California's schools cannot afford to cut counselors who keep kids alive. The Pajaro Valley Unified School District is considering laying off every mental health clinician and most of its school counselors, a move that would remove the adults best positioned to intervene when a student's silence becomes dangerous.
The crisis of youth suicide is real and devastating, with men and boys making up nearly 80% of suicides in the US. LGBTQ youth are particularly at risk, with nearly 39% seriously considering suicide in the past year and 12% attempting it. Young people rely most heavily on school-based support, so removing counselors and clinicians would have disastrous consequences.
The issue is not just about removing "excess" staff but about addressing the root causes of violence and pain. We often frame what we call "school safety" as a solution, when in reality, it's often a reflection of untreated pain. Boys are socialized to swallow their emotions and then act out, while girls are taught to express themselves. This toxic dynamic is rarely acknowledged.
The author's work with a countywide stigma reduction campaign has given him insight into the issue. He notes that young people, particularly those from marginalized communities, need to see themselves reflected in messages of hope and resilience. The movement "Break the Stigma Not the Vibe" is a testament to this, with its billboards, bus ads, and schoolwide messaging designed by youth ambassadors who have been through similar struggles.
But what happens when we try to balance our budget on the back of vulnerable students? Removing mental health professionals would be catastrophic. School counselors and clinicians are not extras; they are core safety infrastructure. They notice when a student stops being themselves, when grades slip, or when friendships change.
We need to treat mental health as a priority, not an afterthought. California has invested heavily in youth behavioral health, but if that investment means eliminating the positions that translate those dollars into daily support, it's a false economy.
The choice is clear: do we continue to cut lifelines and hope for the best, or do we decide that in a youth suicide crisis, removing the people who keep kids alive is not an option? The author has lost loved ones to suicide and knows the difference between survival and silence. It's time for us to put mental health at the forefront of our priorities and recognize that investing in counselors and clinicians is not just a moral imperative but a matter of life and death.
The crisis of youth suicide is real and devastating, with men and boys making up nearly 80% of suicides in the US. LGBTQ youth are particularly at risk, with nearly 39% seriously considering suicide in the past year and 12% attempting it. Young people rely most heavily on school-based support, so removing counselors and clinicians would have disastrous consequences.
The issue is not just about removing "excess" staff but about addressing the root causes of violence and pain. We often frame what we call "school safety" as a solution, when in reality, it's often a reflection of untreated pain. Boys are socialized to swallow their emotions and then act out, while girls are taught to express themselves. This toxic dynamic is rarely acknowledged.
The author's work with a countywide stigma reduction campaign has given him insight into the issue. He notes that young people, particularly those from marginalized communities, need to see themselves reflected in messages of hope and resilience. The movement "Break the Stigma Not the Vibe" is a testament to this, with its billboards, bus ads, and schoolwide messaging designed by youth ambassadors who have been through similar struggles.
But what happens when we try to balance our budget on the back of vulnerable students? Removing mental health professionals would be catastrophic. School counselors and clinicians are not extras; they are core safety infrastructure. They notice when a student stops being themselves, when grades slip, or when friendships change.
We need to treat mental health as a priority, not an afterthought. California has invested heavily in youth behavioral health, but if that investment means eliminating the positions that translate those dollars into daily support, it's a false economy.
The choice is clear: do we continue to cut lifelines and hope for the best, or do we decide that in a youth suicide crisis, removing the people who keep kids alive is not an option? The author has lost loved ones to suicide and knows the difference between survival and silence. It's time for us to put mental health at the forefront of our priorities and recognize that investing in counselors and clinicians is not just a moral imperative but a matter of life and death.