Lydia
My late request to add Psych Health to my classes was finally approved this week.
I’ve been trying to adjust my courses to align more with the possibility of a social work major.
I haven’t declared my major, or even told anyone that I was considering social work…
or what I would do with it…but it just feels right.
I could make a difference there, right? I don’t know, maybe not, but I’d like to maybe try, however that looks.
I’m one of the first in class this afternoon, introducing myself to the professor before class starts and trying to get a couple of things in line to catch up on assignments.
Then I sit in a top seat, because for some reason, today my brain is okay with not being closest to the door, to an exit, to an escape.
I feel present today, and I feel safe. From the world, from the people in it, and from my mind.
Today is a good day. Let’s keep it that way.
I sent the group chat a quick check-in text since I have a longer day of classes today.
PPP Group Chat
Lydia: Long day, but I’m feeling surprisingly good! Love y’all. PSL date later today at the coffee shop?
Simone: Love that you’re having a good day! I’m always down for PSL. Love you
Lani: Kick today’s ass Lyd! Proud of you! And I’m blushing that you wanna take me out on a date…I’m in! Love y’all
I tuck my phone away, smiling, and pull out my laptop and notes right as the professor starts talking. I know I’m coming in already behind in class, but maybe I can find someone in here that I like, who’ll help me.
That means you’ve gotta be social, Lydia. Don’t be so closed off.
“Alright, class,” Dr. Helms says with a smile turned on for everybody. “Welcome back to the glamorous, totally not glamorous, Biopsychosocial Model. We’re working on stress today, how your brain thinks that midterms are dangerous lions, and a quick trip through some behavior changes.”
A few students groan, and it looks like he lives for this.
He picks up a marker and draws a triangle on the board, labeling each section of the triangle: Bio, Psycho, and Social.
In the center of the triangle, he puts a nervous-looking stick figure.
“Our first vocabulary word is ‘appraisal’. Which just means that stress is not the email itself; it’s how you feel about the email.
‘This is the end,’ versus ‘This is annoying, but I can survive it.’ Our second vocabulary word is ‘allostatic load’, which is what the cost is to your body for being in constant ‘go mode’ as your default.
Allostasis is good. But if you run on go 24/7, there will be a bill. And the bill will not be cheap.”
He underlines appraisal and allostasis three times, and then turns to tuck the marker behind his ear. “Okay, show of hands…how many people feel that feeling at the end of the day when they’re tired but still way too wired to sleep?”
Many hands shoot into the air. My hand does too.
“Yeah,” he says, seemingly pleased. “That’s your HPA axis having a rave party in your head.
Your brain is incredible. It’s just…your brain has far more interest in keeping you alive than keeping you content all of the time.
” He taps his chest. “It sends you tons of energy and adrenaline to either fight the lion or run away from it. But there’s no actual lion.
Even though your group chat at 11:58 p.m. can look pretty liony to your brain. ”
The soft laughter envelops the room.
“Two-minute demo,” he says. He pulls three stress balls out of his bag and tosses them to the guy in front of him. “Jaden, juggle these.”
The guy—long legs stretched out, hoodie up, half asleep—jolts, then starts to attempt to juggle. It’s chaotic, but he’s doing it, and everyone in the class is now loudly rooting for him.
“Okay,” Dr. Helms continues as Jaden struggles, pacing beside him. “One ball is school. One is work. One is family. Not terrible. Now I add in a triangle ding noise every time I say ‘notification’.” He taps a metal triangle lightly…ding. “Notification.” Ding. “Notification.”
Jaden drops one ball.
“Allostatic load,” Dr. Helms says. “The system can juggle three, maybe four. But ding long enough and something hits the floor. It doesn’t mean you ‘failed’, the system just met its limit.”
Jaden hands back the stress balls and then bows dramatically.
“Now,” he says, uncapping his marker again, “two questions we ask a lot in this class—What is loud? And what turns it down to become manageable?”
This sounds familiar…just like the ending I caught of what Bash was talking about during recovery group the other day.
“I don’t want your miracle cures. I want your two-notch down methods. What’s loud for you this week?” he asks the class.
“Midterms,” someone says.
“Financial aid being confusing as hell,” says someone else.
“Not being able to sleep,” a girl in an oversized hoodie murmurs.
“Being stuck scrolling on social media,” a guy near the front says, not looking up from his phone.
“Okay, now what turns those down?” He points around the room with his marker like a conductor.
“A song or a long drive to cool down,” hoodie girl says.
“I put my phone in the microwave,” a guy announces.
The room explodes in laughter.
“Kidding,” he adds. “In a shoe box. On the fridge.”
“Please, no blowing up the dorms,” Dr. Helms says, sighing. “That would only make things louder for everyone else.”
“Cold compress,” someone says.
“Single-tasking,” another voice. “Like…actually just doing one thing at a time.”
“Beautiful,” Dr. Helms says. “Two clicks. We can’t always completely get rid of what’s loud, but behavior change models help us plan those click downs in a way that sticks. Something we can already have in our back pockets to use when it gets too loud.”
He pauses. “I know some of you hate models. Same. But they keep us sane. They keep us out of the ‘just try harder’ mindset that leads to burnouts and other self-destructive behaviors to quiet the loud.”
Ain’t that the truth.
He clicks to a slide from his laptop.
“If you’ve ever set a vague goal like ‘sleep more’, and then felt like a failure for not following through, that’s not on you.
That’s just a bad goal. Try implementation intentions.
Like, ‘If it’s past 11:30 p.m., then I plug my phone out of reach so I can’t keep scrolling.
’ Also try talking to yourself with self-compassion—‘I missed it tonight, I’m human, that’s okay.
I’ll try again tomorrow.’ Shame is just gasoline on fire for repetitive behaviors. ”
After going over a lot of terms I’m still learning and techniques I could probably use myself, he checks the clock, then caps his marker, tucking it back behind his ear.
“And because I am mean and also love you, we’re doing a ‘mini Health Behavior Lab’.
One week. You’ll work in groups of four.
You’ll pick a common student behavior, like bad sleep, too much caffeine, doom-scrolling, choices around alcohol, things like that.
You’ll design a ‘three-day micro-intervention’ for a specific group of students.
You’ll include at least two behavior change techniques.
You’ll collect data on a participant’s thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in their natural environment.
Everything will be due next week. One slide for your theory, a graphic you could actually post on campus, a 3–4 minute class pitch, and a short reflection on what didn’t work. Questions?”
“Can we pick our groups?” a girl asks.
“Groups are pre-assigned. I’ll call names, you raise your hand, and keep it up so your people can find you. After class, exchange info with each other, pick your behavior and model, and schedule your library time.”
I can do group work. I can be a person among other people. I can. This will be good for me; maybe it’ll help me not be so antisocial.
“Group One,” Dr. Helms reads. He calls out their names. Hands go up. “Group Two…” More names, more hands.
“Group Three—Lydia House.”
My hand goes up, and I keep it there, elbow stiff, a little too formal. I blame the nerves from having any attention on me.
“Pali Mathew.” Hand up.
“Jaden Collins.” Hoodie boy raises a sleepy hand.
“And…Sebastian Ramos.”
I scan the three raised hands and catch the third—long, toned arm, watch peeking out from his long-sleeve shirt, hand up casually.
My eyes go from his hand to his face and lock there.
Bash. My heart does a stupid skip—terrifying, yes, but also…
soothing, like my muscles relax because he’s in the same room.
He gives me the smallest smile. It’s there and then gone. Then he turns toward the front again.
Dr. Helms barrels through the rest of the names. “You’ve got five minutes after I cut you loose. Find your people, swap numbers, claim a behavior, claim a model, and put a library time on the calendar.”
Pali is already cutting through the aisle toward me with way too much efficiency once everyone starts packing up. “Lydia?” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Pali.”
Jaden drifts over, even taller up close, one hoodie string in his mouth like a big toddler. “I swear I’m useful,” he says, smiling without fully being here still. “I can do stats if someone tells me where the numbers are.”
“Great,” Pali says, dryly, rolling her eyes.
Bash walks over, and the space suddenly feels smaller. “Hey,” he says to the group, then finds me with his eyes. “I didn’t know you were in this class. How’d I miss you?”
“Late add,” I say, trying not to act awkward. “First day.”
“Cool. Well, welcome,” he says simply.