When an injured athlete is instructed to remain motionless for ten weeks, a certain silence descends upon a college residence hall. Nassim Bickham was well aware of it. She fractured two vertebrae in her spine after landing on her head during a bar dismount that she had performed thousands of times as a freshman gymnast at Berkeley. Her body would recover. Since then, she has claimed that her thoughts took a lot longer, but no one seemed to notice.
Universities and high schools have finally begun to take seriously the gap between the visible injury and the invisible one. It’s taken longer than it ought to have. There were always the numbers. Women experience more anxiety than their male teammates, and nearly one in four student-athletes exhibit symptoms of depression. However, only 10% of those who are having difficulties ever seek assistance. The culture itself, with its emphasis on toughness and grit, seems to have worked against the children it purports to uplift.
But something is changing. For the past few years, Dr. Sarah Chrisman and her colleagues at The Sports Institute at UW Medicine have been developing a program called Mentally Strong that is intended for young Seattle JV bench players rather than elite professionals. According to her, the goal is to work upstream, meaning that coping skills should be taught before a crisis arises rather than after. She is quick to point out that sports can be both a source of stress and a haven. It is possible to become lost in a team and discover that you are there as well.
The program started out modestly. Ballard High School will host a spring pilot in 2024, with plans to expand to Ingraham and Garfield this year. Chrisman remembers a recent visit to one of the schools, where he saw a gym full of teenagers engaging in mindfulness exercises and breathing techniques that might have seemed strange in a varsity locker room ten years ago. Observing a sixteen-year-old wide receiver close his eyes and count his breaths has an almost surreal quality. However, that is the current situation.
The partnerships are important because they are bridging a structural gap. Programs, counselors, and team psychologists have long been relied upon by collegiate athletic departments. Most high schools haven’t. The majority of teenage athletes still rely on their coaches, who may or may not know what to do when a child has a breakdown after practice. The wager made by the Mentally Strong program is that coaches can be trained and that those closest to the athletes are best suited to spot the early signs.
Julie Prentice, whose family provided a significant portion of the funding, puts it more succinctly. She contends that mental health can no longer exist in a distinct compartment. You go to where the children are. Additionally, a huge number of teenagers are practicing. As this happens, it’s difficult to ignore the cultural shift that made it possible: Simone Biles withdrawing in Tokyo, Michael Phelps talking about his depression on camera, and Naomi Osaka withdrawing from the French Open. Nothing was fixed by them on their own. It was made sayable by them.
Whether any of these scales is still up for debate. There is still more work to be done in areas where stigma is most pervasive and resources are scarce. A pilot program in three Seattle high schools is not a national solution. For the time being, the partnership between local high schools and universities like UW is primarily a proof of concept. However, the evidence is beginning to take shape. A girl on a balance beam, a mat beneath her that she had not previously had, and, at last, someone observing to see if she lands.
