Coping

May 12, 2026 — I still remember how uncomfortable silence used to feel whenever mental health came up around me, especially after losing someone I loved to suicide, because even when people cared, there was this strange hesitation in conversations where everybody seemed afraid of saying the wrong thing and so instead they said almost nothing at all. I carried that silence for a long time. A lot of my early understanding of mental health was shaped by watching people continue functioning through grief without ever really discussing what grief was doing to them privately, and I think because of that, I became very good at acting emotionally “fine” in ways that looked convincing from the outside. I knew how to keep showing up to school, work, meetings, community events, and responsibilities even when internally everything felt disconnected and heavy, and for a while I genuinely thought that was what strength was supposed to look like. Looking back now, I think I spent years trying to make difficult experiences appear smaller so other people would feel more comfortable around them. Even writing this now, I still catch myself wanting to soften certain details before saying them directly. Some habits stay in your body longer than you expect them to. Mental Health Awareness Month feels different to me now because I have seen what happens when people stop editing themselves quite so heavily around each other. Over the last few years, especially through community health work, advocacy spaces, and student conversations, I have watched people slowly become more willing to say things out loud that they used to keep hidden behind jokes, overworking, isolation, or constant busyness. I have sat with students making therapy bags while somebody quietly admitted they had not been okay for months. I have had conversations outside campus buildings at night where someone suddenly shares something deeply personal and then immediately changes the subject because vulnerability still feels unfamiliar to them. I have watched people pause mid-sentence like they are deciding in real time whether they are allowed to tell the truth. Those moments stay with me more than any polished campaign language ever does because they feel human in a very specific way. Not inspirational. Not perfectly resolved. Just honest for a second. I think losing someone changed the way I listen to other people too. Before, I often approached conversations thinking I needed to have the “right” response ready, something comforting or useful or carefully worded, but grief taught me that people usually remember presence more than perfection. Sometimes what stays with somebody is not advice, it is simply the fact that another person did not immediately pull away from their pain or rush to make it easier to digest. That realization changed me slowly. I became more honest about my own mental health. I became less interested in appearing endlessly capable all the time. There are still moments where I struggle with vulnerability, especially because being “the supportive person” can quietly become its own role that feels difficult to step outside of, but I no longer feel the same pressure to package every painful experience into something motivational before I am allowed to speak about it. Some experiences do not become neat lessons. Some things just change you permanently and then life continues around that fact. A few things I keep thinking about this Mental Health Awareness Month: people are often carrying much more than what is visible in public there is a difference between somebody hearing your story and somebody making you feel safe enough to tell it emotional exhaustion can hide itself inside productivity for a very long time some of the most important conversations happen after events technically end, when people linger instead of leaving healing can look extremely ordinary sometimes (eating something, replying to a message, sitting outside for ten quiet minutes because your room suddenly feels too small) I have become gentler with myself than I used to be, although honestly, I am still learning how to do that consistently When I think about the power of our story now, I do not think about perfectly written narratives or inspirational speeches. I think about the smaller moments that change the feeling of a room almost invisibly. Somebody said ‘me too’ very quietly. Somebody admitting they are tired in a way sleep cannot fix. Somebody finally using words for something they have carried silently for years. Those moments matter to me because they remind people that they are not strange for struggling and they are not failing for being overwhelmed. I think stories become powerful the moment another person recognizes themselves inside them (even briefly) because once honesty enters a room people tend to breathe differently afterwards. (: Get Involved Ever thought about how your mental health journey could be the blueprint someone else needs? Tell your story on our blog and show the world what mental health mobilization looks like today. Find out how to submit your story on our website.

April 27, 2026 — Loss has a way of reshaping not only how we see the world, but also how we choose to move through it. During my freshman year of college, a friend died by suicide, an experience that fundamentally altered my sense of purpose. As co-captains on the basketball team, she taught me how to advocate for others and lead with purpose. Grieving her loss, I simultaneously felt a profound need to aid and prevent others from experiencing similar tragic losses. This became the foundation of my commitment to mental health advocacy. In the time that followed, I sought out ways to turn that commitment into action. I joined my university’s counseling services outreach program, where I worked to connect students with mental health resources and decrease stigma surrounding mental health. The next year, through the Active Minds Mental Health Advocacy Institute, I expanded my involvement to a broader level, engaging in initiatives that addressed both access and policy. Through these experiences, I learned that advocacy often begins with small, intentional steps. Mental health is still surrounded by stigma, and many individuals struggle in silence. I came to understand that simply asking someone how they are really doing can be powerful. Creating spaces where people feel seen and heard is not always easy, but it is essential. One of the most meaningful aspects of my time with the Institute has been updating the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline on student mobile IDs, increasing access for 194,000 students. Being part of an initiative that resulted in a tangible, lasting impact showed me that advocacy can extend beyond conversation and into real systemic change. My work in outreach also revealed how barriers such as lack of awareness, fear of judgment, and limited access to care prevent many students from seeking help. These experiences reinforced my belief that education and accessibility are key components of prevention. At the same time, my involvement in national advocacy efforts highlighted the importance of addressing structural issues, including cost, provider shortages, and cultural stigma. Advocacy is not a separate part of my life; it has become the lens through which I approach everything I do. It shapes how I interact with others, how I respond to challenges, and how I define meaningful impact. My friend’s legacy continues to guide me, reminding me why this work matters. If you are considering getting involved in mental health advocacy, start where you are. You do not need to have all the answers to make a difference. What matters is your willingness to listen, to learn, and to act. Your voice has the power to create change. 🩷💚 Apply to this cycle of the Active Minds Mental Health Advocacy Institute by May 25, 2026, for the upcoming 2026-2027 academic year!

April 9, 2026 — I’ve always loved Solange Knowles. Not just for Cranes In The Sky (though that song plays like gospel when I’m in my feelings), but because of the raw, unfiltered truth she delivers through her music. In Cranes, she sings about trying to drown out pain through every coping mechanism we’re taught to idolize: shopping, working, crying, even changing her hair. She did it all. And still, she felt everything. It wasn’t numbness she was singing about; it was exhaustion. A bone-deep kind of weariness that isn’t necessarily big, but still weighs down your chest. I didn’t expect that to hit me the way it did. But emotional pain? It’s quiet like that. It doesn’t always arrive in sobs or breakdowns. Sometimes, it just lingers. A sort of ineffable type of feeling. And eventually, like Solange, you realize that healing doesn’t come from running. It comes from stopping. From feeling. From rebuilding, piece by piece, breath by breath. That’s what resilience has looked like for me, and trust me, it wasn’t cute. I was born in Washington D.C., but I was raised in Italy, and eventually I moved from Italy to rural Georgia when I was eight. I didn’t know the language. I didn’t understand the culture. And for a long time, I didn’t even recognize the version of myself I had to become to survive. I was the only African boy in a sea of Southern drawls and tight-knit friend groups that spanned years. People laughed at my accent, butchered my name (as if pronouncing Dom-uh-NICK Mim-uh-BANG is the hardest task in the world), and asked me if I was “really American.” I remember reading aloud in class and hearing snickers when I tripped over words. Not because I didn’t know what they meant, but because I had only ever seen them written, never said aloud. I stayed quiet for years. Even after I learned the language, I couldn’t shake the shame that had already dug itself in. That’s the thing about resilience: when it starts forming in silence, it hardens differently. I thought the only way to prove I belonged was to overperform. To show up everywhere—to be louder, better, more prepared, more impressive. I joined every club, led every project, and tried to become undeniable. I ran for leadership in an organization that quite literally shaped who I am today. Not once. Twice. And I lost both times. Not quietly, either. I campaigned at conferences with thousands of attendees and read a speech out to those same attendees. And both times, I had to clap for someone else as the room erupted in applause for them. It was public. It was humbling. And it was painful. But here’s the thing: I kept going in the organization and stayed involved, regardless of whether or not I was on the state board for it. And that’s resilience. Not perfection. Not ever failing. Just... refusing to stay down. So what is emotional resilience, really? According to the American Psychological Association, resilience is “the process and outcome of successfully adapting to difficult or challenging life experiences.” It’s not something that you’re naturally born with; it’s something you build over time (APA, 2022). So if you've ever felt like a mess after a rejection or a failure, guess what? You’re not broken, you're human. Here’s how I started building mine: Feel First, Fix LaterI used to think I had to “bounce back” instantly. Now I know better. Resilience starts with sitting in your feelings. Labeling them. Talking about them. According to the National Institutes of Health, acknowledging emotions and processing them (instead of bottling them up) is linked to better long-term mental health outcomes (NIH, 2021). It’s okay to say, “This really hurts.”That’s not weakness. That’s step one. Build a Soft LandingThere’s a myth that strong people are self-sufficient. That we “tough it out” alone. But Harvard research says otherwise. One supportive relationship—a teacher, a parent, a friend—can be the biggest predictor of a young person’s ability to recover from adversity (Harvard, 2021). My bounce-back crew includes my AP Literature teacher, Miss Davenport, my mom, and my unserious but wise friend Akshaaya. Together, they’ve talked me off more metaphorical cliffs than I can count. Find your people. Let them in. Redefine What "Losing" MeansThose elections I lost? At first, they felt like public proof that I didn’t belong. But eventually, they became reminders that worth isn't tied to a title. I learned how to organize, how to connect with people, and how to speak from the heart without a script. I learned to lead without a title. And weirdly enough, I’ve had more impact from the sidelines than I ever thought possible. Resilience taught me that worth doesn’t come from applause. It comes from the “why” behind the work. Let Humor Heal YouThere’s science to back this up: researchers from the Mayo Clinic say that laughter reduces stress, improves mood, and even strengthens your immune system (Mayo Clinic, 2021). And sometimes? The only thing between you and a breakdown is a well-timed meme. I’ve made Canva powerpoints titled “Why I Shouldn’t Have Trusted the Process” and voice-noted myself mid-cry just to laugh at it later. It works. (Not always. But more often than not, it does.) Resilience isn’t linear. Some days, you feel like you’re floating above it all — like the cranes in Solange’s sky. Other days, you’re stuck in the mud of everything going wrong. But you are still here. And that’s enough. So if you’re in the middle of your own comeback story, I hope you take this as permission to feel everything, rest when you need to, and keep rising: quietly or loudly, slowly or all at once. Your bounce-back era isn’t coming. It’s already in motion. And when you look back, you’ll be proud you didn’t give up.

During this roundtable discussion, students share their own mental health journeys and experiences as BIPOC individuals.

A Postvention Guide for Student-Led Responses

Support is closer than you think. Here are some ideas for where to go when you or a friend needs help.

Understanding the basics of stress and anxiety, how to best manage these natural and protective responses, and when to seek help.

Self-care can play a significant role in maintaining your mental health and help support your treatment and recovery if you have a mental illness.

This guide explores the emotional influence of music on mental health, and provides an activity worksheet for reflection on music and mood.

The holidays can be an overwhelming time of the year for youth and young adults. This document provides you with tips and further resources to help you develop a strategy for coping during the holiday season.

November 13, 2023 — As an educator in the classroom and a former principal on the South Side of Chicago, I’ve seen firsthand the challenges that students and staff alike face. American Education Week provides a crucial opportunity to shed light on an issue that continues to be ignored: the need to support the mental health of both students […]