You know that moment when you’re watching a young athlete push through practice, and something in their eyes tells you they’re carrying more than just the weight of the game? I’ve been seeing that look for twenty years now, both in my therapy office and from the sidelines of my daughter’s track meets. It’s a particular kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with physical training and everything to do with the invisible burdens our student-athletes shoulder.
So when I heard that Division III is partnering with the National Council for Mental Wellbeing to provide Mental Health First Aid training specifically for coaches and athletic trainers, I actually teared up a little. Not because I’m overly sentimental (though my husband might disagree), but because this represents something profound: we’re finally acknowledging that the people who spend the most time with these young adults need to be equipped to recognize when performance anxiety has crossed into something more serious.
I remember Sarah, a swimmer who came to see me during her junior year. Her coach had noticed she’d started arriving to practice earlier and earlier, sometimes sitting in the parking lot for an hour before anyone else showed up. “I just like the quiet,” she’d told him. But he sensed something else was happening. Because he’d had some basic mental health training through his university, he knew to ask different questions. Turns out, Sarah was experiencing severe anxiety attacks at night and coming to the pool early was the only place she felt safe. That coach’s awareness probably saved her life.
Here’s what breaks my heart and inspires me simultaneously: student-athletes are often the last ones to seek help. They’ve been conditioned to push through pain, to never show weakness, to be the ones others rely on. I’ve had countless sessions where a young person sits across from me and says, “I’m supposed to be strong. I’m letting everyone down.” The irony? It takes tremendous courage to walk into my office. That’s strength of a different kind.
What excites me about this Division III initiative is that it’s placing mental health support exactly where it needs to be – in the daily environment of these students. Coaches and trainers see them at their most vulnerable moments: after a devastating loss, during injury recovery, in the midst of academic pressure. They notice changes in behavior that parents hundreds of miles away might miss. They’re often the first adults a struggling student might trust with the truth.
I think about Marcus, a basketball player whose grades started slipping sophomore year. His trainer noticed he’d lost weight and seemed disconnected during rehab sessions for a minor injury. Instead of just pushing him harder, she sat with him after practice one day and simply said, “You don’t seem like yourself lately. Want to talk about it?” That conversation revealed that Marcus was grieving his grandmother’s death while trying to maintain his performance standards. He thought admitting his pain would make him weak. The trainer’s response? She shared her own story of loss and helped him connect with counseling services.
This is what Mental Health First Aid training does – it transforms well-meaning adults into informed first responders for emotional crises. It teaches them to recognize the difference between pre-game jitters and an anxiety disorder, between typical college adjustment and clinical depression. More importantly, it gives them the language and confidence to have these conversations without fear of saying the wrong thing.
You might be wondering why this matters if you’re not directly involved in college athletics. Here’s the thing: what we’re really talking about is creating communities of care. Whether you’re a parent, a teacher, a supervisor, or simply someone who interacts with young adults, the principles are the same. We all need to become more fluent in the language of mental health.
The research tells us that early intervention changes everything. When someone struggling with mental health challenges gets support quickly, their outcomes improve dramatically. But here’s what the research doesn’t capture: the profound relief on a young person’s face when an adult they respect says, “I’ve noticed you’re having a hard time, and that’s okay. Let’s figure this out together.”
I’ve spent two decades listening to stories of moments when someone could have intervened but didn’t know how. The coach who noticed his player was self-harming but didn’t know what to say. The trainer who suspected an eating disorder but worried about overstepping. The academic advisor who sensed depression but felt unqualified to address it. This training changes that narrative.
What moves me most is that Division III is fully funding this initiative. They’re not just encouraging mental health awareness; they’re investing in it. They’re saying to their coaches and trainers: “This is part of your job now, and we’re going to give you the tools to do it well.” That’s not just policy; that’s culture change.
If you work with young people in any capacity, I want you to know this: you don’t need to be a therapist to make a difference. Sometimes the most powerful intervention is simply noticing. Sometimes it’s asking, “How are you really doing?” and then actually waiting for the answer. Sometimes it’s sharing your own struggles to normalize theirs.
And if you’re a young person reading this, wondering if your struggles are “bad enough” to warrant help, let me be abundantly clear: they are. You don’t need to be in crisis to deserve support. You don’t need to hit rock bottom to reach out. Your struggles are valid, whether they’re affecting your performance or not.
This Division III initiative gives me hope because it recognizes a fundamental truth I’ve learned over twenty years: healing happens in relationship. It happens when someone we trust sees us struggling and responds with compassion instead of judgment. It happens when the people around us are equipped to help, not just with technique and strategy, but with humanity.
So here’s my challenge to you, regardless of your role: become someone who notices. Learn the signs of mental health struggles. Get comfortable with uncomfortable conversations. And remember that sometimes the bravest thing any of us can do is admit we need help – or offer it to someone else.
