Like so many of her peers returning to classes after two years of pandemic isolation, Klyrissa Porter, a high school senior, often felt overwhelmed.
But when she would reach out to her friends to share that her mental health was suffering, the replies she received were not exactly what she’d hoped for.
“They’d just be like, ‘LOL, same,’” said Porter.
Even though the hallways, she said, were full of teenagers who were struggling, no one seemed to be able to help.
Credit: contributed
Credit: contributed
Crockett High School in Austin, Texas is trying to change that by helping students rebuild the basic social skills and healthy relationships they lost during the pandemic.
“Everyone is going through a lot,” Porter said, “and because of that we’ve forgotten how to be friends.”
The program relies heavily on techniques that students use to help confront the systemic racism at school through a group called Students Organizing for Anti-Racism.
To address conflict or deepen their connection to each other, they usually gather in a circle and pass a talking piece from student to student while answering a question or responding to a prompt.
These circles, familiar fixtures in social and emotional learning and restorative discipline, have sacred roots.
Circles have been healing and grounding for Indigenous communities for centuries, and their power is more vital than ever in the middle of a nationwide teen mental health crisis.
“When people feel … seen and valued as humans,” said Iztac Arteaga, the restorative practices specialist at Crockett, “there’s just so much more that can be done as you’re navigating difficult situations.”
Difficult situations abound.
When students first returned to school, for example, Porter noticed a lot of anger.
Fights broke out. People lost their tempers daily.
“It got to the point that we were scared to come to school,” she said, as other students nodded along with her.
But the “circles” idea is uniquely suited for these complicated dynamics.
While punitive discipline might address the behavior, restorative practices like those students learn in SOAR, speak to the pain behind the outbursts.
“SOAR gives us a place to express ourselves, and a space where everyone can just say what they need to say,” said junior Daniella de Guzman.
Community circles gather students to address harm done and feelings hurt, but instead of doling out punishments according to a policy handbook, each member of the circle can say what they need.
Even the offending party gets the chance to express the unmet needs or pain that led to their hurtful actions.
Addressing the pain keeps them in the community, and accountable to it.
Arteaga knows the power of circles to sustain community, not just as a facilitator in schools, but as a participant. As an Indigenous person, she participates in circles with the broader Indigenous community in Austin and confers with the people there about how to best facilitate the practice in schools.
While she recognizes the circles happening at school will be inherently less authentic to Indigenous culture – the circles in the SOAR class are named after the houses in the Harry Potter series – Arteaga wants them to be respectful of the concept.
While she sometimes must educate students and teachers simultaneously, the teacher for the SOAR class had the kids well-versed and acclimated to circles, Arteaga said.
With the additional grounding in history and tradition, the SOAR students have been able to facilitate on their own. Her goal is for more students and adults on campus to be able to do the same, so that circles become a regular and reliable resource.
Skilled listeners and communicators can strengthen the entire support network of the school.
Freshman Will Haskell said he learned a lot about himself during the pandemic. He knew that what he’d learned about his own mental health would help his friends. But after two years online, starting the conversation in person was challenging.
“SOAR has helped me to be able to actually talk about it,” Haskell said.
Knowing how to offer help is one skill the students are developing. So, too, is asking for help.
Circles teach them the importance of asking for consent in both roles.
A lot of students seemed totally dissociated – disconnected from their thoughts, feelings and emotions, said one of Porter’s classmates, senior Lilly Swearingen.
They shove the feelings down to make it through the day, and some then overshare with their friends online.
For two years, students were isolated from each other in real life, she said, but grew accustomed to constant, around-the-clock access to one another on social media.
“It’s an expectation that has been set and it’s very uncomfortable,” Swearingen said.
But circles provide a structured way for students to listen, to see that others are going through their own struggles, without immediately hopping on board to “trauma-dump.” When the talking piece moves to their hands, they will have a turn.
That predictable, structured place to safely share is critical, especially for students who want to take on society’s bigger challenges, Swearingen said.
“It puts us in a spot where we can be vulnerable with each other,” she said, “and because we can be vulnerable together, we can be productive.”
Bekah McNeel writes for The 74 Million, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news site covering education in America.
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