TW: Suicide, rape, abuse, mental illness

“Dear Class of 2020 Students,” reads a welcome letter from the Dean of Students John (Jay) Ellison to the incoming University of Chicago Freshman class. “We are delighted that you selected Chicago to continue your intellectual journey.”

“(Paraphrased) Except, of course, for those of you who suffer from anxiety or panic disorders or Post Traumatic Stress. Your debilitating condition is nothing more than an infringement on mine and my colleague’s intellectual freedom. Your summer reading assignment is to grow thicker skin. See you in September”

After this letter went viral, I tried to walk a mile in Jay Ellison’s shoes. I tried to feel his frustration. I tried to imagine myself as a middle-aged, middle-class white man. I tried to picture a life where I had the privilege of misunderstanding what “trigger warnings” actually mean. A life where “intellectual safe spaces,” could disappear forever, and I could simply continue on my way, completely and utterly unharmed.

“Once here you will discover that one of the University of Chicago’s defining characteristics is our commitment to freedom of inquiry and expression,” writes Jay Ellison. I really wish he would have inquired into what a trigger warning actually was, what trigger warnings mean to so many of us, every single day.

Last fall, I took a literature class that changed the way I read forever. I hung onto every word. I filled notebooks! Plural! More than one notebook! The lectures ran long, but none of the students cared. We were so happy to be there. Then a certain Sunday night rolled around, and I flipped through my syllabus to see what awaited me in my favorite class that week. My heart dropped to my toes. My lungs filled with boulders. The room was spinning. I didn’t know what to do.

Seeing the word “suicide” on a syllabus affected me differently than it may have affected you, Jay Ellison. Maybe you would have been excited for class. Maybe you would have dove head first into the heart-breaking works of Sylvia Plath and David Foster Wallace and still went to bed with a smile on your face that night. Maybe you would have been fine. But for me, just the word “suicide” is a trigger. Okay, I know, I know, I know. You don’t believe in what you labeled, “so-called trigger warnings” in your UChicago welcome letter. So, to avoid losing your attention right away, how about I just describe to you what a panic attack, set off by those “mythical triggers” feels like?

It feels like all the nerves in your legs just died, and your worst nightmare is barreling at you, but you have no ability to run away. It feels like trying to breathe underwater where no one can hear you scream. It feels like waking up in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat and the scary kind of sobs that could break ribs. It feels like dying. It feels like throwing up on the side of the road. It feels like someone is holding you up against the wall by your shoulders and you could beg forever but he would never put you down. It feels like when your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like there’s a lion trapped in your chest. It feels like the worst thing that ever happened to you, happening again and again and again. You can feel my heart beating. You can hear my heart beating. You could see my heart beating, if you only believed me.

Jay Ellison, I don’t know if you’ve ever had a panic attack before. I don’t know if you’ve had a heart attack before. I don’t know if you’ve ever been raped. I don’t know if you’ve ever found out that your best friend died. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen your life flash before your eyes. I don’t know if you’ve suffered domestic abuse, workplace abuse, and I don’t know if talking about this feels like abuse. Jay Ellison, I know barely one thing about you, so I won’t pretend to know how you feel. I’d ask that you do the same for me, and for the forty million United States adults who suffer from anxiety (https://www.adaa.org/finding-help/helping-others/college-students/facts).

Jay Ellison, the way you trivialized mental illness and mocked coping strategies broke my heart. I tried to walk in your shoes; why couldn’t you have at least tried to walk in mine? If you’re unconvinced that our disorders are worth your worry, I want you to know that more than 62 percent of students who withdrew from college with mental health problems did so for that reasons. I can’t imagine that you would ever argue against accommodating a student with a physical handicap, such as being in a wheelchair. So, why are trigger warnings and safe spaces so abhorrent to you?

After seeing the word “suicide” on the syllabus, I sent a desperate, frantic and apologetic email to my professor. I told her that personal events in my life would make it nearly impossible for me to actively discuss suicide, and I requested that she grant me a day off from classes. I didn’t expect her to say no (although now I worry that students at the University of Chicago might have that fear), but I didn’t expect the response I got. It went as follows,

“Dear Sarah,

Yes, it is completely fine for you to miss class on Thursday. It is so recent what you have gone through, and of course it is still raw and painful. I’m glad you told me. But instead of just missing class and doing some other schoolwork or something, I’d like for you to spend our class period doing something that honors life, that puts you in touch with the enduring spirit of love and strength—for example, take a stroll through the botanical garden, or around Beebe Lake—do something intentional that helps you nourish the connection with joy and continuance, and then let me know what you did. Okay?

Thanks again for letting me know.”

That note changed my heart so greatly. Her immediate and compassionate response made me, for the first time ever, proud rather than ashamed of suffering from PTSD. My request to miss class did nothing to infringe on my Professor’s intellectual freedom, but instead, drew the blinds open on both of our perspectives. She treated the impact of triggers as an inarguable truth. She treated me less like a face in the crowd and more like a person. Jay Ellison, you and my professor both started your emails with “Dear,” but after that, you diverged from her empathy in the most arrogant, hardheaded, inconsiderate matter possible. While my mental illness may seem inconvenient to you, I can promise you that it’s a whole lot more inconvenient to me. As dean of students, I hope you can find the slimmest ounce of understanding required to treat triggers with the respect they deserve.

I realize that I’m only nineteen years old, and you’re an adult, and you probably live your life resting on the daily assumption that you are smarter than most college aged girls. So, anticipating your resistance, I decided this would be a wonderful opportunity to co-write. My mother, Paulyn Cartwright, a professor of Biology at the University of Kansas with a PhD from Yale University, has also written a response that I’ve included below:

“As a professor, the idea of protecting intellectual freedom on campus is something that I feel passionate about. As someone that teaches evolution in Kansas, I am particularly sensitive to criticism I might receive by some who views the subject as controversial. I always have this sense of dread that a local politician will some day try to prevent the teaching of the subject matter altogether or that my research grant will be used as an example of wasting tax payers money. And although the subject might be controversial to some, science is not likely to trigger personal past trauma in the same vein as many subjects taught in the humanities. So when I first heard about the terms safe spaces and trigger warnings and the assertion that this was a threat to intellectual freedom, I immediately jumped onboard – as what could be more important on campus that preserving our right to teach the subject matter that matters most to us?

My change of heart did not occur from my experience in the classroom. It came from my experience as a mom. During my daughter’s senior year of high school, she fell in love with a boy. He was her best friend and the best possible boyfriend. He passed away tragically in August, and it shattered everything. My daughter was overcome with shock and grief, yet stubborn as hell and always the overachiever– she decided that she would try and start school as scheduled. This difficult experience is not something I could adequately describe in words, except to say that every moment of every day was and is a struggle for her – something only those that have suffered sudden and tragic loss could understand. Eventually she was diagnosed with PTSD, although I didn’t quite believe the diagnosis, and thought that perhaps when the initial shock wore off, so would her PTSD symptoms. Thirteen months later, I now understand that this is a very long hard process and something that she will likely struggle with for years if not for the rest of her life.

Now when I observe my well meaning colleagues disregarding trigger warnings as a crutch for coddled students and as a threat to intellectual freedom, I think back at those words from my daughter's professor that she shared earlier. And while it is easier to teach science without triggers, I have become more mindful of my audience. When I talk about evolution and see both a flash of light and a look of confusion on some of my student’s faces, I realize that are struggling with accepting the science while being challenged with their worldview. I know it's my job to teach the science, but I also know I can do it without bluster and arrogance –understanding that for many, they are struggling to reconcile the science with their faith. Regarding my students as unique individuals is not a threat to my academic freedom, it's simply being human. And now, when a student comes to my office and asks for an extension on his lab report because of recent personal difficulties, instead of being skeptical or judgmental, I treat him with kindness and compassion, knowing that he too may have a mom 1,200 miles away worrying about him having to face his troubles in a complex and unpredictable world.”

Thank you for reading and welcome to the twenty-first century!
Sincerely,

Sarah Lieberman and Paulyn Cartwright