A journalistic investigation reveals how the asylum was the fate of unruly women.

In Galicia, the Conxo asylum was for decades a center where women who did not fit the social parameters of the time were locked up . Through rigorous research, journalist and writer Carmen Valiña unravels the punitive fate of these individuals in "As tolas que non eran " (The Crazy Women Who Weren't), published by Galaxia.

The book tells the hidden stories behind more than 400 archived files , many of them from women who never suffered from mental disorders , but were victims of a system that used psychiatry as a tool of social and gender control.

For Valiña, the story began with her work on the memory of anonymous women in Galicia . "I became aware that the Galician archives held documentation from the Conxo Asylum, so I sensed the extent to which that asylum allowed us to restore those lives ," the author explains.

Her initial hypothesis, that most of these inmates came from working-class and rural backgrounds , was confirmed by the analysis of the documents: "These were stories that went far beyond the doctor. I discovered this because there is correspondence, there are family stories, the inmates' own words, and that allowed us to construct a story told by themselves ."

Many of these women were locked up not for clinical reasons, but because they were "inconvenient" for their families or the patriarchal society that surrounded them. Single mothers , young women who refused to accept male authority, women trying to get divorced, or those whose husbands emigrated and they decided to rebuild their lives were labeled "crazy" without reason.

Among the cases that mark the book is María, a young married woman who suffered what the file euphemistically describes as "a scare" on the road, a rape that led to the death of her friend and triggered subsequent disorders , but which was downplayed in the documentation.

Another emblematic case is that of Manuela, who emigrated to Cuba seeking a free life and was accused of leading a "cabaret life." Upon returning to Galicia, she was interned in the Conxo for refusing to conform to traditional female roles. She preferred to smoke, go out, and reject the authority of her brothers.

The women admitted had very diverse profiles, but the most common were those with imprecise diagnoses, often contradictory and more social than medical . Psychiatric manuals of the time associated "hysteria" with young, single, or widowed women, those who lacked male control . There were also women diagnosed with schizophrenia or puerperal psychosis, although often without clear clinical follow-up.

The asylum itself was a place of suffering. It belonged to a charity, but with a paying section, and was predominantly occupied by poor, illiterate women from rural areas, whom the provincial administrations referred there. The conditions were appalling. "Complaints about the overcrowded treatment and lack of individualized care came not only from inmates but also from Conxo's staff," the author notes.

The inmates' correspondence reveals a constant desire to get out, to reclaim their sanity and to denounce abuse, including violence by the nuns in charge of the center .

Despite the adversities, these women developed bonds within the asylum: they helped each other write letters, cared for mothers giving birth there, and shared household chores . However, their escape was uncertain. Many remained there until their deaths, with no accurate record or public memory.

“Families considered them a burden and preferred to forget them. Shame silenced their stories,” Valiña explains. Only recently, with the publication of the book, have family consultations begun to reconstruct these memories . This represents a glimmer of hope for those seeking to shed light on so much uncertainty.

The role of institutions was fundamental to maintaining this system of repression. Families requested admission, while the Conxo, owned by the church, exercised strong moral control. The asylum was conceived as a tool to contain dissidents, not for their recovery. Women from prison were referred there, and although the medical team sometimes attempted to discharge them, their families refused or simply couldn't handle them. Thus, many of them remained locked up as if they were a social problem rather than patients to be treated.

The files clearly show that the medical diagnosis was often an excuse to repress behavior considered rebellious : "Women who drank, were single mothers, or wanted to leave the house were labeled as crazy or hysterical. They were attributed with irresponsible sexual behavior, as if that justified their confinement," the researcher points out.

The preserved letters reveal mistreatment, such as the use of restraints , and denounce systematic abuse at the center, although these complaints never reached the families or the public. Mail was prohibited from leaving the facility.

This story was not an isolated exception, but rather part of a network of repression that operated in Spain, especially during the Civil War and the Franco regime . Similar investigations in other regions such as Catalonia and Malaga confirm that psychiatry was used as a tool to punish women and other groups considered inconvenient to the regime and society.

Although women are no longer locked up for being single mothers or having premarital relationships, "more subtle forms" of control and silencing persist . "Words like crazy or hysterical are still used to discredit them and deny them authority or credibility. Violence against female bodies and behaviors has shifted to social media and public debates," the author warns. Patriarchal structures, although invisible, continue to shape women's lives.

The transformation of mental hospitals in Spain was long and complex . Beginning in the 1970s and 1980s, deinstitutionalization processes began, along with a new approach to mental health based on rights and social reintegration. Psychiatric centers ceased to be prisons and became therapeutic spaces, although stigma persists and forms of social exclusion have changed rather than disappeared. Valiña's book, by rescuing these stories, opens a window into reflection on the historical mechanisms of control and exclusion of women, and how these still resonate today .

Finally, the author highlights the value of the resilience of these women who, despite their condition and isolation, maintained their sanity and desire for connection with the outside world. "If I were standing in front of one of them, I would tell her that she was very brave, that thanks to her letters we can learn her story. That they resisted, that their lives have value, and that this memory challenges us today to continue questioning and dismantling these forms of control."

The Tolas That Were Not is an act of historical justice and a call to reflection on the ways societies treated and treat those who do not fit their norms, particularly women. In the memory of all of them, imprisoned in the Conxo, resonates a necessary echo to understand the present and prevent those shadows from re-imposing themselves.

The project doesn't end here. Carmen Valiña intends to continue her research, this time focusing on the files after 1936, when the Civil War and Franco's regime reconfigured the mechanisms of repression .

“New profiles will surely emerge, perhaps more ideological ones. I'm interested in moving forward in time and seeing how the use of the asylum as a tool of control evolves,” she explains. The author also highlights the strength of the connections the book is generating : family members seeking to reconstruct stories, readers who recognize still-existing patterns. “Everything that's being activated is very powerful. This isn't just a closure, it's an opening,” she concludes.

As tolas que non fue (The crazy women who were not), by Carmen Valiña (Galaxia).