Rosie Jones is on a mission - and this time, it’s no laughing matter. The comedian is launching her new charitable foundation, aimed at alleviating the mental health crisis among young people with cerebral palsy (CP).

A lot of thought has gone into the foundation and what it will do. “You know me for my stand up, and for crying on Casualty,” Rosie says, “and I love my job. I love being in comedy, and I love making people laugh, but it got to a point where I was aware that I had a platform that not a lot of disabled people had, and I wanted to do something for good.” She started looking for charities and causes she could lend her voice to, especially ones for people with CP, but “there was a hole that needed to be filled, particularly when it came to teenagers and adults, looking at their mental health. So I made a very big, scary decision to start my own foundation.”

To start with, the foundation will focus on two goals: connecting people with CP to appropriate, tailored mental healthcare, and creating events and spaces where they can meet each other and get peer support. The need is pressing: a 2019 study by the University of Surrey found that “the risk of depression was 44 percent higher and the risk of anxiety was 55 percent higher in adults with cerebral palsy” when compared to their nondisabled peers. In general, the US Center for Disease Control found that disabled adults report frequent mental distress almost five times as often as nondisabled people.

Isolation and discrimination are often to blame, as Rosie knows all too well. “I only started therapy in my 30s,” she says, “and it wasn’t until then I realised the effect ableism was having. I just thought ‘well people treat me badly and it makes me sad, but I love who I am, I don’t want to be nondisabled.’ But it takes a toll on my mental health. It’s exhausting, always having to be entering a world that isn’t set up for you. You can never turn it off; I don’t get to decide that when I leave the house today I don’t fancy being stared at, or I don’t want to make excuses for myself today.” 

Therapy has allowed Rosie to re-examine her life through a new lens. From the school mate who ended their friendship because Rosie couldn’t compete in playground games to the employers who refused to give her a chance when she first entered the world of TV as a researcher, she now understands that these experiences were the result of ableism and not, as she once believed, “my fault because I’m disabled.” The realisation was “freeing, but felt like a tidal wave,” she says, and she was glad to have support in dealing with its ramifications. “I shed a lot of shame,” she says, “both about being disabled and about the fact that ableism makes me sad. It makes me angry. Because it does - because I’m a human being.”

“I realised in therapy that for a lot of my life, humour was my coping mechanism, my survival mode. I remember from being a little girl, people would say to my family and friends, ‘she's always smiling, she's always making people laugh’ and through therapy I realised that was never for my benefit, that was for everyone else so they would feel comfortable around me and my disability. And of course, I found that my experience was not a unique one,” she says.

The problem is not just that people with CP have higher rates of mental ill-health, Rosie says, but that when they do seek support, appropriate, tailored provision is either difficult to access or completely unavailable. “They’re often seen by a therapist who is nondisabled,” she explains, “so they don’t have that shared perspective, so it’s hard to explain or to talk.” Rosie knows this first hand; she’s had poor experiences with some nondisabled therapists, and is determined that if she goes back, she wants someone who “has that common ground.” 

Recognising the need for better support, Rosie decided to focus her foundation on helping link people with CP with therapists who also have CP. “That way,” she says, “they feel they are already in a safe space when they come to the first session.” The foundation is already in discussions with therapy providers and other charities about how to make this happen, and aims to help people with CP pay for the tailored care they need. Ultimately, the goal is to help more people with CP to train and qualify as counsellors, boosting supply to meet the undeniable demand.

Rosie is also keenly aware of the role she plays. “Being honest about my sadness and my anger has only made me stronger. It’s allowed me to be more authentically myself. I wouldn’t want anyone else with CP who’s struggling to look at me and think ‘Rosie’s happy all day every day’. I think that’s unrealistic. I think everyone, regardless of disability, has bad days. But it’s tricky because my bread and butter - what pays my bills - is being a comedian. Even when I started therapy, I was trying to make her laugh, make her like me. But I know now that there’s a time and a place to do my job. If I’m in the pub with one or two of my closest friends, they know me, they love me. I don’t have to make them laugh. I can say I’ve had a shit day.”

The foundation’s focus on teenagers and young adults is also based on personal experience. “It’s hard for any teenager, but for disabled teenagers you’re not only navigating the world, independence, friends, relationships, you’re navigating being disabled. There are more questions about careers or living on your own. For me, going to university, it was very freeing but it was also very scary and very isolating, because I didn’t know anyone else with a physical disability.” Alongside this big, isolating life change, Rosie experienced what many other disabled teenagers do: the cliff edge where all the services (physio, OT, speech therapy) provided when they’re under 16 start to retreat, and disappear completely on their 18th birthdays. “It was like I was on my own in the world,” she says.

That’s why, as well as linking those who need it with therapy, the foundation’s other focus is connecting people with CP to each other. “When it comes to teenagers, we want to bridge that gap and give them a space to meet each other, to realise there are thousands of people just like them. We’ve started that already and it’s been incredible showing them future possibilities, possible careers, but also letting them meet other people with CP, often for the first time.” The aim is to put on skills workshops and hold events all around the country, with locations tied to Rosie’s comedy tour, so that people with CP can access their community and get signposting to local support no matter where they live.

For now, the immediate focus is, understandably, on fundraising. Creating all these services for people with CP costs money. But the vision is clear. “These are my experiences,” Rosie says, “but I’m not alone. If this is how I feel, and the stats show that it’s how other people feel, then maybe the foundation can do something so that they can feel better… before they’re in their 30s!”