when professors know compassion, and when they can act on it.
Last edited Sat Dec 18, 2021, 05:58 PM - Edit history (1)
I’ve posted a couple of commentaries from my perspective as a university professor in the past few days. The first one (https://democraticunderground.com/100216144241) was written following the final exam in my class and discussed situations under which I’ll allow (or not) makeup exams. The second (https://democraticunderground.com/100216155485) was written after I turned grades in and as the deluge of requests to change them began to arrive.
Both of them touched on the issue of accommodation and understanding, especially (though not exclusively) in the context of emotional or mental issues that might get in the way of a student’s success. These were mostly raised on the second of my two commentaries, in which I pointed out (honestly) that it’s pretty much impossible to change a grade for any particular health-based reason after grades have been turned in. (The first commentary actually addressed this issue, pointing out that emotional crises are perfectly legitimate reasons to reschedule an exam.)
I’d like to address this point in some detail, partly because I think some commentors were addressing a much larger point than I was actually making, but also because I want to give some level of guidance to those who, as students or parents, may actually encounter these sorts of things.
The overwhelming majority of college-level instructors are very sympathetic to mental issues. Life has happened to us no differently than has for anyone else. The first year of college can be a serious challenge to anyone. Students are usually away from home for the first time in their lives. They may be under pressure from family to excel. A lot of them have to work while taking classes. Some of them are young single parents. Some may have come from excellent schools and lots of support at home, but not all of them.
I see a lot of young adults in crisis. Their parents were paying their way through college, but they just lost their jobs. Or the student herself or himself has just lost a job. A close loved one has just died unexpectedly, or the student is playing a role as caretaker for someone suffering from a prolonged and possibly terminal illness. The students themselves may have serious physical health issues, and they sometimes arise unexpectedly in the middle of a term. Their parents may have just gotten divorced. The student him or herself might have just gotten divorced, too, or might have been the victim of a serious violent crime (sexual or otherwise) or a bad traffic accident. I encounter veterans who came home with PTSD.
I’ve even seen the products of our public school systems – the good and the bad. Many of my students come from the wealthier suburbs of Chicago, where high schools tend to be well-funded and well-staffed. But I also get students from rural counties in the western part of my state, where the graduating class may have had fewer than 25 students and some subjects just weren’t taught, either because they didn’t have the staff or local parents found them too subversive. (We’re seeing an increasing number of students from inner city schools enrolling here; this is good, but they’re often no better prepared.) I had a colleague say she assumed they all knew the basic structure of the atom (by which she meant “nucleus of protons and neutrons orbited by electrons), only to see a student collapse in despair; this particular student had never encountered the subject in school. I, myself, have encountered college students who’ve never seen a square root symbol before.
In other words, life happens. We can’t always control the circumstances of our youth, and any one of us can fall prey to economic insecurity, illness, family emergency, or some other force of devastation. And, yes – it can do a real number on a person’s mental health.
We instructors know how much of an impact this can have. Severe depression can be just as paralyzing as a big dose of Anectine. It can keep a student from attending class, or it can prevent a student from doing anything productive in a classroom. And it’s not as though students are used to talking about their own mental health; there’s still a stigma attached to depression, and it can take a bloody long time for a student to recognize that the problem goes way beyond just being a little bit less than happy.
We also know that rates of mental illness can wax and wane depending on overall conditions. Normally, I would get two or three students (or their advisors) out of 200 every fall reach out to me, often late in the semester, to ask for accommodation because of a mental health issue. In the fall of 2020, it was more like 10 or 15. And we all expected this – we were facing a pandemic, racial unrest, and a presidential election that could have been won by a functionally illiterate bigot. This past fall wasn’t quite as bad, but I still had more accommodation requests than would normally be the case.
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So how can we, as instructors, help such students?
We’re not trained mental health professionals or therapists. Other than showing some compassion, we can’t directly treat the problem. But we’re all told before classes begin where students can get help. There are counseling centers on campus, and others in the broader community. All of them are staffed by real professionals who know what they’re doing. If they can’t provide the help a student needs, they’ll find someone who can.
We can also make reasonable accommodations in the class itself. If a crisis erupts right before an exam, we can schedule a makeup, or we can excuse the student. We can accept homework late. We can spend time in office hours, and sometimes beyond, helping a student understand the material.
My own accommodation is to promise a struggling student that he or she will not fail the class. I can’t promise a good grade – it might be a D or D- - but I can at least promise a passing grade, provided the student actually puts in some level of effort.
We can also work with administrators in deciding whether you should be allowed to drop or withdraw from your classes late in a semester. We’re often reluctant to do that, but neither are we completely averse to it.
But here’s the thing – unless it’s a small class and I’ve gotten to know the students very well as individuals, there isn’t much I can do unless I’m told about it. I may not notice a sudden increase or decrease in a student’s weight, for example. I’m not qualified to read someone’s mannerisms to uncover hidden depression. I may notice that a student has stopped turning in assignments or has missed an exam without contacting me; this could follow from a sudden depressive episode, or it could follow from hanging back in one’s room with an X-Box, a dime bag of euphoriants, and no parental supervision for the very first time. I’m not able to make that distinction based only on the absence of a student from class.
That’s why I included “I had mental health issues throughout the semester” among the list of reasons I won’t change a grade after classes are finished. By then, it’s too late. The administration might decide to wipe some grades from a student’s record, and I generally go along with such decisions, but there’s no practical, objective way to retroactively add points or figure out how far a grade should be changed. It’s not a lack of compassion; it’s reality.
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IF YOU’RE A STUDENT FACING MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS:
You owe it to yourself to find help. That’s why counseling centers exist. There are people who have devoted their careers to helping people just like you. It’s their job, and in most cases, they’re passionate about it. There’s no dishonor whatsoever in seeking treatment for a real mental health emergency, just as there’s no dishonor whatsoever in going to the ER if you’ve been impaled by a fencepost.
You can (and probably should) also reach out to whatever student disability services office your university might have. These deal with physical access issues as well as mental health, but they’re the people who can help arrange special exam setups.
If you want to reach out your instructor personally about the problem, that’s fine. We’re obliged, both by institutional policy and (in most cases) our personal senses of morality, to keep it confidential unless you’re a danger to yourself or others; and if that’s the case, we would be required to contact people who would also keep it confidential. (Thankfully, I’ve never faced that situation.)
Or you can have your academic advisor, or someone from the student disability or counseling centers, contact me. That’s just as good to me, and might be easier for you.
Sending me a letter from a therapist might help, but not as much as you think. I’m not a clinical psychologist, but my wife is. She’s taught me just how easy it is to fake the stationery of a fictional “therapist” or shop around for someone claiming to be a therapist who’ll sign off on whatever you claim. You’re far, FAR better off working through an office on campus that I’ll recognize.
Getting documentation is never a bad idea, whether it be from a doctor, a therapist (though see above), or someone on campus trained to work with students in your situation. It sounds ghoulish at first (“Don’t you trust me?”), but I’ve been burned in the past by students whose claims of debilitating mental health issues proved fallacious. I want to help those who really need it.
I do NOT need all of the details. If you survived a sexual assault, that’s none of my business. Neither is it my business to know whether you’ve actually tried to commit suicide. If you can reasonably claim that you’re dealing with mental health issues that are interfering with your ability to function as a student, that’s pretty much all I need to know.
And you know what? Many of us know these things from direct personal experience. It took my father a long time to stop asking me “You’re depressed? About what?!” I don’t remember most of my first year in graduate school, and that’s probably for the best. In a lot of cases, we’ve walked in your shoes. We get it.
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IF YOU’RE A PARENT OR FRIEND:
You’ll be better placed to notice the changes that could signal a mental crisis. You know your friend or child better than us. Take action if you think it’s needed.
And if you think being depressed isn’t a thing, or that it’s an embarrassment, get the fuck over that. Depression can kill.
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ALSO IF YOU’RE A PARENT:
Find out what resources are available before your child even steps into a classroom for the first time. Being proactive can save a LOT of trouble.
But don’t be offended if no one on campus can tell you exactly what’s happening unless your child has given us written permission to do so. Your child is now over 18 and, legally, an adult. We might be bound by HIPPA, FERPA, or both. We’re not trying to be pricks; we’re trying to protect the confidentiality of a student as required by law.
Also – recognize when it’s time to throw in the academic towel. Withdrawing late in a semester is sometimes the best thing that can be done for a student. Maybe it would be best to focus on your kid’s mental health for a little while and think about college later.
Yes, I know late withdrawal might mean losing the tuition you’ve spent, I know it can jeopardize financial aid eligibility. But from my standpoint as an instructor, how much good are you doing by not wasting tuition money, but having your child graduate with a low GPA? And possibly ending up in worse mental condition? Penny wise, pound foolish and all that.
You want your child to graduate on time, you say. You know when it's time? When they've finished up their classwork and are set to move on to bigger things. Pushing for one at the expense of the other is counterproductive.
I deal with this on both sides of graduation. I occasionally get applicants for my graduate program with GPA's below our minimum cutoff. "I had a rough couple of years," we're told. "I wasn't able to take part in research opportunities because of my lack of progress, and I didn't get to know my professors (the people who write letters of recommendation) because of that." Maybe so - but how do I justify admitting that student, but not one with a GPA of 3.95? And for what it's worth, the one student with a low GPA I admitted turned out to be a disaster. Your student is far better off in the long run setting up a record that opens more doors.
Withdrawing is NOT an admission that a student isn’t good enough, or intelligent enough, or hard-working enough for college. It’s a recognition that we have to think carefully about our priorities.
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Anyway, some thoughts.
= new reply since forum marked as read
