Yuyun Lusiyani
Jason Beaman, a 54-year-old Navy and Army Reserve veteran, recounts his exhaustive struggle to secure consistent mental health therapy last year with a tone of profound defeat. His experience, marked by a revolving door of departing therapists and cancelled appointments within the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) system, mirrors a growing crisis impacting veterans nationwide. After an initial therapist assigned by the VA announced her departure at their first meeting, Beaman faced a similar setback with his second counselor just months later. A third appointment was abruptly cancelled without explanation, severing his access to crucial care.
These repeated disruptions were more than mere inconveniences for Beaman; they represented significant blows to a veteran who had nearly a decade prior experienced a severe spiral of depression and anxiety, culminating in homelessness on the streets of Spokane, Washington. It was a VA social worker who had extended a lifeline then, guiding him through the process of applying for benefits, securing housing, and initiating therapy. Despite his physician’s and his own recognition of his ongoing need for mental health support, the arduous process of navigating the VA’s system has left him utterly exhausted. "I just quit. I don’t want to mess with the therapist anymore," Beaman stated, describing how he now spends his days isolated, finding solace only in video games and walks with his dogs. His story is a stark illustration of the systemic challenges plaguing the VA’s mental healthcare services, particularly in the wake of significant policy shifts and staffing reductions under the current administration.
The VA Overhaul: Promises Versus Reality
The current administration, led by President Donald Trump, embarked on an ambitious plan last year to "overhaul" the VA, one of the nation’s largest healthcare providers, with the stated aim of delivering "the highest quality care." VA Secretary Doug Collins, speaking in March of last year, declared, "This administration is finally going to give the veterans what they want," as the department simultaneously announced plans for tens of thousands of job cuts across the agency. This declaration, however, stands in stark contrast to the experiences of veterans and the observations of staff across the country.
A year into this second Trump administration, an investigation by ProPublica reveals a disturbing trend: obtaining mental health treatment through the VA has become increasingly difficult. This decline is largely attributable to the departure of hundreds of mental health professionals, including therapists and social workers, many of whom have not been replaced. While front-line mental health care workers were nominally exempt from the sweeping job cuts, a substantial number voluntarily chose to leave. Reasons cited for these departures include disagreements with new administrative policies—some specifically targeting the LGBTQ+ community—and the sheer inability to maintain proper care standards amidst diminishing staff ranks and escalating workloads.
Quantifiable Decline: A Dwindling Mental Health Workforce
The impact of these departures is quantifiable and alarming. ProPublica’s analysis found that as of January, the VA system employed approximately 500 fewer psychologists and psychiatrists compared to the same period last year. While these figures represent a relatively small percentage of the total workforce—about 4% of psychologists and 6% of psychiatrists—their significance is amplified by the VA’s chronic struggle with adequate mental health staffing. For years, the agency’s own administrators have consistently identified psychologists as a profession facing "severe staffing shortages."
The reduction in mental health personnel is part of a broader trend within the VA. Data initially reported by The New York Times indicates that the agency has eliminated over 14,000 vacant healthcare positions across its entire system. A closer examination of VA data, extending back to May 2023, further underscores this concerning trajectory. Under the previous administration, the VA had consistently added psychologists each quarter. However, this trend reversed sharply upon the current administration’s return to the White House, with departures consistently outpacing new hires in all four quarters of last year.
Compounding these losses, the VA’s cohort of social workers, many of whom are licensed therapists providing vital mental health counseling, experienced a decline of nearly 700 staffers over the past year. This significant reduction in a crucial support network places further strain on an already overburdened system.
Voices from the Front Lines: Staff Concerns and Ethical Dilemmas
To gain a comprehensive understanding of these departures and their ramifications, ProPublica conducted extensive interviews with dozens of current and former VA staffers, alongside affected patients. The investigation also unearthed a previously unreported internal employee exit survey, containing hundreds of responses from departing mental health care workers. These surveys paint a bleak picture of an agency under immense pressure.
One New York-based former employee wrote, "Mental Health is understaffed, burned out, and there is not enough mental health care for the Veterans who need the services." Another, based in Indiana, highlighted systemic issues: "Support is no longer there to provide ethical and good care for these Veterans. Scheduling issues are incredibly high due to poor staff hiring and retainment." A third poignant entry from Kansas expressed the overwhelming patient influx, stating it was "unethical to accept more veterans in our clinics."
Many of these critical positions remained unfilled for an extended period due to a yearlong hiring freeze, which was only partially lifted in January. Those mental health professionals who have remained on staff describe crushing workloads as they attempt to bridge the widening gaps. Speaking anonymously due to fears of retaliation, current VA psychologists and social workers reported significant increases in their patient loads, alongside administrative directives to shorten appointment times and consolidate more clients into large group therapy sessions.
"It was always bad," commented one VA psychologist from Arizona, referring to staffing levels, "And now it’s at a breaking point." This therapist described being so stretched that schedulers began replacing one-on-one sessions with online group sessions that sometimes included as many as 35 veterans. Even with this shift, the therapist reported still being overloaded with individual sessions, often having to limit each one to as little as 16 minutes—a duration widely considered insufficient for effective mental health intervention, especially for complex conditions like PTSD.
Veterans Left in Limbo: Personal Stories of Delayed and Diminished Care
The ripple effects of the VA’s staffing crisis and policy shifts are most acutely felt by the veterans who rely on its services. Beyond Jason Beaman’s initial struggles, numerous other veterans shared harrowing accounts of interrupted care, prolonged waits, and a profound sense of abandonment.
Michelle Phillips, a 56-year-old Navy veteran from Ohio, had consistently received remote therapy sessions once a week for two years for her PTSD. These sessions were a lifeline, particularly given her severe depression and isolation, which led her to rarely leave her home. In December, her therapist informed her that she was quitting the VA due to the current administration’s policies. Phillips described the impact chillingly: "It could mean life or death." Her virtual therapy was her primary human contact, and its loss plunged her into further despair. Despite her former counselor’s request for continuity of one-on-one care, the VA initially offered only virtual group therapy, an option deemed inappropriate by her previous therapist. Phillips was eventually offered a one-on-one appointment in March, but after a prolonged wait and the prospect of starting anew with a stranger, she declined, opting instead to try and pay for private sessions with her former therapist, albeit at a significantly reduced frequency.
James Jones, a 54-year-old Gulf War veteran residing in North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains, similarly experienced a reduction in care. His strong therapeutic relationship with a VA therapist, who possessed specialized training in combat trauma, was instrumental in managing his PTSD-fueled anger and alcohol abuse. However, his care was abruptly cut in half when his therapist, citing colleagues’ departures and an increased workload, reduced his sessions from an hour weekly to a mere thirty minutes every two weeks. "I can tell it’s rushed," Jones lamented, "I’m not able to work through something."
For others, the challenge lies not in maintaining care, but in establishing it at all. George Retes, 26, a four-year Army veteran who left service in 2022, found himself profoundly shaken last summer after a traumatic incident in Camarillo, California. Caught between immigration agents and protesters, his car window was broken, he was pepper-sprayed, and then detained for days. This event, which ProPublica previously detailed, exacerbated his PTSD, initially triggered by missile attacks in Iraq. Retes withdrew from the world, isolating himself even from his children. Weeks after his release in July, he sought help at the VA clinic in Ventura, California, only to be told they would contact him for an appointment. Despite follow-up calls, he never heard back. As of early February, data from the VA’s website indicated that new patients seeking individual therapy at the Ventura clinic faced an average wait time of two and a half months. Retes is still waiting.
The VA’s Response and Persistent Discrepancies
The VA declined ProPublica’s request for an interview with an official familiar with its mental health programs. Instead, VA spokesperson Peter Kasperowicz responded via email, accusing ProPublica of attempting to mislead the public by "cherry picking issues that are limited to a handful of sites and in many cases were worse under the Biden Administration." He asserted that the agency’s mental health performance has improved since the current administration took office, citing over 15.5 million direct mental health care appointments in the most recent fiscal year (October 1, 2024, to September 30, 2025)—a 4% increase from the prior year. Kasperowicz also noted the opening of 25 new healthcare clinics. However, he did not specify whether these additional appointments constituted individual therapy, a critical distinction given reports of shortened sessions and increased group therapy.
Following ProPublica’s sharing of its findings and the names of veterans featured in this story, the VA proactively contacted several individuals to inquire about their care and offer assistance. While seemingly responsive, these veterans expressed skepticism, noting that such interventions should not require media attention to materialize. The VA declined to discuss the specific accounts of James Jones and George Retes, citing their decision not to waive privacy rights. Regarding Jason Beaman, Kasperowicz claimed he had "more than a dozen mental health visits at VA between late 2024 to mid-2025 through the Cheyenne VA clinic" in Wyoming, an hour-and-a-half trip from Beaman’s home. Beaman, however, stated he only had two individual therapy sessions in 2025, both cut short by therapists’ impending departures. Kasperowicz also claimed one of Beaman’s appointments was missed because he "moved," a claim Beaman refutes, stating he has only lived at one address in Nebraska.
Despite the VA Secretary Doug Collins’ public assertions in January to a Senate committee that there is no systemwide problem with mental health access, and that average wait times for new patients are less than the 20-day goal, other VA officials have acknowledged significant issues. Dr. Ilse Wiechers, assistant undersecretary for health for patient care services, conceded in a separate hearing that "There are wait times at some facilities that are beyond what our expectations and standards would be." ProPublica’s analysis confirms this, revealing dramatic fluctuations in wait times based on location. For instance, the small clinic near Jason Beaman’s rural Nebraska home saw wait times for new mental health clients surge to 60 days in December before dropping to 20 days in February. A broader look at the entire VA system in early February indicated that over half of its hospitals and clinics reported one-on-one mental health appointment wait times for new patients that exceeded—and in many cases, far exceeded—the VA’s 20-day target.
Strains on the System: Policy, Ethics, and Community Care
The administrative overhaul has also exacted a toll on mental health providers, many of whom, despite years of service, felt compelled to leave the agency. Natalie McCarthy, a social worker and mental health therapist, resigned from the VA in May after a decade. Working remotely from her Ohio home, she primarily served veterans in the Washington, D.C., area. However, new VA restrictions pressured telehealth workers to return to agency offices, raising ethical concerns about patient privacy in makeshift conference room settings. Compounding her unease were the administration’s orders eliminating diversity and equity initiatives within the federal government. McCarthy feared therapists would be restricted from discussing race with patients or documenting such conversations, leading to her decision to quit and start her own practice. "I was angry that veterans were in that position," McCarthy expressed. "It just felt like an unnecessary thing to have to navigate."
Psychologist Mary Brinkmeyer faced similar challenges at a VA facility in metropolitan Norfolk, Virginia. Hired in 2022 as an LGBTQ+ care coordinator, she resigned last February as superiors began enforcing the administration’s anti-diversity orders. Brinkmeyer was reportedly told to cease training staff on best practices for LGBTQ+ patient care, and staff were ordered to remove all LGBTQ+-affirming materials, including rainbow flags and literature. An additional directive mandated using bathrooms corresponding to one’s gender assigned at birth. For Brinkmeyer, these actions signaled a "failure of empathy" and made the VA feel unwelcoming. The VA did not directly address the specific accounts of McCarthy or Brinkmeyer regarding the impact of these policies on mental health care quality.
As the VA’s internal mental health provider ranks have thinned, the department has proposed diverting billions of dollars into community care programs, which allow veterans to seek healthcare from private physicians and providers. However, this program itself has become overstretched, exacerbated by the loss of administrative staff and ongoing difficulties in finding available private therapists, ProPublica found. Veterans utilizing community care are encountering even longer delays. In December, patients waited an average of approximately 25 days simply to receive a confirmed appointment date, nearly four times the VA’s stated goal for scheduling community care.
Gwyn Bourlakov, 58, a decorated Army National Guard veteran with a Bronze Star from the Iraq invasion and a Fulbright scholarship, now works as a museum security guard. Her lingering PTSD and depression have kept her seeking VA assistance despite longstanding frustrations. After moving to Colorado last year and seeking a new therapist, her local Golden VA clinic informed her that in-house providers were overwhelmed and couldn’t see new patients for at least six months. When she inquired about community care, staff described the system as a "nightmare." Indeed, veterans in eastern Colorado faced an average 57-day wait for community care appointments in December. After repeated unanswered calls to another VA clinic, Bourlakov eventually gave up. "I don’t have time for all of that," she explained. "It’s just like shouting into the wind."
The Profound Human Cost and Future Implications
The exodus of specialized mental health care providers from the VA carries profound implications for the agency’s ability to cater to veterans’ unique needs. Russell Lemle, former chief psychologist for the San Francisco VA Health Care System and a senior policy analyst at the Veterans Healthcare Policy Institute, underscores the critical value of these professionals: "VA psychologists are best in class. They have research and training and decades-long experience working with veterans. When you lose them, the veterans are the ones who pay the price."
While Jason Beaman eventually secured a telehealth appointment in June after ProPublica’s inquiries—following six months of waiting and over a year without a session—and Gwyn Bourlakov opted for a June telehealth slot as well, their renewed access was catalyzed by external scrutiny. This raises serious questions about equitable access for all veterans, particularly those without the means or knowledge to escalate their concerns. Beaman’s anxiety, exacerbated by the delays, has left him so uncomfortable in public that he rarely leaves home without headphones to avoid interaction.
The current trajectory within the VA system suggests a deepening crisis in veteran mental health care. The combination of significant staff reductions, increased workloads for remaining personnel, a struggling community care program, and administrative policies perceived as hostile by some providers creates a precarious environment. The human cost is evident in the stories of veterans like Beaman, Phillips, Jones, Retes, and Bourlakov, who navigate a system increasingly unable to provide the timely, consistent, and specialized care they desperately need and profoundly deserve. Without a fundamental reevaluation of staffing policies, a commitment to supporting its dedicated workforce, and a clear strategy to alleviate systemic bottlenecks, the VA risks further eroding the trust of those it is sworn to serve, potentially leading to tragic consequences for a vulnerable population.
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