Category: Mental Health

Despite some signs of post-pandemic recovery, the college mental health crisis remains alive and not-so-well.

Young people passionate about their own and their peers’ mental health continue to sound the alarm on college campuses, while institutions across the country devote their own staff, resources, and time towards interventions to the same end. 

But are the two groups missing something or, more specifically, each other in the process? 

The Coalition for Student Wellbeing, a new student-led mental health advocacy group, is founded on the premise that the most authentic and effective solutions to student mental health issues will come from ensuring those making the decisions hear from those affected by them. 

Unlike other student groups that focus on issues within their institutions, the Coalition unites members across colleges nationwide to address a broad range of mental health concerns. The goal is to ensure that the student voice is part of the policymaking process, whether on campus or in Washington.

“The college student experience is so unique and dependent on the person,” said Carson Domey, the founder and executive director of the Coalition. “We need to tailor systems of care but also systems of education so that students are involved in these policymaking conversations at all levels.”

“We need to tailor systems of care but also systems of education so that students are involved in these policymaking conversations at all levels.”

Domey has never been one to sit on the sidelines. A rising senior at the University of Texas at Austin, he started the Coalition in August 2024, having been active in youth mental health advocacy for years.

He entered the world of policymaking and politics well before he could vote. By 11, he had been carted back and forth to hundreds of doctor’s appointments for a rare form of Crohn’s disease and began pushing for legislation in Massachusetts to expand access to telemedicine.

When a close friend died from suicide three years later, the scope of Domey’s advocacy grew. Since high school, he has pursued state-level mental health changes, like adding the 988 Suicide and Crisis Hotline to student IDs and expanding the definition of physical education to include mental health. 

At U.T. Austin, Domey makes time to be not only a full-time student and director of the Coalition but the chair of the Texas State Policy Council at the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. His combined advocacy efforts regularly shift him between the Massachusetts and Texas legislatures.

Domey called the Coalition’s mission “purposefully ambiguous.” The broad purpose is “to bridge the gap between students and decision-makers,” though he didn’t set parameters around the type of “decision makers” members should target, nor the specific actions they should take to reach them. 

He likened the group to a sort-of universal puzzle piece, ready to fit in wherever needed.  

Raising awareness around student perspectives on mental health is one key focus. Members utilize a variety of platforms, like Substack, to publish their ideas on concerns, from suicide prevention and basic needs support to combatting loneliness.

A new webinar series the group launched similarly promotes young voices, and also puts them in conversation with experts. In June, the first webinar centered on the importance of K-12 mental health education to set up students for success in college and beyond. The second, airing in August, will be a “town hall” for students to share their thoughts on “the state of higher education going into the fall semester,” Domey said. 

But being a piece of a larger “puzzle” also means finding ways to compliment the efforts of other existing organizations and individuals, hungry for a student-informed edge. 

One example of this kind of collaborative advocacy is the group’s fall 2024 visit to the White House to contribute to a roundtable discussion on suicide prevention. 

Then, this spring, the Coalition teamed up with Active Minds to produce a toolkit of resources to help students advocate for printing the 988 Suicide and Crisis Hotline on student ID cards — an extension of Domey’s work in Massachusetts. 

The response from those the Coalition hopes to influence has been promising, as many leaders embrace the importance of including students in mental health policymaking on campus.  

The group’s advisory board comprising top administrators and advocates, including President Domenico Grasso of the University of Michigan and President Mark Gearan of Hobart and William Smith College, offers insights and expertise to help the students refine their advocacy efforts.

Gearan said he believes the student-inspired nature of the Coalition makes it both unique in the higher education space and valuable for administrators like himself. 

“It’s not that everyone can always agree with students, but the North Star is what is best for the student experience,” he said, adding that the diversity of the Coalition’s national membership is an added advantage.  

Domey has lost track, he said, of “the amount of times that I’ve just sat down with either a president, a provost, a dean of students, and really tried to get to know their role and their perspective more to make us a better organization.”

“We’re so much better for being able to have those resources,” he added. 

Domey expressed similar enthusiasm about the quality and connectedness of his student council. “There’s honestly a very small amount of students that I would say work on youth mental health nationally,” he said. “The pro is we’ve all gotten to really know each other, and it’s a really cool community of people spread throughout the country.”

While members may come from a range of backgrounds, they share a passion for mental health and, in many cases, impressive advocacy records.

Domey met Ela Gardiner, soon-to-be sophomore at Hobart, when they were both in high school in Massachusetts and already education advocates on the state stage. Gardiner had been elected one of her high school’s delegates to the Student Advisory Council of the Board of Education. 

She also struggled with anxiety and depression, an experience that spurred her mental health advocacy in the transition from high school.

When Gardiner discovered she could no longer see her Massachusetts-licensed therapist at college in New York, she dove into trying to adjust licensure policies and ensure students don’t lose crucial support at a vulnerable time. Along the way, she joined the Coalition. 

Shira Garg, a rising junior at the University of Georgia, connected with Domey and the Coalition through an internship involving research on college student mental health screening tools. Now, her pre-med focus not only grounds an interest in wellbeing but helps spearhead the Coalition’s assessment of gaps in the mental health space.

For the Coalition’s members, the collective dedication to mental health is a major motivator.

“All the students that are involved are so passionate about the topic, and I think that in itself kind of propels each one of us to want to do more and more and more,” Garg said. “When you surround yourself with peers that really want to make change, you also follow in their footsteps.”

The objective moving forwards is recruiting more members from new backgrounds and strengthening the foundation further, Domey said. 

“It all goes back to reflecting the stories of others and really trying to be that voice for as many people as you can.”

You can reach LearningWell reporter Mollie Ames at mames@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

On April 8, 2025, the Trump Administration announced the end to $4 million in funding for research programs at Princeton University exploring risks associated with climate change. At the time, it was the latest instance in an ongoing wave of federal cuts to environmental initiatives. But this case sparked interest for another reason: According to the press release, at least one of the programs was eliminated because it was allegedly “contributing to a phenomenon known as ‘climate anxiety,’ which has increased significantly among America’s youth.” 

Environmental experts were quick to denounce the idea that the solution to anxiety about climate change would come from avoiding research on the topic. But it’s not the first time the phrase “climate anxiety” has been summoned for political gain, on either side of the aisle. The truth is the term gets used to describe all variations of distress over the state of the Earth. Parsing out the possible interpretations is an important exercise for educators, practitioners, and students themselves. 

A 2024 study of “climate emotions” in 16- to 25-year-olds found that up to 85 percent are “worried” about climate change and its potential impact; and for around 38 percent, these worries negatively affect daily life. Concern over climate change has become so widespread among young people that it’s affecting how they vote, whom they choose to work for, what products they buy, even their decision to have children. But are young people’s responses to climate change a clinical issue to be treated? Or do they fall in line with those to most social problems, just with a catchier, more damning name?

The framing of “climate anxiety” presents something disordered in need of a cure, but from a clinical perspective, there is a distinction between an anxiety disorder and experiencing some sense of anxiety. After all, the vast majority of young people may feel worried about climate change; the majority don’t have an anxiety disorder.

“Anxiety or worry on its own isn’t necessarily a problem or something to be treated,” said Kaitlin Gallo, a Boston-based psychologist whose practice focuses on young adults and college students. She said she’s encountered a spectrum of concerns when it comes to climate change. Even among her patients who tend to have clinical-grade issues, their climate concerns do not necessarily map onto an anxiety disorder. “Oftentimes, the worry is occurring outside of the context of an anxiety disorder, and it’s just what I might call sort of a normal or understandable worry given the state of the world,” she said. 

“Anxiety or worry on its own isn’t necessarily a problem or something to be treated.”

It’s when the worry becomes “hard to control or to move on from” that it could begin to signal a deeper anxiety disorder demanding a more clinical response, Gallo said. Even then, the end goal may not be to try to get rid of the concerns.

“I think sometimes when worries are realistic, then there’s just a different way to deal with them,” she said. “Sometimes it might not be reasonable or helpful to change the thought, but rather to think about how you want to live your life in the face of that concern.”

People who experience an anxiety disorder are certainly susceptible to dark fears about a fiery end. For others, particularly young people who have more time on the earth, climate distress, even fear, may be an unavoidable part of living. 

Olivia Ferraro, a 25-year-old living in New York, said dismissals of climate change are what really makes her crazy.  

“To watch business as usual go on around you with very little recognition of how distressing the state of the planet is can be really confusing. Because you’re like, ‘Am I insane?’” she said. “This feels like a problem that we should be moving to solve with World War II urgency. Everything needs to be mobilized to prevent catastrophe.”

When she first started experiencing more acute distress about the state of the climate and its future, Ferraro was surprised at the lack of sympathy she met from family and friends, especially those she expected to understand. If anyone had asked them, she knew they would say they cared about the environment.

Realizing her regular network might not be able to give her support she needed, she started exploring other options. She was especially interested in talking to people her age, given climate change, she said, “is a threat felt uniquely the younger that you are.”

“I wanted to be with people who could share that experience of, ‘I’m freaked out because I don’t know if I’m going to have a child anymore,’ or ‘I will be my parents’ age when a lot of these predicted catastrophic shocks happen. How can I think about my life when I’m 50 where I can’t get water from the tap?’” Ferraro said.

“I wanted to be with people who could share that experience of, ‘I will be my parents’ age when a lot of these predicted catastrophic shocks happen.'”

The support group she ended up finding was one she had to help create. Eager for an in-person space in New York, she started hosting “climate cafes,” or listening circles that bring together people with environmental concerns to share how they’re feeling. 

A grassroots initiative, climate cafes have popped up with chapters nation-wide. Ferraro said they can offer relief from advocacy-related burnout or help someone who doesn’t even identify as an “environmentalist” learn about new ways to contribute to the cause. On the website for Climate Cafe NYC, the branch refers to itself as “the social home of NYC climate action.”

“A lot of it is holding hands with people as they kind of walk into that unknown, knowing that you’re doing it together and that there are other people who are experiencing this,” Ferraro said. 

Part of the purpose is helping each other avoid hopelessness. “We can be sad, but to be despaired is a totally other feeling. That’s when you’ve given up,” Ferraro said. “We want to help people avoid despair and avoid nihilism and really, even though it’s very hard work, stay openhearted and willing to connect with people and understand how we can work together.” 

The need for these kinds of outlets is evident in the many students who are bringing their climate-related concerns to school with them. Professor Sarah Jaquette Ray said the emergence of this distress in her classes pushed her down a path towards a new expertise: emotions and the environment. Now she’s chair of the environmental studies department at Cal Poly Humboldt.

As recently as a decade ago, Ray said environmentalists were trying to ramp up concerns about climate change, with what she calls the “scare-to-care” approach. Opening young people’s eyes to the devastation that could come, the thinking went, would inspire them to act, before it was too late.

The strategy may have worked, but too well. Ray said she saw students becoming more enthusiastic about climate-related issues, but they also seemed more despairing. “I was noticing my students were not coping very well with the material,” she said. “I didn’t think my teaching was changing, but something was changing about the students.”

Up to that point, Ray had felt like her students were taking the issues in stride, embracing problem solving. With time, she said, “It felt more like an existential crisis for them.” She decided part of the problem was that students were learning a lot about what was going wrong and a lot less about how to manage their own response to the problems. “They weren’t learning all that stuff alongside coping skills or emotional intelligence or any kind of cultural frame as to why these things might be getting worse,” she said.

She set out to fill the gap. Research into the spiritual and therapeutic tools activists have used in other social movements became the basis of an understanding about how to deal with climate concerns. This mental health-forward approach to environmental issues also appears in her book “A Field Guide to Climate Anxiety: How to Keep Your Cool on a Warming Planet.”

Still, Ray continues to wait for the day when higher education institutions have integrated trauma-informed instruction and emotional intelligence into environmental education. That component “is just beginning to percolate on the edges of the tipping point,” she said. 

William Throop, professor emeritus and former provost at Green Mountain College, is also interested in activating a more personal dimension of environmental studies. For the philosopher-by-training, with a background teaching environmental ethics, it’s important to not only present possible climate change solutions to students but equip them with the life skills to enact them. This is an approach he views as part of “character education,” which he said prioritizes “the student as a person, not just as a collector of information.”

By learning what he calls “skillful habits,” Throop said, students stand to become “better critical thinkers, better ethical thinkers and actors.” In his book, “Flourishing in the Age of Climate Change,” he discusses a set of “hope skills” particularly helpful for confronting climate issues.

“Hope communication,” for example, is a skill Throop suggests could be particularly pertinent for tackling climate change. “How do you describe in a clear way the facts of a situation which are problematic and yet don’t turn people off?” he said. “How do you motivate people who address those facts in the way you communicate about them?”

Teaching hope, Throop said, might sound “like something a psychologist ought to do.” He thinks otherwise. “It’s something that should be embedded in curricula addressing these issues.”

As some faculty become more in tune with how students react to learning about climate change, students continue to turn towards each other to process the emotions they are experiencing. 

Eva Salmon, a rising junior at Barnard College, said she doesn’t usually struggle with anxiety in other facets of life; yet concerns about the climate are a constantly “simmering undertone” in the back of her mind. “In general, seeing everything happening in the world, it feels like my heart is constantly breaking, and I’m constantly experiencing a sense of betrayal.”

“Anytime it’s relevant, I can feel the grief. I can feel the anxiety. It really is there,” she said.

Compounding these emotions for students is the sense that their institutions are leaving them to lead the way alone. That’s the consensus among many members of Sunrise Columbia, the Columbia University branch of the Sunrise Movement, a national youth climate activism effort. 

Because it’s independent from the university, Sunrise Columbia can hold the administration’s feet to the fire in ways a club receiving school funding can’t. The student-run group conducts its own investigations into the university’s use of funds from fossil fuel companies to fund climate research. 

“Complicit Columbia” is the 53-page report the students published on their findings that the university accepted at least $43.7 million from fossil fuel companies between 2005 to 2024. More than a third of the funds benefitted the university’s research hub, the Center on Global Energy Policy.

Salmon, one of the student authors of the paper, said she takes issue with the fact that students, rather than university personnel, were the ones to take on this initiative. “The university needs to be more attuned and aware and doing its own research into these things. But for now, this is what we have,” she said.

The group of friends Salmon collaborates with has been key to keeping her motivated despite her frustrations. In general, she said she believes “a lot of the bad that’s happening in the world” is the result of “not prioritizing community” and disconnect among people. It’s a problem she feels grateful not to have. 

“To have found community and the space in the way that I have really has brought me a lot of peace and joy,” she said. The sense of support pushes her activism to the next level. “I think I would’ve done it regardless, but I don’t think I would’ve felt quite as empowered and impassioned.”

“At the end of the day, even if all this is happening around us, we have each other. And that feels like a very powerful, powerful thing,” she added.

Salmon’s overriding objective is to stay positive, to concentrate on the friends that are supporting her and the work they do together that bring her relief. “I really try and focus on recognizing the beauty in every step I take or recognizing things I like around me and just expressing gratitude for that,” she said. 

Olivia Ferraro, the climate cafe host, has adopted a similar outlook. While “climate anxiety” may be more apparent in her life than it was a few years ago, that discomfort has fed a deeper appreciation for the time she has left and a desire to make the most of it. It’s a guiding force that has changed her approach to relationships and decision-making.

“It’s been really freeing, honestly,” she said. “I like my life a lot more now than I ever did before.”

For 20 years, the Louisiana Center Addressing Substance Use (LaCASU) had been making strides in its work supporting state colleges and universities struggling with drug and alcohol prevention efforts. By all accounts, LaCASU’s research, training, and data collection made strong contributions to treatment and recovery at Louisiana State University and beyond. But gaining real traction, not to mention funding, required the power and gravitas of merging with an official state government body.

“My emails went over a little bit different coming from a board of regents email address,” Dr. Allison Smith, former associate director at LaCASU, half-joked to a crowd in Baltimore, Md. on April 23. She was participating in a panel discussion at the conference, “Building Resilience and Success: State and System-Level Mental Health Innovations,” hosted by SHEEO (State Higher Education Executive Officers Association) and The Jed Foundation.

In an age when federal funding is uncertain, campus leaders are looking for novel sources of state-based support for student mental health. The conference in Baltimore highlighted a number of ideas, options, and success stories. A new resource guide, “Engaging State Policymakers to Support College Student Mental Health,” presented by the American Council on Education (ACE), offers more to take home. 

“It was sort of like, well, in the current administration, where does it make sense to direct our energy?” said Hollie Chessman, director and principal program officer at ACE. “How do we continue to move the needle on mental health on our nation’s campuses?” The answer, she found, was rooted in pulling the right (state) policy levers.

“In the current administration, where does it make sense to direct our energy? How do we continue to move the needle on mental health on our nation’s campuses?”

While data suggests small improvements trending in some aspects of mental health in college students, anxiety and depression remain rampant. The 2024 Healthy Minds Study reported depression and anxiety symptoms had decreased three and two points, respectively, compared to the previous year. Yet 38 percent of students still reported struggling with depression, and 34 percent with anxiety.

The scale of the issue, which escalated year-over-year from 2007 to 2022, has drawn concern from both sides of the political aisle. Several bills promoting mental health interventions on college campuses, and at all education levels, have received bipartisan support in recent years. In 2022, the aptly titled Bipartisan Safer Communities Act, including initiatives targeting the reduction of gun violence, passed with $1 billion earmarked for school mental health services. In April, the Trump administration canceled this funding. 

Chessman and her colleagues at ACE had been worried about this kind of fallout for student mental health programs. In 2024, they were spearheading a $13.8 billion bill to back research, training, and other services at universities. This year, they refocused their attention on other projects, including a toolkit to illustrate a pragmatic route towards a solution. 

Coalescing with peers provided the path forward. Talks with a mental health coalition of leaders in the field, such as the American Psychological Association, Active Minds, and the Healthy Minds Network, revealed a gap ACE might fill: The experts were anticipating a pivot towards state-level advocacy, but needed direction on how to go about it. “From that conversation,” said Ngan Nguyen, ACE government relations associate, “we started to think about drafting a toolkit.” Nguyen and her co-associate Alexander Cassell became the lead authors.

The final guide features four main parts. First comes an emphasis on data collection to specify campus needs, with links to surveys for assessing mental health and a Return on Investment Calculator for College Mental Health Services and Programs. Then, the toolkit outlines a series of talking points. The first point covers the prevalence of mental health issues and their implications for college attrition and basic needs insecurity. Others home in on the interventions state funding in particular can promote, and the benefits of telehealth. The third and longest section delves into examples of work other institutions have done in partnership with states to advance mental health. The fourth lays out a final host of resources, including other organizations and assessment tools, to further university advocacy efforts. 

One of the main goals, and challenges, of designing the toolkit was ensuring relevance across states and for a range of professionals and institutions, Nguyen said. She thought about whether the strategies would be helpful for campuses in a variety of political climates; for those just launching advocacy efforts and others far along in the process; for university higher-ups, as well as general staff and students. The tools needed to be easy to customize.

 “The toolkit gives folks a really solid foundation, and then [they can do] whatever makes sense for them,” Chessman said. She added that not just the process but the end result might look different depending on the school or the state. “Maybe the climate in their state has the opportunity to ask for money. But it doesn’t have to be for money.”

Gathering data on return on investment for mental health initiatives struck Nguyen as one of the most crucial and broadly relevant recommendations. Tom Harnisch, vice president for government relations at SHEEO, agreed. (Harnisch also serves on the LearningWell editorial board.) “Investments in student mental health are important, but they’re going to be in a competitive environment, with a range of other items, vying for a limited pool of available state funding,” he said. “The focus on return on investment and student success is critical.”

Harnisch also highlighted the toolkit’s section listing examples of successful state mental health policymaking. “Policies to expand access to student mental health services. Growing the pipeline of mental health professionals. Boosting state funding. Addressing basic needs insecurity,” he recounted with enthusiasm. “There are so many ways that states can make a difference.”