Researcher at CAMH (the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health).
An academic voice from the University of Colorado and Associate Director of the CSRA (Construction Safety Research Alliance)—a group gathering real data from the front lines of our industry.
My friend and fellow construction professional, Angelo Suntres, who brings deep field experience, has faced mental health challenges firsthand and has since devoted himself to driving change through his organization. The Human Side of Construction.
And myself—a 30-year industry veteran and mental health advocate who’s lived both the grind and the consequences of silence.
The panel was refused.
No feedback. No curiosity. Just “no.”
Well—actually—we were told the topic didn’t fit that year’s themes.
As if you need a fucking theme to talk about mental health.
Ironically, that exact panel was accepted at another national show just weeks later—run by the same parent company. The reception? Warm, kind, and receptive. Many stayed afterwards to thank us, ask questions, and keep the conversation going. Real momentum. We rated 4.88 (out of 5) . The highest of the presenters at that show.
I crowdfunded the entire trip (flights, hotels, meals, etc…)—because, in case you didn’t know, most of these conferences don’t pay their speakers a dime.
But we showed up anyway. Because the message mattered.
Fast forward to the first event.
With the original panel refused, I was instead offered a podcast slot. No resources. No promotion. No support.
Still—I said yes.
I showed up. I brought my voice, and so did my fellow guest. We spoke from the gut—offering real, practical ways to build safer, more human-centred teams.
Not shiny tools. Not corporate jargon.
But truth.
After the event? Silence.
I had to ask for feedback.
When it finally came, it included a tone-deaf suggestion:
“In future, consider including a licensed mental health professional.”
Let that sink in.
I had already done exactly that—with one of the most qualified voices in the country.
That panel? The one they refused.
This wasn’t a misstep. It was a symptom.
It’s ironic, isn’t it?
We’ll bend over backwards to hear about AI, BIM, and prefab modulars—but we flinch at anything that asks us to confront ourselves.
The emotional labour.
The leadership blind spots.
The burnout.
The addiction.
The suicides.
Too messy. Too human. Too real.
Meanwhile, the industry is bleeding from the inside out.
But hey—maybe those robots the Japanese showcased 50 years ago will do a better job than the people we continue to burn out under unrealistic expectations.
I wake up daily hoping I’m wrong.
But sadly, I know—both by experience and what the industry keeps revealing—that I’m not.
If you're still wondering why nothing changes, it’s not because we don’t have the ideas.
It’s because too many people in charge aren’t ready to hear them.
If this hit a nerve, share it. Or better yet, start the conversation no one else wants to. That’s how we turn the tide.