by It was January 2021, after a long day at virtual school, and a cold feeling of intense fear and an inexplicable feeling like I was dying washed over me.
I’m safe in my house – I can see the light where my mother works downstairs – but I feel in danger. I go to my room, turn off all the lights and sit on my bed. The task of breathing becomes arduous; any calm I’ve had turns to panicked, gasping breathing, and the more I try to get my bearings, the worse the attack gets.
Only when I put earplugs in my ears and blow a song do I finally become calmer. I rock back and forth until the tears stop, then pull myself to my feet. It was my first panic attack. As I navigated unfamiliar territory, I felt devastatingly alone.
The following month, on February 3, a classmate killed herself.
She was a few days younger than me, and imagining the pain she was in shocked my nervous system. The effects of her death echo throughout my community in the whispers we exchange, sudden eye movements, and the heaviness in our heels as we walk.
We’re drowning.
Pupils’ mental health was already at rock bottom before the lockdown; The pandemic exacerbated the problem and strained the student-counselor relationship. Counselors say anxiety rates have risen, and with most students’ lives missing a large chunk of development, social-emotional skills suffer too. According to studies, this hits teenage girls and LGBTQ students particularly hard.
During the 2021 school year, when I had my first panic attack, schools in my state of Georgia were not meeting the state-required 1:450 advisor-to-student ratio. They still don’t. This is a far cry from the 1:250 ratio recommended by the American School Counselor Association.
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Students feel alone – and they are
Without fully funded mental health services, students are left alone. Months after my classmate’s suicide, I felt isolated and depressed. I didn’t know how to deal with my emotions and the idea of getting help was unimaginable.
In the absence of trained professionals, we as students have to pick up our own pieces. Even when I was in pain, I took on the role of “therapist friend.” I talked to my friends about every panic attack they had, every suicidal idea – every crisis. I noticed isolated classmates with no interlocutors, people who didn’t feel safe enough to turn to professionals. They often cited previous negative encounters as the reason. Appointments were difficult to access; Meetings were uncomfortable or unhelpful.
It’s not the fault of the school counselors. The counselor’s role has shifted from purely academic to serving the needs of students’ mental health, many counselors are not adequately trained to meet students’ mental health needs, and counselors are often understaffed and overworked.
An estimated 14 million students attend schools with police officers but no counselors, nurses, psychologists or social workers. The presence of officers in place of counselors in schools disproportionately pushes black students down the school-to-prison pipeline and escalates situations that could have been defused by an unarmed professional.
The presence of SROs means alarmism and brutality, and increases incidents of excessive violence, usually against Black and Latino students. According to the Advancement Project, more than 25 percent of school police assaults have involved students with disabilities or students who reported mental health issues, and more than 80 percent of school police assault victims since 2011 have been black students.
There are systemic reasons why students are suffering and concrete steps we can take to achieve real safety in our schools, but divisive politicians instead blame critical race theory, AP African American studies, and transgender youth for just plain acceptance seek.
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Fund consulting resources – no culture wars
These politicians fund culture wars, not children. Instead of enforcing “zero tolerance policies” that put black students at risk, schools should focus their attention on reforming counseling and creating positive school environments and support systems.
They should answer the school counselors’ calls for more staff and funding, and the cries for help from the students, who all have bright futures with the right support. Funding adequate counseling gives students the resources and strength to build better lives for themselves. We deserve it.
In May 2021 I started to feel better. I have learned that asking for help is important. I started seeing a psychologist. I explored new hobbies and rediscovered old ones. I didn’t just pull myself out of a depressive state, I learned to deal with it – and not alone.
Now well into my freshman year of high school, I know things aren’t perfect, but I don’t feel alone anymore. And I know that when I feel like I’m falling, there are many people who can catch me. Every student should have this support – especially those who cannot find it at home. We can fully fund mental health services in every school to meaningfully address the ongoing adolescent mental health crisis; you just have to be willing to do it.
Punishment systems neither reduce fear nor negate the need for caring and compassion for our overall well-being. We are safer and healthier when we have school counselors and social workers who are trained to support students’ emotional needs, rather than neglecting them or pretending they don’t exist.
Prioritizing our mental health needs is what care looks like. This is what security looks like. In an uncertain and sometimes scary world, this is the least we can do. We deserved that as children.
If you or someone you know is going through a mental health crisis, call 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, which offers confidential support 24 hours a day, by dialing 988, or visit 988lifeline.org
Nia Batra is a high school student and a member of the Georgia Youth Justice Coalition
