Mental Health: A Movement that Transcends the Pandemic

My Story on Navigating Mental Health Resources on Campus

By: Sakshi Aul

As a woman of color raised by immigrant parents, I was taught to disregard my pain for the sake and comfort of others. I was taught to power through things that I could have quit, walked away from, or said no to because that would be an act of weakness. I was taught to ignore overt racial microaggressions from my white counterparts, which only made it more difficult to advocate for myself. I was taught to define my self-worth by my ability to obtain academic accolades. That is, my self-worth derives from log kya kahenge (translated as “what will people say/think?”), which is the notion of pleasing my friends, family, and loved ones rather than being given the space to express my authentic and unapologetic self. The culmination of these experiences was detrimental to my effort to live truthfully and unknowingly led to the erasure of my identity. 

When I first told my family that I wanted to start going to therapy, they perceived it as their own failure. Why couldn’t I just talk to them about my problems? Why couldn’t they just fix my problems? What does this say about their parenting; that is, why did their own daughter decide to go to a complete stranger for help? After I fiercely advocated for my need to be in therapy, my family eventually gave in. However, it was a source of resentment in our relationship until recently. Over the past three years, my family has finally begun to realize and accept that their decision to move to this country gives me the privilege of breaking away from the intergenerational and unspoken cycle of trauma, a privilege they were never granted. My parents moved across the world 21 years ago and planted their roots in a foreign country without help from anyone. They sacrificed their own dreams to ensure that mine were provided for. They were never against the idea of me seeking additional help but were unfamiliar with the concept that it is a healthy and shameless option.  

Therapy has been a transformative experience for me. But it didn’t start off that way. After my mother begrudgingly agreed to let me seek therapy, I had to wait nearly a month before I could schedule a diagnostic assessment at Boynton. Then I had to wait an additional month before my first therapy session. Despite having to wait desperately for two months to receive professional help, I convinced myself that it wasn’t so bad. Some people have to wait months before an intake, so the fact that I only had to wait two months seemed like progress. But I shortly realized that it was not. During each therapy session, I found myself having to educate my therapist, a cisgender white woman, about my cultural identity and cultural norms, rather than actually processing my experiences. After almost a year of therapy through Boynton, I realized that it wasn’t working for me. 

I deserved a therapist who would strive to create a culturally sensitive and inclusive space. I deserved a therapist who was committed to learning about other cultures, acknowledging their own prejudice, and diversifying their therapeutic practices to fit my needs. I was fortunate enough to find a Southeast Asian therapist who met these criteria. She gave me the space to navigate an authentic and honest relationship with myself, my loved ones, and my culture. She gave me the space to have productive conversations on how to begin to heal from the unspoken intergenerational trauma in my family. She gave me the space to reflect on my lived experiences, reframe my narratives, and reclaim my identity. More importantly, she gave me the space to begin to normalize seeking help and overcoming the stigmatization of mental health in the Desi community. I am privileged to have found a culturally sensitive and trauma-informed therapist. I just wished that I would have found this sense of belonging at Boynton. 

Unfortunately, my story is similar to those of countless other students on campus. These pernicious and historically unrecognized disparities have been exacerbated due to the COVID-19 pandemic. It has heightened the need for equitable, culturally sensitive, and trauma-informed mental health resources on campus. Students continue to grapple with fulfilling their academic pursuits while overcoming economic hardships. These challenges have coincided with repeated exposure to racial trauma due to systemic racism and police brutality, racial trauma that has resulted in the murder of Philando Castile, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Daunte Wright, Amir Locke, and thousands of other Black and brown bodies.

For over a decade, students have been advocating for increased funding for Boynton Mental Health services such that additional trauma-informed therapists can be hired to provide equitable care, especially to our BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and neurodivergent communities. Instead of empathizing with students’ struggles, University administrators have consistently chosen to prioritize their own interests by increasing tuition rates by 1.5% this past summer, failing to prioritize student wages, and significantly increasing President Joan Gabel’s salary. Instead of enacting tangible changes to address our concerns, University administrators have consistently chosen to send emails and newsletters filled with empty promises and actionless words.  To put it simply, the University’s response to the rising demand for mental health services has been abysmal.

This is not a time for silence or inaction. The only way forward is for University administrators to address the mental health inequity on our campus. While some resources are in place, allocating more funding for University mental health services is critical in cultivating a community-wide response to mental health.