Blake appeared at my office door clearly agitated. Wearing a rumpled shirt and faded jeans, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, moving his tall, thin body back and forth as if to self-soothe a hidden wound swelling within himself.
“Can I see you?” he blurted out. His bloodshot eyes were brimming with tears.
Sitting at my desk, sheltered behind dual computer screens, I braced myself. In that moment, this young man was a live wire about to burst into flames. Before I could answer, he began to move forward with jerky, unpredictable movements, entering my office with an energy that could only be described as rage.
“I have another student coming in soon,” I said quickly, my first instinct being to get Blake out of my office by any means necessary. His demeanor was hostile, frightening, borderline violent.
“I need to see you. When can I see you!” he said a little too loudly while pacing back and forth in front of my desk. I could see this wasn’t a typical student with an average complaint. Suddenly, it dawned on me that Blake, whom I had met once before, was in full crisis. Like it or not, I was the person he had sought out. I was the one he felt he could trust. There we were, an advisor and a student, facing each other from across a desk in a university office, like any other day; except, it wasn’t.
“I have a few minutes,” I said.
“Okay, great. I’m so mad!” Blake hissed while pacing back and forth, arms and hands gesturing reflexively like an impulsive child not in control of his emotions.
“Why don’t you sit down, Blake?” I asked quietly as he walked over to my door and slammed it shut.
Just the two of us, together in my small office, face to face like contestants in some sort of game. “What strategy can I use to win?” I thought to myself, because I had to be the one to win for the both of us. It was clear Blake couldn’t win a victory for himself right then. Any outcome he would make on his own in the state he was in would not be a positive one. I knew it in my bones. I had to be in the moment with him, uncomfortable and unknown, and find a way to keep us both afloat.
“I just came from class. That professor makes me so mad. I was going to make a presentation. I was late; it’s personal. She wouldn’t let me present it. I was late!”
Blake rambled on, telling me that he fought with his professor and was asked to leave the class. He sat at times, but then suddenly, with no warning, he would shoot up and pace around again as if he literally couldn’t control his body. I sat listening, watching, and trying hard to understand what was actually going on.
“You have no idea how hard it is, being strong for my sister all the time.” He went on, jumping abruptly from the fight he had had with his instructor to the underlying cause of his pain.
“Our parents are both gone.” The tears started coming, and with the release he began to apologize. He reached for a tissue on my desk and apologized again.
I nodded and pushed the tissue box a little closer. He was seated now, hunched over, wiping his sad, long face that had seen too much too soon for his heart to hold. We are all different and yet all the same.
“I’m going to have to drop that class!” he cried.
“We don’t have to worry about that right now,” I said slowly so not to further aggravate him. “You still have a few days to make that decision. That will be okay.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he gasped, reaching for another tissue. He looked exhausted and drawn, like a ghost. He was only a shadow of himself with the full Blake temporarily lost deep within layers of hurt and crushing loss. He had lost himself and his ability to cope. In his own, broken way, he was asking for help.
“Blake, you are clearly very upset, and I want to help you,” I began, finally seeing an opportunity where my words might be most useful. “I’m wondering if you feel like you could benefit from talking to a doctor or a counselor at the health center here on campus.”
He hesitated and then nodded “yes.”
“May I help you get there? Should we walk over to the health center right now together?”
“Okay.”
“Alright, let’s do that.” I exhaled, relief flooding my whole being. I got up quickly, told my colleague next door that a student needed my assistance, and we left my office together. Blake’s body and voice softened as we walked the short distance to the health center. I continued to talk to him, encouraging him, until we reached the entrance. We had to wait to check in.
“I could just come back,” he said after a short while.
“I will stay here with you. It will only be a few more minutes,” I said firmly, putting my hand on his arm. I knew I couldn’t let him leave.
As we approached the front desk, I helped him with the paperwork, and the receptionist could see the situation for what it was. She directed us to a back staircase. Blake and I walked up those stairs together to a waiting area for a crisis counselor.
“Thank you,” Blake said in an astonished way. “That was so kind.”
I reached out my arms and he met my embrace. We stood in that hallway, the advisor and the student, boundaries falling away, me holding Blake, desperately trying to make sure no more pieces of him dropped away before his name was called.
“Please don’t leave. Stay and see someone,” I said.
“I will. Thank you.,” he said and sat down in a chair and waited for another lifeline to hold onto.
Later I found out that he did see a doctor at the health center that day, and he had been hospitalized for a few weeks afterward. He is doing better and will be taking some time off from school. For now, he’s connected to what he needs to be healthy and whole. It’s a fragile balance, this line we walk gingerly between putting up and showing up.
Showing up for hard means taking a personal risk and stepping outside of comfort and rules that sometimes keep us from the toughest and richest parts of living. Putting up with hard means looking the other way, doing little or nothing, shrugging our shoulders, and stepping away from turmoil and back into our comfort — for now anyway.
That day I found the courage to show up for Blake by way of a couple of small kindnesses. I gave him my attention and listened intently to his story. I didn’t judge him or send him away. I just sat there and made the space for his sadness and witnessed it. I saw him for who he was in that moment and decided to care. It was uncomfortable, but in a way incredibly simple, too.
I don’t know what the outcome would have been that day had I been in a meeting when he stopped by or if I had simply told him I was busy. What I do know is that being present and making a small but genuine connection made a big impact.
If you or someone you know is in emotional distress or suicidal, make a connection with someone who cares now:
Suicide Prevention Hotlines 24/7
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Trevor Lifeline for LGBTQ Youth: 1-866-488-7386
Veterans Crisis Line: 1-800-273-8255, Press 1