Learning Stops in Survival Mode: Mental health isn’t a side issue—it’s the barrier between surviving and learning.

Right now, 1 in 5 students in the U.S. live with a mental health condition serious enough to impact their daily functioning at school. That’s one in every classroom, sometimes more. And the signs aren’t always obvious. It can look like quiet withdrawal, perfectionism, irritability, or acting out. Some students shout their stress. Others carry it silently, masking anxiety, depression, trauma, or overwhelm just beneath the surface.

I know because I was one of them.

Back in the ’80s, I was a well-behaved kid…mostly. On the outside, I looked fine. On the inside, I was wound up tighter than a cassette tape stuck in a car stereo. I dealt with anxiety long before I had a name for it, and definitely before anyone thought to ask. So no, I wasn’t sitting in class pondering the majesty of cumulus clouds or joyfully factoring polynomials. I was too busy managing a nervous system in overdrive.

Here’s the hard truth: over half of today’s students who struggle with mental health still don’t receive support. Not at home. Not at school. Not anywhere.

And it’s not because teachers don’t care. They absolutely do. But the structure of our schools wasn’t made for this much weight. Not emotional weight. Not the invisible stuff kids carry in with them every morning. The system wasn’t designed for it, and most of the people inside it are doing their best to hold more than it was ever built to carry.

In many public schools, a single counselor may be responsible for 400 or more students. That’s not a safety net, it’s a never-ending game of emotional whack-a-mole. And with so much emphasis placed on test scores and academic benchmarks, emotional needs often get sidelined or misunderstood. Instead of asking, “What’s going on with this child?” the system asks, “How do we get them back on track?” Even when mental health is recognized, it’s usually after the crisis, after the outburst, the shutdown, the meltdown.

And it’s not just internalized mental health conditions that students bring to school each day. Many are living with or have experienced adverse childhood experiences (ACEs)—including physical, emotional, or sexual abuse; chronic neglect; exposure to domestic violence; or the serious illness or loss of a caregiver. Others face ongoing instability due to poverty, food insecurity, addiction, or housing insecurity. Some serve as young caregivers for ill or overwhelmed family members.

According to the CDC, approximately 61% of U.S. adults report having experienced at least one ACE during childhood, and nearly 1 in 6 experienced four or more. And that’s just the number of people willing or able to report it. How many more never told anyone? These experiences don’t just stay at home, they walk through the school doors every day. Research consistently shows that high ACE scores are associated with increased risk of mental health disorders, lower academic achievement, behavioral challenges, and early school dropout.

Yet the traditional school model often only responds to the symptoms like missed homework, outbursts, disengagement…but without recognizing the root causes. The structure wasn’t built for this kind of weight.

At PivotED, we’re intentionally designing a model that doesn’t treat these realities as exceptions but considers them part of the landscape. We believe the question isn’t “What’s wrong with this student?” It’s “What happened to this student, and how can we respond in a way that helps them grow?”

That said, not every child carries trauma and not every child struggles with mental health. We recognize that. Many of our students come from safe, loving, stable homes with strong support systems, and they’re thriving emotionally. And PivotED is just as powerful for them. Why? Because our model isn’t built around trauma. It’s built around humanity. Around real connection. Around developing kids who are emotionally aware, confident in their voice, and prepared to collaborate, problem-solve, and lead with empathy, regardless of what their home life looks like or whether they’re carrying something heavy.

We’re not a therapy center, and we’re not pretending to be. But we are a place where kids are truly seen on a daily basis. With small class sizes, multi-age groupings, and a project-based approach, we have the flexibility to lead with curiosity and respond with compassion.

And yes, our students are still held to high expectations.

Naming emotions isn’t coddling. It’s equipping. Kids still work hard. They still learn consequences. They still face challenges. The difference is, they don’t have to do it masked or alone. We believe emotional intelligence and personal responsibility can and should grow side by side. We don’t use discipline to make a point, we use it to build one.

We don’t ignore hard behavior. We address it directly, but we do it by building skills, not just enforcing rules. We guide kids to pause, reflect, repair, and reset so school becomes more than just something they survive. They learn how to handle life when it’s loud, messy, and not multiple choice.

That’s why this work isn’t just a passion project, it’s personal.
Because kids like that? They’re still out there. They’re in your classroom, your carpool line, your dinner conversations. Some of them look like straight-A kids. Some of them don’t.

We don’t need to lower the bar. We just need to stop pretending the playing field is level.
And when we build schools that make space for what kids carry, we’re not just supporting mental health, we’re actually giving learning a fighting chance.