EPC Missouri 2026

This was our third year at the EPC Missouri conference. I wrote about the 2025 conference when the material was still new to us. A lot of the program felt familiar, and there was enough overlap with last year that it’s probably our last trip. That’s not a knock on the organizers; it’s just where we are. We’ve heard the talks, we’ve had the conversations, and repeating the same beats doesn’t add much for us anymore.

Most of our team made it this year, which was a welcome diversion. I’m always happy to hang with them outside the office. We’re fairly close as it is, but a trip still means different conversations and a better sense of who people are away from the office.

Food

The first two years, the food was a genuine perk: well done, satisfying, something to look forward to between sessions. This year, our third, was a big step down. Lunch was a bagged lunch instead of the kind of meal we’d gotten used to; one year we had Kansas City BBQ, which felt right for Missouri and for a long day of sitting and listening. This year’s bags weren’t in the same league. Breakfast was worse: hardly anything compared with the full spread we got last year, more like coffee and a few thin offerings than a real morning spread. Small thing in the grand scheme, but it matched the overall “less than before” vibe.

Lived Experience

“Lived experience” was everywhere on the agenda: in panels, in keynotes, in how people framed their stories. I get why. Personal narrative matters, especially in mental health spaces where policy and care can drift far from what it’s actually like day to day.

My hang-up is narrower: everyone who is alive has lived experience. It isn’t a special category that only applies to people with a mental illness or disorder. We all carry a history of stress, joy, trauma, routine, luck, and choice, and that shapes how we show up. When “lived experience” is used almost synonymously with “lived experience of mental illness,” it can sound like the rest of us are spectators. We aren’t. The distinction still matters clinically and in advocacy, but the language sometimes flattens the obvious: life is the shared baseline.

Postpartum psychosis

Not everything on the schedule felt like a rerun. One session that landed for me was on postpartum psychosis: how often it’s underreported or overlooked next to other perinatal mood issues, and how easy it is for systems (and families) to miss it until something breaks. I’m glad it was on the program. Even when the rest of the week felt thin, that kind of topic is why these conferences still matter: naming gaps in recognition and pushing them into the room.

Kansas City

Kansas City is a strange place. The streets weren’t crowded; getting around was easy in a way big cities usually aren’t. It almost felt too quiet, like the bustle was somewhere else, or on pause.

During the week, a lot closes early. After sessions, we’d look for something to do and hit a wall of locked doors and last-call hours. We’re not night-owl club people, but “find dinner or entertainment after eight” shouldn’t feel like a scavenger hunt. It did.

One night we went to Green Lady Lounge and sat in the dim light listening to live Kansas City jazz. That was the highlight: music, a room that felt intentional, and a break from wandering empty sidewalks. Weird city, good memory.

See You, Maybe Not

If the program diversifies or we have a reason to reconnect with the community in person, we might reconsider. For now, though, we’ve checked the box three times. The conference was fine; the repetition wasn’t. Onward.