In Your Best Interest – The Truth About Mental Illness Across U.S. Colleges
- 5 days ago
- 9 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
Written by Taylor Locke, Mental Health Advocate
Taylor Locke is a noteworthy mental health advocate and professional speaker. They are the founder of the New York State Mental Health Week program and a U.S. Representative for the Global Mental Health Peer Network.
Brandy Opondo was a rising third-year student at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute (RPI) who had lived with major depressive disorder since age 17. During a difficult summer semester, she began experiencing intense suicidal thoughts and did what colleges consistently urge students to do: she asked for help. She contacted a counselor she had previously seen at RPI’s Counseling Center, seeking support during a crisis. Instead, she was told her condition was beyond what the university could handle and was advised to admit herself to a local hospital, with assurances that she could return to campus and make up her missed coursework.
Trusting those assurances, Brandy voluntarily admitted herself to Samaritan Hospital and, after ten days, was medically cleared to return to school. Rather than being welcomed back, however, she was placed on an involuntary medical leave of absence and barred from campus. She was initially denied access to her dorm room to retrieve her personal belongings. Eventually, the university gave her just four hours to pack and leave under the direct supervision of campus security. Throughout the process, university administrators insisted that her removal from campus was “in her best interest.”
Reflecting on the experience, Brandy later stated:
“The administration has made it clear that they will remove any student they view as a risk to the Institute’s image, regardless of how these students are affected. When I needed empathy, I received condemnation. When I needed guidance, I received blank stares. When I went out on my own, I was told that I had no place at RPI.”
Unfortunately, this story shared by Brandy is far from a rare occurrence. It is representative of a broader pattern at many U.S. colleges, one in which students with mental health challenges are treated not as members of an academic community in need of support, but as liabilities to be managed or removed.
Patterns of exclusion in U.S. higher education
Across the United States, colleges frequently respond to student mental health crises with exclusionary policies that prioritize institutional liability over student well-being. When students disclose suicidal thoughts, seek hospitalization, or otherwise experience acute mental health challenges, they are often pressured to either take medical leave or are involuntarily withdrawn. These decisions are typically framed as supportive, yet they are frequently sudden, coercive, and poorly explained, leaving students cut off from housing, health insurance, potential employment, and community at precisely the moment they need stability most.
Once removed from campus, students commonly face sweeping restrictions regardless of medical guidance. Many are barred entirely from campus grounds while permitting the public with free access, effectively giving the random passersby more rights than fully admitted students. The path back to school is often unclear and difficult, requiring extensive documentation, psychiatric evaluations by college staff, or compliance with restrictive “return contracts” that can mandate therapy, medication adherence, limits on alcohol use, and broad waivers of medical privacy. Rather than supporting recovery, these conditions can prolong distress and create a powerful disincentive for seeking help.
Recent lawsuits have exposed how widespread and legally precarious these practices are. At Yale, two current students and the advocacy group Elis for Rachael alleged that the university pressured students experiencing serious mental health symptoms into “voluntary” withdrawals by warning that refusal could result in involuntary removal. Once withdrawn, students were reportedly barred from campus and activities. In August 2023, Yale settled the case and agreed to substantial policy reforms, including eliminating mandatory minimum leave periods, allowing part-time enrollment during medical crises, simplifying reinstatement, and expanding campus access for students on medical leave. The settlement was a landmark case, marking a major win for the argument that blanket exclusions conflict with disability rights and student well-being.
A similar challenge is now unfolding at Harvard, where students organized as Students 4 Mental Health Justice allege that the university’s use of involuntary medical leave discriminates against students with mental health disabilities. The lawsuit argues that Harvard routinely bars students on mental health leave from campus even when clinicians determine they pose no danger, relying on diagnosis rather than individualized risk assessments. It also challenges Harvard’s required treatment contracts for returning students, which plaintiffs describe as invasive and non-individualized, applied almost exclusively to mental health cases (again pointing toward possible discrimination), and determined by administrators rather than clinicians trained in treatment protocols. Legal experts have noted that these practices closely resemble those that led to settlements at Yale and Princeton, suggesting that Harvard may ultimately face similar pressure to reform.
Despite universities’ mental health rhetoric, policies seldom take students’ actual needs into consideration and instead rely on isolation, surveillance, and exclusion. However, the outcomes at Yale and ongoing challenges at Harvard show these approaches are neither inevitable nor legally secure, and that sustained advocacy can drive positive change.
Advocacy beyond just mental health
While these cases are rooted in higher education, the lessons they offer extend much further. These reformative policies have direct impact on interrelated issues, including sexual assault on college campuses, the treatment of disabled students, and broader forms of discrimination. Additionally, the advocacy strategies developed in these contexts can be generalized to challenge institutional failures and advance equity across a wide range of settings, not just education or mental health.
Legal action paired with public accountability
Legal action can be a powerful tool for institutional change, particularly when combined with investigative journalism and public scrutiny. Large institutions often attempt to prolong lawsuits until plaintiffs lose resources and/or momentum. However, sustained media attention can shift the cost-benefit analysis for universities by causing reputational harm, reduced alumni donations, and loss in public trust, making settlements more likely. This was extremely effective with the landmark case against Yale and has likewise been attempted in the current suit against Harvard.
Choosing the right legal strategy is also critical. For example, previous lawsuits against universities following student deaths have often taken the form of wrongful death claims, which are notoriously difficult to win due to the complex and multifactorial nature of suicide. In contrast, discrimination-based lawsuits grounded in disability law may offer clearer legal pathways and stronger chances of success. Criminal or medical negligence claims may also be more viable in some circumstances. Anyone considering legal action should consult licensed professionals and seek multiple perspectives to understand the full range of potential options.
Establishing credibility and the power of framing
Advocacy does not begin or end in courtrooms, as evidenced by The Sophie Fund’s efforts to reform mental health policy at Cornell University. Following the death of their daughter to suicide, the parents of Sophie Hack MacLeod founded The Sophie Fund in her honor to support mental health initiatives aiding young people in the Ithaca community and local college campuses. Their 13-page request to Cornell for an independent external review of its mental health policies was grounded in established best practices, including the Zero Suicide Model.
When Cornell rejected this request, the Sophie Fund published the school’s response. The student-run Cornell Daily Sun ran extensive coverage of the issue, and undergraduate and graduate student organizations launched petition drives demanding reform. This shifted the issue from an internal administrative disagreement to a public question of values and priorities, generating reputational pressure that ultimately led Cornell to reverse course and commission an independent review. The task force’s final report made 60 core recommendations for systematic improvement. The Sophie Fund’s efforts underscored how credibility, emotional resonance, and thoughtful use of media can drive meaningful change.
Grassroots mobilization and playing the long game
Sometimes advocacy efforts are limited in capacity to pursue legal action or receive media coverage, however, this does not inhibit the ability to create impact. Grassroots organizing can allow for meaningful change even when institutions resist reform. The opening story of this article is no coincidence: my own advocacy journey began at RPI after witnessing how fellow students were being mistreated. Alongside my peers, I founded a student-led “Mental Health Week” initiative involving dozens of organizations on and off campus. When these efforts began demanding accountability, the university threatened us with legal action, withheld our funding, and barred institutional affiliation.
Rather than retreat, the movement expanded statewide. Partnering with 11 other universities and over 100 health and human service organizations, we hosted more than 65 individual events focused on mental health and well-being. While this initiative did not directly influence policy changes at RPI, it demonstrated the power of community-based advocacy to create impact, build coalitions, and sustain momentum despite major institutional barriers. There are always ways to demonstrate resistance even if the path to take doesn’t directly or immediately create change.
Why this matters in a global context
Although this article focuses on the United States, its implications are global. Universities worldwide increasingly emphasize student mental health, yet many adopt policies that prioritize institutional risk management over student dignity. The U.S. cases examined here illustrate how legal frameworks, student activism, and public accountability can expose these contradictions and shape reform.
At the same time, differences among these institutions, particularly in the varying advocacy strategies chosen in response to these issues, highlight a critical lesson: effective advocacy is deeply context dependent. Even within the same legal system, responses to harmful mental health policies are shaped by local cultures, governance structures, resources, and the priorities of affected communities. This is even more pronounced outside the United States, especially in regions without strong disability rights protections or safeguards for free expression.
As a result, advocacy efforts must resist importing reform templates directly. Strategies such as journalism, grassroots mobilization, and/or legal action must be carefully adapted to fit specific cultural, political, and institutional contexts. While these perspectives vary, the underlying principles centering lived experience, resisting exclusionary practices, and challenging stigma through collective action remain universal. With movements to make higher education and mental health advocacy more globalized, we must also recognize that meaningful reform depends not on a standardized “one-size-fits-all” approach, but on the careful adaptation of diverse tactics to meet local needs and realities.
Looking forward
Despite the harm documented throughout this article, recent advocacy efforts offer reason for cautious optimism. Lawsuits at Yale, Harvard, and other institutions have prompted universities to reassess entrenched practices, leading to policy changes, the elimination of exclusionary leave requirements, and greater transparency. Additionally, sustained organizing by students, alumni, and advocates has begun shifting campus conversations from risk management toward care, equity, and legal compliance.
It is also worth noting universities that have undertaken substantial reform on their own initiative. For example, Worcester Polytechnic Institute responded to a series of student suicides with a sweeping, campus-wide cultural shift that reframed student well-being as a shared institutional responsibility. Similarly, at Dartmouth College, President Sian Leah Beilock has made mental health a central institutional priority, and through its partnership with the JED Foundation, has been described as a “model institution” for its comprehensive and data-backed impact.
While these examples demonstrate what is possible, legal victories and positive cases are not enough. Students’ access to accommodations, due process, and non-discriminatory treatment should not hinge on their ability to pursue costly litigation, undertake major community-based advocacy efforts, or hope for universities to voluntarily reform of their own conviction.
Stronger, clearer federal protections are needed to secure student rights and hold schools accountable before harm occurs. In particular, gaps between HIPAA (stronger protections for health and medical records) and FERPA (weaker protections for educational records) that leave student medical privacy vulnerable need to be addressed. As Paul Johansen, President of Elis for Rachael, has argued:
“My dream would be for every high school senior applying to college to ask schools what their mental health policies are. If schools believed that mental health policies were a primary criterion upon which students made their college choices, I suspect they would upgrade their policies very quickly.”
Johansen also highlights FERPA as a critical barrier, noting that colleges can take advantage of a legal loophole to classify medical records as educational records, exposing deeply personal information to administrators without students’ informed consent. This, he argues, is unacceptable and must be addressed at the federal level.
Ultimately, mental health advocacy in higher education is about redefining what it means to belong. Students should never have to choose between their education and their well-being. The growing movement challenging these policies reminds us that institutions can change, but only when individuals are willing to step forward and actively push for that change.
Schools often tell students that these decisions are made in their best interest without ever giving them a say. It’s time to challenge that narrative.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to representatives from Elis for Rachael, The Sophie Fund, and Students 4 Mental Health Justice for engaging in meaningful, in-depth conversations about their advocacy work and for taking the time to review this article.
Read more from Taylor Locke
Taylor Locke, Mental Health Advocate
Taylor Locke is an award-winning mental health advocate and acclaimed international speaker. Once on track to work on U.S. Naval Nuclear Reactors, a life-altering series of events redirected their path. From surviving unimaginable trauma to influencing policy and research at global levels, Taylor is a certified “expert by experience” and has held various leadership roles across the world. Their work bridges science, storytelling, and the power of communities to push for powerful change.
