Going into my first day of fall term, I expected college would be an adjustment. I was warned all throughout high school that college academics would be difficult, I was prepared to buy my own shampoo and I anticipated feeling homesick. I had not, however, understood that managing my depression was going to be so different at Carleton. Living with my family meant someone would notice if I started becoming less active, sleeping more or forgetting to take my medication, someone who was socially positioned to voice their concerns and offer support. At home, my mental health was scaffolded in ways I didn’t even notice until my first term at Carleton. 

I’m happy with how I’m managing my mental health now, but I’ve been lucky. College is an easy place to fall through the cracks. Of course, students can get help at Student Health and Counseling (SHAC) and new friends might reach out, but depression makes seeking help difficult and avoidance easy. This college mental health shock is not a necessary or productive struggle, but people will keep crashing unless communities of young people make a cognizant cultural shift.

According to ​​research conducted by the Walton Family Foundation, there are myriad variables that could factor into the statistical increase in depression in our generation, including exposure to technology, global context and improved diagnostics. Regardless of the cause, mental health is a key issue today.

At Carleton — and throughout Gen Z at large — people are aware that mental health is important. Unfortunately, most efforts to bring attention are not productive. SHAC, for example, offers students access to therapy, but appointments are limited and arduous to schedule. I can say from experience, doing the work to actually get an appointment is particularly difficult during a period of poor mental health. The recent USCMIND ice bucket challenge also exemplifies a well-meaning but unproductive attempt at general “awareness.” While the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge raised money for medical research, this iteration is entirely divorced from the topic of mental health. I applaud the intention, but an inherently exclusive social media challenge is not helpful. 

There are productive ways to help. According to the CDC, social connection is a primary tactic for reengaging depressed serotonin production. Frustratingly, our generation has by far the highest levels of social isolation. Socially stunted by COVID-19, new technologies and culture norms, Gen Z young adults exhibit a particular difficulty reaching out, a tendency towards social isolation and a statistical drop in time spent with friends. 

This generational social withdrawal is something I’ve seen evidenced at Carleton. Carleton is a very friendly place, but there is a definite culture of insulation. Professors have told me that they’ve seen classmates interact less often over the years, and club membership has fallen over the past decade. Students even have a special name for someone who only goes to classes, the dining halls and their rooms without interaction with others: a “ghost Carl.” 

The independence of college life makes it easy to spend too much time in bed, miss meals and disengage from activities. This social isolation feeds depression, creating negative feedback loops that can be extremely difficult to interrupt, especially if clubs and friendships seem unwelcoming. 

Depression often manifests as a deep belief that improvement is impossible; with that mindset, it is impossible to make any changes without help. Our individualist society has a tendency to stigmatize dependence, but humans are supposed to exist in communities — it is natural to need outside support. 

Sadly, I don’t really think it’s fair to say that everyone at Carleton feels like a part of the proverbial “Carleton Community,” and after first-year fall, there aren’t easy ways to join in. It could be different, though. Fighting isolation starts with small, deliberate acts of inclusion, so start deliberately challenging the norm of passive coexistence. Send the awkward text: “Hey, I’m grabbing lunch—want to join?” Sit with someone new in the dining hall, even if it feels forced. If a friend withdraws, don’t assume they’ll reach out; depression thrives on silence. Invite them for a walk, and if they decline, try again next week. These gestures cost nothing, but they rebuild the social fabric our generation has lost. Carleton won’t magically become a community unless individuals choose, daily, to make it one.