The call from my boss came just as I dropped my son off at his daily intensive outpatient treatment at his new "school"—a psychiatric hospital. "All right, Susan, put on your professional self," I told myself as I pulled into a parking space to field his call. My boss was offering me an opportunity to do additional literacy coaching at a high-needs school with a new intervention model. Playing cool and calm, I replied that I needed to give it some thought and make sure my work-life balance wouldn't be overloaded by this new commitment.
At any other time, I would've jumped at the opportunity. I am "that" educator—the one who thrives on new opportunities, who has a passion for her subject matter. But at this time, I was living two separate lives—split between my professional and private selves. Most of my colleagues knew little about Adam's condition. So I spent most of one fall putting on a metaphorical mask—at a time when more support might have bolstered my well-being.
I recall the time I made it through a morning of training teachers, only to break down during lunch when a colleague whom I'd confided in asked how Adam (not my son's real name) was doing. Another time, I needed a co-trainer for a group of 100 trainees because I'd lost my voice to laryngitis, the effect of breaking down in tears every night. Spending a training session in pantomime and whispers was a reminder of the toll Adam's mental health had taken on me. I kept replaying the day of his admission, the fear on his face as we said a goodbye more tearful than any from his early childhood.
Keeping It Hidden
As I look back on that challenging time, I'm struck that I kept so much of my personal life hidden. A lot of it was to protect Adam, who wasn't interested in explaining to his friends why he suddenly left school only to return when his treatment was complete. And much of it was self-preservation. Since Adam's problems had begun to manifest, our family had spent months in therapy and various programs, first ruling out inept parenting, abuse, developmental delays, or any form of trauma. I had a hard time discussing Adam at work because it felt like I should have the skill set to handle the situation. We're trained to be fixers in education. I kept thinking, "I've taught classes of 25 children, but I can't even help my own son." I'm sure my distress was visible to some colleagues. If one of them had gently asked if I was OK—or let me know they were ready to listen —my load would have lightened.
Some may wonder why I didn't just take a leave of absence. The decision to continue working through this moment in my son's mental health journey wasn't easy. But the psychiatric hospital had quoted us a minimum price tag of $1,000 per day for outpatient care. We weren't sure what insurance would or wouldn't cover. Medical bills were piling up.
What "Taking Care of Each Other" Means
What does it look like when kind educators support a co-worker who is caring for a loved one beset by mental problems? What would've helped me in that tough situation years ago?
I've asked myself this a lot recently as I see colleagues caring for children within the walls of their classroom and within the walls of their homes. Educators dealing with serious family stress are often the silent ones, applying makeup, dousing their eyes with Visine, taking extra moments in the bathroom to hide, putting on their costume and mask to make it "through the show."
Though there are no quick fixes, I've identified a few helpful things any school leader, teacher, or other coworker can do if they sense a colleague is weighed down by the mental illness of someone they love or some other heavy personal problem.
Create an Environment Where Mental Illness Has No Stigma
The first day I dropped Adam off for outpatient treatment, I had a prescheduled work meeting in the afternoon. By great providence, that meeting was at a school where I knew a teacher whose daughter had attended the same outpatient program. Another colleague at that school had shared her struggles to navigate the mental health system for her children—plus the names of therapists.
We agreed that work would be the best thing to keep my mind off worrying, but it was a blessing that I could talk with these two women about Adam and my feelings (if I chose), that they knew they were taking in a wounded, broken mother. They met me at the door with hugs and allowed me to muddle through my workday in the best way possible. Leaders should explicitly let staff know that no one will be stigmatized or treated differently if it's known there are mental health struggles in their family, so strugglers will feel free to share what's going on, opening the door to ways to vent and be consoled at work.
Share Mental Health Resources with Colleagues
I had tried to get help for Adam's conditions two years before he ended up hospitalized, only to go through a frustrating series of gatekeepers. We took Adam to two separate therapists. While each was very qualified, one therapist minimized Adam's struggles and said they were part of growing up. Another was fooled by Adam's ability to masquerade behind his public self. We struggled mightily to navigate the system, but it wasn't until we switched pediatricians that we received real assistance. Because I'm a fighter, I kept pushing to get Adam help, while still questioning whether he needed this intensity of care.
I wish someone had helped me navigate the system sooner. I knew nothing of the county's crisis line for kids and parents. NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) was a foreign acronym to me. Almost all the resources I assembled were collected in an "underground" fashion. I've now made it my personal mission to distribute to colleagues therapists' names, parent groups, testing center names, and anything that might help, especially when they confide in me about their children's struggles. I supervise a group of 30 people and regularly remind them of our Employee Assistance Program, especially when we reach the cold, depressing days of winter.
I often think how powerful it would be if we had a mental health advocate for teachers and their families within a school, someone who could provide regular counsel to us, not just our students. By the time most of us pack up our teacher bag at night, psychiatrist and therapist offices are closed, so another day passes without accessing help. Appointing a confidential mental health leader devoted to staff could be a lifeline.
Inquire Sensitively When a Colleague Is Sick
I was sick that fall we took Adam for help. I had the stomach flu multiple times, followed by Flu A and gastroenteritis; I ended up dehydrated and admitted to the ER. I'm never that sick. My physical health was probably a warning sign to my colleagues that my body was bearing the battle scars of caring for Adam. I wish someone had simply said, "You've seemed really sick this year. Anything I can help with?" I didn't need an accusation or tally of my sick leave, but an acknowledgement that I looked and sounded different than my normal self might've given me an opening to talk—and for someone else to care.
Listen—Without Platitudes or False Hope
To listen and say nothing at all might be the best gift you can give a colleague in crisis. If you can do so comfortably, hug your colleague—or, while the pandemic necessitates safety measures, maybe give an elbow bump or virtual hug over a Zoom call. Human touch is essential to healing.
Don't tell a coworker that it will get better (there are degrees of "better" with mental illness, but it's not healed simply like an ear infection). Do not promise that this will only last for a time. Though it's OK to share concrete resources you sense will be helpful, avoid offering suggestions ("What if you tried ___?"). Trust me, we've probably tried all those things you're mentioning. If they'd been successful, we wouldn't be at the level of inpatient treatment. Practice the art of listening, empathizing, and delivering simple empathetic statements ("This must suck for you").
Offer Leave for Mental Health Care
The number one reason I kept working was because I had no paid leave for mental health care. If I could've taken some time off to receive therapy myself, go for lunch with my husband and reflect on our parenting through this, or just make my son's favorite meal, I absolutely would have. But the reality is, our policies define "sick" in ways that don't always allow for the conditions and care needs associated with mental health.
Drop Off a Pick-Me-Up
A meal, gift card for a spa, or similar offering helps. Being a parent is hard, hard work. Parenting a child with concurrent mental illnesses is a feat. A pot of soup, a bouquet of flowers, or even a card can bring the greatest joy. A work colleague emailed me this during our full-crisis mode: "You are a wonderful mother. You are strong, brave, and an amazing advocate for your children and truly all children." I had been carrying so much guilt. That message lifted so much of it off my shoulders. It still does.
Offer to Watch Their Children
This one applies only if you have a friendship or trustful relationship with the colleague who's caring for a family member with illness. If there is another child in the family who you could watch briefly, offer (strongly) to do so. Then just go pick up that child, as long as the parents don't object. It will diffuse the situation and give parents a needed break.
Secondary trauma for siblings of those with mental health struggles is real. Siblings live with the knowledge that something isn't right, yet they're often sworn to secrecy. Adam's sibling was scared and knew something was wrong. To compound matters, siblings are never allowed in a psychiatric setting, but my husband and I needed to attend sessions with Adam and his therapists. We had to find someone to watch his sibling during that time. I longed for someone to (practically) steal my other child away for a playdate, giving them a break from the screaming, crying, and intensity present during this time.
Start That Conversation
We frequently look for mental health warning signs in our students—as we should. But many of our colleagues are also silently waging their own wars against mental illness—in themselves or family members. I'm saddened that in an emotional time years ago, I couldn't disclose my "hidden life." But I'm hopeful that sharing this might nudge you to look at the co-worker who's been running late, who has dark bags under his eyes, who no longer hangs out in the faculty lounge. I hope you'll start a conversation with that colleague, simply saying, "How are you? No, really, how are you?"
Reflect & Discuss
➛ For school leaders: Do you often remind your staff about Employee Assistance Programs or other systems available to support them if they're facing problems at home? How might you do so?
➛ Do you think teachers at your school feel free to mention mental health issues (family members' or their own)? Or is there a stigma around discussing such issues?
➛ Does this author's experience make you think differently about interactions with colleagues? In what ways?
