K-12 Education Needs a Vibe Shift
CN: Youth Mental Health, Suicide
Good Vibes Only is having a moment in the United States. Part values statement, part command, the phrase demands that we are fun, optimistic, and playful in its presence. Like live laugh love and life is good! before it, good vibes only sells. And it sells because the white, cis-het, able-bodied dominant culture in the United States values youth, positivity, optimism, and health. Positivity apparel and home products have served Americans as reminders of their #blessed good fortune for decades. But Good Vibes Only, by definition, excludes. And when the phrase (or other positive platitude) is posted in classrooms and school hallways, it can be jarring to students. What if your vibe is sad or cautious today? What if your beloved pet has recently passed? What if you’re the new kid? What if you’re part of a historically marginalized community and those sporting Good Vibes Only gear are the very people who regularly exclude your community? When we make our schools good vibes only spaces, we also (if subconsciously) send the message that other vibes are unacceptable.
Canadian author, religious studies scholar, and stage 4 Cancer Survivor Kate Bowler discusses good vibes only culture frequently in her body of work, which includes several books and the award-winning podcast, Everything Happens with Kate Bowler. “Life,” Bowler says in the podcast intro, “is a chronic condition…and it’s OK that life isn’t always better.” In video streams, a blue pennant placed prominently in the background of Kate’s office states “Other Vibes Okay.” I first encountered Bowler’s work from a hospital bed during the most difficult period in my life. A rare, stroke-mimicking Multiple Sclerosis flare had paralyzed the left side of my body, and I was isolated for a month — away from my two young children. When I posted updates for family and friends on social media, I felt compelled to share positive updates; videos of me “fighting,” or slowly getting better. I now realize that I was struggling with internalized ableism, or the belief that my changed, disabled body was not acceptable — I had to make it better. Bowler’s honest, Canadian assessment of American positivity culture felt like a salve upon a deep wound. I had always (and still do!) considered myself a positive person. Bowler taught me that I can be hopeful and positive and emotionally destroyed all at once. That I wasn’t required to put a positive spin on a terrible situation. Our students deserve the same nuanced approach to their personal struggles at school.
Data tells us that students in the United States are not, in general, feeling good. In fact, we are in the middle of what the Surgeon General calls a Youth Mental Health Crisis. And while it would be logical to blame the ongoing pandemic, a 2019 study from the CDC shows that feelings of despair and suicidal ideation have been on the rise since 2009. There is one promising indicator from a recent CDC study of youth mental health, and that is school connectedness. Defined as the feeling of “being cared for, supported, and belonging at school,” students who felt this connectedness were about half as likely to feel sad or hopeless, and less likely to seriously consider or attempt suicide. Unfortunately, fewer than half (47%) of students surveyed agreed that they felt connected to peers or educators during the pandemic year 2021. Even so, this overall data might hold the key to breaking the cycle of youth in crisis. While many schools promote ambiguous wellness and self-care as ways for students to feel better, it turns out that authentic connection with peers and teachers is what actually moves the needle. Students would rather feel seen, heard, and valued, than given tools like yoga and mindfulness to get well in isolation.
Social Emotional Learning initiatives that focus on the whole child are an important step in the right direction, but implementing a robust SEL program takes significant time, resources, and energy — a difficult task for school districts that are already stretched quite thin. Add to this difficulty conflicting ideas about what wellness even means, and we can see why students struggle to digest the concept. Directives from the CDC define school wellness primarily through the lens of nutrition and exercise. Some districts focus on mental health measures like wellness rooms for students to use during difficult times. And last year, Education Week reported that teachers, the key figures being directed to implement wellness policies, are fed up with being told to practice their own self care. As AFT President Chelsea Prax noted, “You can’t deep-breathe your way out of a pandemic; you cannot stretch your way out of terrible class sizes.” Teachers need tangible support from districts before they can adequately address whole child social-emotional wellness.
I taught middle and high school English to young people for thirteen years before becoming disabled last year. Teachers know that kids have the keenest BS detectors of any age demographic. Students see right through the adults in charge, questioning their motives with healthy skepticism. And why shouldn’t they? Today’s youth are growing up in a time of societal and ecological unrest. Many students understand that the climate change already affecting them will worsen in the near future. Young people learning about the Supreme Court have watched the institution strip their rights away. While the President may have declared the pandemic over, kids and their families are still getting sick with Covid-19. Meanwhile, students and their peers are struggling with a mental health crisis.
When schools push positivity and wellness in the face of these realities, it’s no wonder students have trouble feeling connection. As Bowler says, “the wellness industry tells us we can organize ourselves, heal ourselves…and eat well enough to make ourselves whole.” Wellness culture isn’t a cure-all, and students see through it. I’m not advocating for educators to be cynical or hopeless — in my experience, kids relish positivity from their teachers, especially if that positivity is based in honesty and a willingness to sit with difficult realities. My hope is that trusted adults like teachers, coaches, and counselors will continue to foster school connectedness by acknowledging and validating student’s lived experiences. And that administrators will ditch positive platitudes and make space for teachers and children to bring their whole selves to school, all vibes welcome.
Erin Ryan Heyneman (she/her)is a disabled creator, educator, and inclusion leader.