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During the first week of classes, it’s impossible to deny the excitement buzzing in my classrooms. My students — you all — look fresh, happy and nervous. This is a new life for so many of you, and you’re determined. You will get to class on time, even to that 8 a.m. You won’t procrastinate. You’ll eat right. You’ll get eight hours of sleep every night. You won’t miss home; after all, you couldn’t wait to be an independent adult.

Week five rolls around, and you’re ready to drop that 8 a.m. class, you’re a week late on an essay, you’ve eaten pizza every day, and you’ve not even slept eight hours this week. You don’t have time to shower before class … and is being five minutes later really that big of a deal? In short, the novelty of a new semester (or a new life) has worn off, and reality is trolling you hard. Maybe this doesn’t describe you, but it describes someone you know. 

Standing at the front of the classroom, I see this daily. It’s not new to me. Even though this is my first semester teaching at Grand View, I’ve taught for 20 years, and I remember being a GV student walking into Steve Snyder’s 8 a.m. class five minutes late. Every. Single. Class. 

Your instructors know we are the last people a lot of you want to see first thing on a Monday morning when you miss home, haven’t slept, have two essays and an exam or four, and let’s not forget practice or rehearsal. Somewhere in there, you need time to eat, maybe. We tell you to read a chapter, and you’re done with us, done with it all. You might be at your breaking point. 

Here are three things I need you to know: You are not alone; it’s OK not to be OK; there is strength in asking for help.

When I see you all walk in, sit down and look at your phones, I often gauge where you are mentally. Many instructors do this. We know when you’re exhausted and overwhelmed. Despite popular opinion, we don’t use this empathic ability to pounce on your exhaustion by assigning more work. What a lot of us are thinking is, “Are you OK? If you aren’t, would you like help?”

Students often think instructors are mad that they miss class. Some might be, but when I see someone increasingly missing class, my first thought isn’t that they’re irresponsible. For most absences, I often send emails asking one thing, “Is everything OK?” What I’m actually asking is, “Are you in your dorm struggling to get out of bed because you don’t feel like anything is worth it?” or “Are you so homesick you can’t move?” or “Are you so overwhelmed you want to run screaming?” You aren’t alone. I feel that way sometimes too. It’s important that I tell you I’m not always OK, but that’s OK because no one is 100% all of the time.

So many of us suffer, whether it is from reality or a diagnosable mental illness. I suffer from an anxiety disorder, battle with depression and have a medical condition, which sometimes manifests as mental illness. My loved ones and countless former students deal with mental illnesses, and not that long ago, I lost one to suicide. I never want to see that happen again. 

The one thing I want as an instructor isn’t for you to pass the class with an A. What I want is for you to accept, trust and embrace your humanity. You can make it through this semester. When you’re staring at a seemingly insurmountable load of responsibilities, you aren’t a slacker, a loser or incapable. You’re human. It’s human to feel overwhelmed, anxious and/or depressed.

It’s OK to take a day to care for yourself. It’s OK to ask for help. My goodness … I wish more of my students would ask for help. I wish more students knew medication — if that’s what you choose — is OK. I wish more students knew therapy is a wonderful thing we all should do. I wish more students knew that free counseling is available on campus. I wish students new that free mental health apps existed. You can ask for help because you are not alone in that struggle. 

You can talk to instructors, advisors, classmates, coaches, clubs, campus counselors, whoever. I wish more students talked about their struggles openly; fought in the open and realized someone else is battling the same fight, and it might just be your instructor. 

There is zero shame in saying, “I’m human, and I’m struggling.”