YOUNG VOICES |
By Yaretzi Gabriela Guerrero Verduzco
My advocacy for mental health began in the pre-pandemic years, when I was just 8 years old and facing a deep depression that left me unable to eat and visibly frail. I am now a junior at Everett Alvarez High School, and that world seems far away — but it’s never really that far behind.
During this time, my life took a sharp and painful turn. My parents’ divorce shattered the world I once knew, as I watched the two people I loved most drift apart. My life went from playing with baby dolls and playing kitchen to caring for my 5-year-old sister while my mother worked late into the night to keep us afloat. At an age when most children are still discovering the world, I was learning how to carry it. I tried to fill the space my absent parent left behind, though I was still just a child myself.
As an 8-year-old girl, taking care of another human being while still learning about life itself was not easy. Coming home from school, I’d divide my tasks between doing homework, cooking food for us and cleaning the house — my small hands carrying responsibilities far too heavy for my age. The chains of adulthood pierced deeply, for I had to leave my childhood behind in order to save my sister’s so she wouldn’t feel the pain of abandonment, and the pain that followed me and led me into a deep, dark hole.
Friends around me were fighting their own silent battles, facing the same painful truth: they struggled alone and healed alone.
With few mental health resources available, I was left to suffer and heal largely on my own. My mother, doing everything she could, arranged for me to meet with a school counselor. But at Frank Paul Elementary, there was only one counselor for more than 700 students. I spent weeks on a waitlist, and when I finally got sessions, they were just 25 minutes once a week — not nearly enough for what I was going through.
As I grew older, I realized my experience was not unique. Friends around me were fighting their own silent battles, facing the same painful truth: they struggled alone and healed alone. That truth became unbearable when a close friend of mine, unable to carry the pain any longer, ended her life. Her loss shook me deeply, forcing me to confront the harsh reality of the mental health crisis in my community. The root cause was clear — a severe shortage of mental health resources and support.
From that pain, a seed of purpose took root.
It grew into my lifelong commitment to mental health advocacy: to ensure no child is ever left to struggle in silence the way I once did. I began asking questions, seeking answers, and eventually working to give youth like me a voice — a voice that could spark change where silence once prevailed.
I began asking questions, seeking answers, and eventually working to give youth like me a voice — a voice that could spark change where silence once prevailed.
That journey led me to conduct research with AIM Youth Mental Health, a nonprofit that empowers high school students to address youth mental health challenges in their communities and work toward reducing the mental health crisis in Monterey County. Through the AIM Ideas Lab, I took part in in-depth discussions on emerging issues regarding youth mental health, surveyed more than 350 students, and analyzed both qualitative and quantitative data.
From that research, I helped develop recommendations that were presented to policymakers, school districts, and my community — steps aimed at securing more resources and creating real change. I want to voice youth struggles and raise awareness, put pressure on our community, and ultimately eliminate the stigma that comes with mental health.
In my second year as an AIM Ambassador, I worked on a project supporting the P.E.E.R. (Peer Education and Emergency Response) Mental Health Act of 2025 — a proposed federal bill aimed at improving mental health support for students and communities. This bill would provide grants to schools so teachers, staff, students, and even parents can be trained to recognize the signs of mental health challenges, respond appropriately, and connect young people to the help they need. It prioritizes early intervention, works to reduce stigma, and ensures that at least 25% of its funds go to rural schools like those in Monterey County. The legislation would authorize nearly $25 million annually through 2030 to make these trainings a reality nationwide.
To advance this effort, I’ve reached out to local news outlets and Monterey County Supervisors, and I plan to take this proposal to the California Department of Education, advocating for its statewide adoption. My hope is that this bill will help ensure no child is left unseen or unsupported — that the little 8-year-old girl I once was would have been recognized, helped, and never left to struggle alone.
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