The U.S. is facing a youth mental health crisis. These skaters want to help

On an unseasonably warm fall afternoon, Frank "The Tank" Watkins welcomes me to one of his favorite places: the skatepark at Pier 62 in Manhattan.

"This is my community, my sanctuary, my second home," says Watkins, 28, who's currently a psychology graduate student at the New School.

As the park begins filling up, Watkins seems to know everyone arriving. While he chats with veteran skater Jon "Porkchop" Nicholson, a crew of young girls put on their gear and start whipping around the bowl. One of them is 12-year-old Sora Kaneko-Wolfe, who says one of her favorite things about the skatepark is the friends she's made there.

"Everyone supports each other," she says. "If you had a bad week, you can come here and talk to everyone and relieve your stress."

Watkins agrees. He's been skating for more than two decades — he won best trick at a local competition three years in a row, he's sponsored by several shops and he's even traveled across the country to compete in California. One of the reasons Watkins loves the sport so much, he tells me, is because it's always been a way to regulate his mental health. He also loves how diverse the culture is — people of different genders, races and ages hang out at the park, making it a safe and inclusive community.

"When people feel like they are having issues or they don't fit in, a lot of times they end up at the skatepark," he says.

Often, that means skaters are on the margins; in turn, they might be struggling with their mental health, just like millions of Americans. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, one in six young people experience a mental health disorder every year. When it comes to adults, that number is even higher. Watkins is all too familiar with these numbers. That's why he started working with the Harold Hunter Foundation, an organization in memory of the late New York City skater that aims to provide urban youth with resources and support through the skateboarding community.

Across town, Adam Brown was having similar conversations. He's a clinical psychologist and director of the New School Center for Global Health. Brown also frequents his local skatepark with his kids. Over the summer, he was at Uncle Funkys Boards buying a few things when he started chatting with the owner about the connection between skating and mental health. "And he said, 'You really gotta talk to this guy Frank,'" Brown remembers.

Brown felt inspired seeing professional skaters like John Rattray partner with Nike on a "Why So Sad?" campaign to bring attention to mental health and suicide prevention. But Brown wanted to find a more direct way to bring care into his community. Once he met Frank Watkins, the two decided to embark on a new initiative together: The Skate Mind Project, a program from The New School that leads psychological first aid trainings for skaters.

"Psychological first aid, in many ways, is just providing people with a very basic toolkit and framework for how to support other people when they're feeling overwhelmed," says Brown. "What we're trying to do is increase access to care through the training of non-mental health specialists. Not to take away the role of professionals, but in many contexts, people are not getting access to care."

During the first training session at Uncle Funkys in partnership with the NYC Skateboard Coalition, people piled pizza onto paper plates as Watkins, Brown and Vassar College student Sophia Ryder explained the three core tenets of PFA: Look, listen and link. Skaters were paired into groups to go through several exercises together. The main idea, Brown says, is to learn how to identify when someone is in distress, how to engage in conversation to help them feel less overwhelmed and how to direct them to professional care when needed.

Another goal for Brown and Watkins is to promote stronger relationships within skating culture, and to emphasize the role of skateparks and skate shops as community centers. As more and more people pick up skateboards every year, Brown and Watkins hope PFA trainings arm them with the resources to better support themselves and their loved ones. They're planning to expand the trainings in partnership with Gotham Park, a local organization focused on transforming a public park under the Brooklyn Bridge. Gotham helped to reopen one of New York's most iconic skate spots, Brooklyn Banks, after it spent years closed down.

"If you don't have space to meet people and to talk to people, then how do you form those relationships? Because you're not doing it in your apartment by yourself," says Rosa Chang, co-founder and president of Gotham Park. "That is what the purpose of our public spaces are. The key is to be able to reach people where they are, when they are, and to help build that muscle of mental health so you don't reach a crisis point, hopefully, but also, frankly, so that you don't feel alone."

Back at the Pier 62 skatepark, Jon "Porkchop" Nicholson says the PFA trainings and increased conversations around mental health have the potential to make a huge difference. He's 51, and in his decades of skating, he says he's lost several friends in the community to suicide and drug-related deaths.

"Even though skating is a communal thing, skateboarders are also loners," he says. "If you know how to handle your emotions, you'll know there are better ways to self-regulate than some of the things you might find walking these streets by yourself or skating these streets by yourself."

If you or someone you know may be considering suicide or is in crisis, call or text 9-8-8 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.