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Journal of Urban Design and Mental Health; 2018:5;16
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Personal View
The impact of town planning on my own mental health as a town planner
Jason Barr
Planner, USA
Planner, USA
As an urban planner with several mental health diagnoses, I feel I have a unique perspective to share when it comes to mental health and urban planning/design. In particular, I would like to discuss sprawl and the impacts of living in areas that are designed more for cars than they are for people. This piece will focus on my personal experiences in different built environments, and how I feel those experiences impacted my own mental health.
I grew up on Bushnell Rd. in University Heights, Ohio in an area known as an “inner ring” suburb of Cleveland. The “inner ring” suburbs of Cleveland were developed before the metropolitan area sprawled ever further into the countryside. Our street was tree-lined, with shops just a few blocks away as well as a nice park nearby complete with a baseball field, tennis courts, and a playground. Neighbors spoke to one another. Driving was easy, but I frequently rode my bike to nearby places. As a child, I felt a sense of freedom and community. The city of Cleveland was not far and public transportation was available in the form of light-rail near our home. This was a very happy time of my life, and it was the love of the setting I grew up in that inspired me to choose planning as a career path.
Then, around age 11, my family moved to an “outer-ring suburb” of Cleveland. Driving and owning cars was essentially ubiquitous. The area was filled with cul-de-sacs amid large, cordoned off subdivisions. Separation of land uses was much more pronounced. Gone were the days of being able to walk or bike to local destinations. People spoke a bit less to their neighbors, and the community felt much less cohesive than my previous neighborhood. I remember feeling less freedom, less satisfaction, and was not as happy as I was before the move.
As I progressed into my teenage years, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and it was certainly not a mild case. Weeks would go by where I felt I could hardly catch my breathe. Life became excruciating at times, and there were moments were I felt like it was all too much suffering to bear. This was not caused by the built environment around me (to my wit), but I felt myself yearning for the days where I felt part of an actively social community. For the days where I could walk down the street and grab a slice of pizza, or hop on the light rail with my family and catch a professional baseball game. Though it did not cause my illness, it felt like the built environment was not helping my cause.
I grew up on Bushnell Rd. in University Heights, Ohio in an area known as an “inner ring” suburb of Cleveland. The “inner ring” suburbs of Cleveland were developed before the metropolitan area sprawled ever further into the countryside. Our street was tree-lined, with shops just a few blocks away as well as a nice park nearby complete with a baseball field, tennis courts, and a playground. Neighbors spoke to one another. Driving was easy, but I frequently rode my bike to nearby places. As a child, I felt a sense of freedom and community. The city of Cleveland was not far and public transportation was available in the form of light-rail near our home. This was a very happy time of my life, and it was the love of the setting I grew up in that inspired me to choose planning as a career path.
Then, around age 11, my family moved to an “outer-ring suburb” of Cleveland. Driving and owning cars was essentially ubiquitous. The area was filled with cul-de-sacs amid large, cordoned off subdivisions. Separation of land uses was much more pronounced. Gone were the days of being able to walk or bike to local destinations. People spoke a bit less to their neighbors, and the community felt much less cohesive than my previous neighborhood. I remember feeling less freedom, less satisfaction, and was not as happy as I was before the move.
As I progressed into my teenage years, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and it was certainly not a mild case. Weeks would go by where I felt I could hardly catch my breathe. Life became excruciating at times, and there were moments were I felt like it was all too much suffering to bear. This was not caused by the built environment around me (to my wit), but I felt myself yearning for the days where I felt part of an actively social community. For the days where I could walk down the street and grab a slice of pizza, or hop on the light rail with my family and catch a professional baseball game. Though it did not cause my illness, it felt like the built environment was not helping my cause.
"Though it did not cause my illness, it felt like the built environment was not helping my cause"
I majored in psychology as an undergraduate at a nearby university, as I wished to help people - those just like myself - in overcoming crippling mental illnesses. After realizing that being a psychologist might not be the path for me (sensing I may become too emotionally attached to my patients’ recovery), I decided to pursue a career in city planning. Soon after graduating, my family decided to move to Arizona; I decided to come along for the ride.
Enrolling in Arizona State’s Master’s program in city planning, I dreamed of designing spaces that made me feel the way I did growing up: safe, secure, and happy. Dealing with my anxiety during graduate school was difficult but I made it through to graduation; though it certainly didn’t happen without some bumps and bruises along the way. During much of the duration of my graduate studies, I lived in a suburb of Phoenix that had light rail service, restaurants nearby, and ample park space. The neighborhood I rented in wasn’t my favorite that I had lived in, but I felt like I had access to the world around me. Unfortunately, this changed with the next move I ended up making.
Post-graduation, I scoured the metropolitan area and ultimately the country for a full-time planning position. Money dried up, and I ended up moving in with my parents at their home on the outskirts of the Phoenix metropolitan area. My new town was the definition of suburban sprawl. Predominantly single family homes, cultural amenities few and far between, and big box stores with oversized parking lots. However, this was all okay with me as I had a car I could drive to occasionally go meet up with friends, visit a museum, or do things that young people enjoy doing.
Then, one fateful day, everything changed. On my way to downtown Phoenix, about 50 minutes from my home, I had the worst panic attack I had ever experienced. Not long after this terrifying experience, I began to develop Agoraphobia. Driving anywhere over 15-20 minutes from home was a massive trigger for me, and I would get crippling panic episodes. It only got worse with time.
Enrolling in Arizona State’s Master’s program in city planning, I dreamed of designing spaces that made me feel the way I did growing up: safe, secure, and happy. Dealing with my anxiety during graduate school was difficult but I made it through to graduation; though it certainly didn’t happen without some bumps and bruises along the way. During much of the duration of my graduate studies, I lived in a suburb of Phoenix that had light rail service, restaurants nearby, and ample park space. The neighborhood I rented in wasn’t my favorite that I had lived in, but I felt like I had access to the world around me. Unfortunately, this changed with the next move I ended up making.
Post-graduation, I scoured the metropolitan area and ultimately the country for a full-time planning position. Money dried up, and I ended up moving in with my parents at their home on the outskirts of the Phoenix metropolitan area. My new town was the definition of suburban sprawl. Predominantly single family homes, cultural amenities few and far between, and big box stores with oversized parking lots. However, this was all okay with me as I had a car I could drive to occasionally go meet up with friends, visit a museum, or do things that young people enjoy doing.
Then, one fateful day, everything changed. On my way to downtown Phoenix, about 50 minutes from my home, I had the worst panic attack I had ever experienced. Not long after this terrifying experience, I began to develop Agoraphobia. Driving anywhere over 15-20 minutes from home was a massive trigger for me, and I would get crippling panic episodes. It only got worse with time.
"Once (I began to develop agoraphobia) the sprawling layout of my town became like a prison"
Once this happened, the sprawling layout of my town became like a prison. No longer could I put a “Band-Aid” on the situation by making the long drive to meet friends or entertain myself with long walks at the mall like I enjoy doing. The only places I could go were my local gym, a nearby driving range for golf, and occasionally the library. I found myself taking trips to the local Wal-Mart and Target to just walk around for mental stimulation. To say the least, the situation felt bleak. As time went on, the isolation I felt only got worse. I felt inklings of the feelings I experienced when I moved to the “outer-ring” suburb of Cleveland at the age of 11. Only this time, it was much more severe.
For someone with driving anxiety/Agoraphobia like myself, sprawling patterns of development with little in the way of cultural amenities had massive consequences. It proved how fickle the social sustainability of sprawling exurbs can be. If one is stricken with an illness like I was, and can’t drive, the results can be: severe depression, hopelessness, boredom, and then worsening anxiety as a result. It caused a dreadful cycle that I still am struggling to break free from.
So, I urge those in the field to consider that sprawl can have real consequences. As planners, we all know one size does not fit all when it comes to built environments and how we experience them. Being able to live within a community built for people and not cars becomes even more crucial than the literature already tells us it is. Its real life. I hope my story can be a reminder to planners and designers everywhere that physical health is not the only dimension of our well-being that we need to pay attention to. Equally important is the consideration of how our cities and towns impact those with mental illnesses. I hope my story “drives” that home. Real consequences on real lives. It is my sincere hope that those who are reading this see that, and take these words into consideration as they craft their local neighborhoods, municipalities, and regions.
For someone with driving anxiety/Agoraphobia like myself, sprawling patterns of development with little in the way of cultural amenities had massive consequences. It proved how fickle the social sustainability of sprawling exurbs can be. If one is stricken with an illness like I was, and can’t drive, the results can be: severe depression, hopelessness, boredom, and then worsening anxiety as a result. It caused a dreadful cycle that I still am struggling to break free from.
So, I urge those in the field to consider that sprawl can have real consequences. As planners, we all know one size does not fit all when it comes to built environments and how we experience them. Being able to live within a community built for people and not cars becomes even more crucial than the literature already tells us it is. Its real life. I hope my story can be a reminder to planners and designers everywhere that physical health is not the only dimension of our well-being that we need to pay attention to. Equally important is the consideration of how our cities and towns impact those with mental illnesses. I hope my story “drives” that home. Real consequences on real lives. It is my sincere hope that those who are reading this see that, and take these words into consideration as they craft their local neighborhoods, municipalities, and regions.
About the Author
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Jason Barr is originally from Cleveland, Ohio. He attended Kent State University where he earned his Bachelor's in Psychology, then went on to earn his Masters in Urban and Environmental Planning at Arizona State University. His interests include quality of life in cities, transit-oriented development, and land use policy. In his spare time, Jason enjoys sports, talking about politics and society, as well as spending time with friends and family. Jason has recently become an Associate at the Centre for Urban Design and Mental Health.
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