While it hasn’t always been this way, schools are more aware of not only the educational needs of its students, but their mental needs as well. From introducing mental health week curricula, school-sponsored awareness events, and access to social workers, there are options for students to seek support. However, there has been an oversight. A big one. 

Teachers, facilitators, and school staff are often observers of these programs rather than participants. They are seen as pillars of support for the students and are asked a lot when it comes to keeping tabs on the students’ wellbeing. It never occurred to me before how faulty this concept is. How can we expect teachers to watch out for their students’ mental health when no one is looking out for theirs? This was never more apparent to me than one Monday morning two years ago. 

I was a sophomore in high school at the time. My friends and I were waiting for the morning announcements to come over the intercom. We complained about a research project as we waited. We had expected the normal lecture from the assistant principal about lunchroom conduct, a weather report, and the football game results from the previous Friday. 

We did not receive any of that. Instead, the principal was broadcasted. A student had died over the weekend by suicide. A student I had known from middle school. I didn’t know how to react or what to say. No one really did. The principal said that psychologists and social workers would be on campus all week and allowed students to leave without penalty if they so needed. Back then I thought nothing of it. It was standard protocol when a tragedy happened. Now, I see that announcement much differently. It ignored the distraught teachers. It assumed they would simply go on with their days, unaffected. This couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

Throughout the week following the student’s passing, teachers would step out of their classrooms and come back with red eyes. Some staff took a few days off. One staff member quit. More than one staff member verbally blamed themselves. I admit I was too caught up in my own “what if”s and “why”s to understand the toll it took on them. It wouldn’t be until another student died by suicide a little under a year later, a student I did not know, that I was able to fully see the consequences of the lack of support for teachers. I watched my math instructor break down at his desk. It was his student. The entire class fell silent and we looked away to let him grieve. We couldn’t do anything for him. We didn’t know the protocol for when a teacher was in crisis or struggling. There wasn’t any. 

The automatic response in both instances was to help the students and the students alone. Even after the school implemented mental health week courses, the administration had to have the teachers facilitate it with little professional training. The teachers were not sitting in or having their own “teacher classes” so to speak. They did not understand what they were supposed to be helping us understand. Meanwhile, they were suffering too and it was clear. They could not hide their red eyes, voice cracks, grading mistakes they never used to make, absences, and lack of enthusiasm. All the students noticed. 

The next time it happened, it was closer to home than ever. It was also the straw that broke the camel’s back. One of my best friends died by suicide last August. It was before school had started, so no announcement or remembrance happened. His parents were controlling, so I was not allowed to attend the funeral nor was I given an explanation. Needless to say, my pain was pretty raw when school began. Not even a month in, another student died. My English teacher knew before the announcement was even made. We normally joked before class, but she had scolded me instead of joining in. She was hostile and seemed hurt. I knew something was off and minutes later my fears were confirmed. 

Once again, resources for students were provided and none were there for the teachers exclusively. I had a severe panic attack and was sent home. Who comforted me while I struggled to breathe in the bathroom? The English teacher, who had just scolded me. It felt wrong. It was wrong. She needed a shoulder to cry on as much as I did. She wouldn’t get it till after that last bell rung and she could go home. 

What all of this loss has taught me is that my mental health as a student is not separated from the mental health of my teacher. I saw my math teacher struggle and I struggled. I noticed my English teacher’s change in attitude and mine changed as well. Students’ instructors left and kids lost motivation. 

All in all, it was not a top-down or bottom-up effect. We as human beings were coping with tremendous loss at the same time. Logically, both staff and the student body should have been provided equal support, not just when tragedy strikes, but before and after. If both the teachers and students are equipped to process the worse, we can move through it as a stronger unit. If the worse never comes to pass, healthy-minded teachers and students create the best. 

There is absolutely no downside to paying attention to facility mental wellbeing. There is an uncountable number of upsides, however. These teachers have a unique responsibility of being the mentors of society’s future. They are the foundation of tomorrow. We should take care of such vital and important people. While I never want a teacher to be in emotional distress, if they are, they deserve and require an understanding of their own minds. And we can all only be better for it.