Brenda Stringfellow, 38, sat at the front of a classroom at Returning Home, leading a weekly leadership class where men work through accountability, decision-making and the practical steps of rebuilding life after incarceration. Ten men leaned forward, their attention fixed on her next words.

A whiteboard on wheels leaned against the wall, filled with handwritten prompts and responses. One part read, “What are we doing today? Moving forward!”

Since 2024, Stringfellow has served as the director of operations at Returning Home, a non-profit transitional living and reentry program for men in Huntsville, Arkansas, where she works daily to ensure post-incarceration recovery is not just words on a whiteboard. Through structured housing, life-skills courses and mentorship, she supports the participants as they rebuild their lives in a state where 46% of those released from prison return within three years.

Unresolved fines, fees and warrants, paired with limited reentry services, make it harder to secure housing, find work and stay on track—all of which raise the risk of returning to prison, according to the Council of State Governments Justice Center. The parole process itself often fails to account for job continuity, while statewide shortages in housing, behavioral healthcare, substance use treatment and workforce training compound the problem further.

Stringfellow leads the class as someone who once lived through what the men are living through in that room—recovery from substance addiction. At that time in her life, she built her own routines and accountability, which is exactly what she now weaves into the program for them.

The need for that structure is especially important for the men in the program, as approximately 90% of them have a history of substance abuse, Stringfellow said. That percentage reflects a larger issue. According to the Prison Policy Initiative, the U.S. criminal legal system punishes substance use far more often than it provides treatment. Notably, roughly 41-49% of those arrested or incarcerated have a substance use disorder, compared to 8% of the general population.

As a group, Stringfellow prompted the men in the classroom to discuss the definition of triumph. “To encourage, to rally, to find inner strength, to be hardened,” one of the men read aloud.

“That’s huge,” Stringfellow said about the text, as the men’s eyes looked steadily at her, waiting for the next words that she would utter.

“When people talk about our stories as addicts, those are the words that they use — ‘They prevailed over addiction,” Stringfellow said. “They triumphed after incarceration.”

Seated near the front, 55-year-old Jonathan McDowell murmured a quiet “Mmm” in agreement.

“That’s y’all,” Stringfellow said, followed by a pause. “That’s us!”

Through its Community Alternative Program, the program aims to reduce recidivism by offering housing, addiction recovery support and life skills for roughly 30 men transitioning from incarceration. Entry into the 120-day program is referral-based, requiring a submission from a probation officer, attorney or public defender before a man can be considered.

Before Stringfellow ran the program, she had walked a similar path to those in the facility. She grew up splitting time between separated parents—one in Orlando and the other in Westfork—in households where addiction was a constant. Both of her parents were, in her words, “functioning alcoholics,” and substance abuse was present in both households.

When Stringfellow did not have community support or healthy relationships, school stopped mattering, and she was eventually kicked out for truancy. After smoking marijuana for the first time with a group that she described as “the wrong types of people,” she turned to opioids at 19 while in Orlando. What followed was a decade of substance abuse, petty possession and disorderly conduct. Eventually, she was convicted of residential burglary, receipt of a firearm and violating probation. Soon after, she landed in prison.

Forty days after her first release in 2017, she relapsed. It was only when her own support system advocated for her to return for treatment that the horizon of her life started to brighten. This was exactly what she needed.

“Rebuilding my life, learning how to give and receive love, was one of the hardest pieces,” she said. “It was something I had to learn that was taught to me in a very unhealthy way growing up.”

That second jail stint, roughly 30 days, was the first time anyone had offered her treatment instead of punishment, she said. When she was released, she cut ties with everyone she had known before prison and threw herself into what she called “ultra accountability.” She enrolled in Goodwill’s Traditional Employment Opportunity program, which places formerly incarcerated individuals in temporary jobs while providing job training and mentorship.

Because of a firearm charge on her record, she could not work inside a Goodwill store. However, by chance, the program placed her as a receptionist at Returning Home, which had just launched a reentry hub for released prisoners.

She has since been sober for nearly a decade and has never left Returning Home.

In 2021, she became director of the CAP program. Today, she is also a wife, mother, homeowner and the person standing at the front of the room, giving back what was once given to her.

The facility sits tucked away on a country road in Huntsville, where two-lane roads wind through open land and cows graze along the roadside as cars pass. The brick building is enclosed by tall trees, their scent carrying the quiet coolness of a forest.

Inside, the setting is cozy and modest. The walls in the house are plain, sometimes decorated with words of encouragement, and natural light fills the rooms.

Surrounding the table during the leadership class are plastic chairs filled with men who traded one kind of life for the chance at another. One of those individuals is 41-year-old Cody Scott, who arrived at the program in 2023 and went through the 120-day program. When it ended, the staff reviewed his case and gave him the option to stay for work. He volunteered doing case work for six months before being hired full time as the facility’s caseworker and manager, where his office shares a wall with Stringfellow’s.

He carries a caseload of 14 men, helping them sort through legal obligations, court dates and fines—the same work Stringfellow once did for him. “I had never been sober in my adult life,” he said of his past. He said he found his way back to his daughter, now 14, whose life he had not been a part of for nearly a decade, adding that Stringfellow was one of the first people who made him feel like this was possible.

“She’s got a way with bringing out the best in someone, and that kind of support was something I was not used to having,” Scott said about Stringfellow. “I was used to doing everything on my own.”

The residence’s community pantry stocked with cereal boxes hints at one of the small rituals the men had come to value—breakfast on Fridays, a time to sit together and debrief the week. At the end of every week following 50 hours of work and case management, the men go back to the facility to pay down their fines and share a meal. Stringfellow said that, on average, they enter the facility with $6,000 in fines each, and Friday is the day they make their way to the bank to pay some of it off.

That same day, a volunteer typically comes in to make biscuits and gravy, but that person never arrived that particular morning. So, Stringfellow drove down the street to the local donut shop and came back with enough for everyone. She laughed while telling the story, adding that there was something slightly humorous about watching men with face tattoos eat Valentine’s Day-themed donuts with heart designs.

Some of them probably would not care if they skipped breakfast altogether, she said. But some of them would. For her, it has never just been about the food.

“It’s a big piece of fellowship, it’s a big piece of our community,” she said. “You find out so much over a meal.”

She has noticed that during family meals around holidays the men open up in ways that they rarely do day to day.

“That’s when they talk the most, really,” Stringfellow said. “That is when they are more transparent.”

That, she said, is why breakfast matters to her and why she went out of her way to get the donuts that morning upon realizing the volunteer cook did not show.

Beyond the building, a pool surrounded by a gate sat, still and waiting. Once a month on a Saturday, the facility holds a family day, which includes three hours of meals, games and a bouncy house. It is one of the few times the men are allowed visitors on site, and for fathers, it is a chance to let their families see how far they have come.

On a nearby bench, a resident sat smoking a cigarette, his face buried in his phone. No one called him back inside. Stringfellow pointed out that quitting smoking does not need to be a focus right now, especially given everything they have walked away from. Whenever they feel they need one, they can have one.

What does get monitored is substance use. The men are regularly and randomly tested as part of the program’s structure, with a minimum of one test per week and several over the weekend. Stringfellow added that although none of the residents have fought a drug test, scheduling is always difficult. And when they go on pass, a time when a resident is authorized to leave the supervised facility for a designated amount of time to engage in community activities, they are immediately tested upon their return.

Back inside on the kitchen counter, the box of donuts sat beside the bulletin board where that week’s results were posted.

For Stringfellow, the tests carry personal weight. “When I was finally able to pass drug tests, it was a very proud moment for me,” she said. She remembered avoiding her probation officer and the courts during active addiction, knowing the result would be a disappointment. Now, watching the men in the program apply for jobs and fight to see their children—doing it because they know they can pass—is one of the more rewarding parts of the work, she said.

During the week, those same men clock in at places like Tyson and Butterball, which partner with the facility to help provide the men a work foundation. Through this, they build routines and paychecks one shift at a time, learning what it means to show up.

“Man, I gotta get up. On time. I gotta set an alarm,” McDowell said during the class, as he reflected on the transition into routine that many of the men described about their early days in the program.

Another individual who has learned to ease back into work is 56-year-old Christopher Benko, though everyone at the facility calls him by his last name. He speaks slowly and deliberately, with a faded tattoo on his right hand and a warmth that makes him easy to talk to. He arrived at Returning Home with a broken femur still healing, the clothes on his back and a severe drinking habit, sleeping on the streets.

As Benko described it, he was going downhill until he waved the white flag at his probation officer and asked about programs that could set him on the right path. Since arriving at Returning Home, he has found employment at Butterball, opened a checking and savings account, recently got his license back and bought a car. His fines are paid, and he is almost off probation. He continues to add money to his savings with the intention of purchasing a house, although he said he is “still new to the house-buying thing.”

The National Low Income Housing Coalition states that a conviction record, layered on top of a national shortage of 7.3 million affordable rental units, leaves many formerly incarcerated people with nowhere stable to land upon release. Without stable housing, the path to recidivism is short. Benko knows this reality. But through his own hard work and mentorship from leaders like Stringfellow, he is working toward a place to call his own.

“I still to this day am just like, I don’t know how I got to where I am at,” he said, “but I know I am in a great place.”

In the facility’s TV room, hooks lined the wall with positive character awards, a form of peer recognition the men give each other to acknowledge integrity in action. They do this publicly during every house meeting on Monday. Sometimes the awards follow a write-up, nodding at the way someone handled a sanction. Other times, it is celebrating the day someone got their driver’s license back.

As Stringfellow invests in the men and recognizes their accomplishments, she also works on her own self-improvement. For a year and a half, she has been enrolled in the Christian Leaders Institute, an online program that seeks to empower individuals with Biblical knowledge and leadership skills. The same way she pushes the men to keep growing is the same way she approaches her own growth.

“I think it’s really important to always invest in how to be better at what you’re passionate about,” she said.

She also learns from the men themselves. Working in her position, she said, has made her a better leader. She has grown to learn how to support others, handle difficult situations and hold boundaries. “It’s definitely a learning experience every day,” she said.

“I 100% know that I experienced those things to be better equipped to help my guys—not to tell them what to do, but just to come from a level of empathy of, ‘Hey, this is what worked for me, and this may not be best for you, but I’m gonna grind this out with you and we are gonna figure it out,’” she said.

Stringfellow said she ended up working with men largely by chance, but she has come to believe that men sometimes resonate with female figures better. She said she does not cast herself as a mother figure to these men, but she recognizes the weight of being a consistent female presence in their lives.

When working with the men in the program, she leads with honesty. “Your kids weren’t enough for you to be sober before, they’re not enough now,” she tells them. “It’s got to be about you and a bigger purpose in life.” For Stringfellow, that conviction is the foundation of everything Returning Home offers: structure, accountability, a community that does not give up on them and a path toward finding that purpose.

Every week, she conducts a leadership class intertwined with verse-mapping, which is a structured, in-depth Bible study method that analyzes a single verse by diving into its historical context, keyword meanings, alternate translations and cross-references. While the organization identifies as a ministry, participants are not required to be Christian to enroll, and all faith-based activities are voluntary.

The same Friday that she picked up heart-decorated donuts, the class centered on the story of David and Goliath, one of the most well-known stories in the Bible that highlights the underdog.

David is a young shepherd boy who defeats a giant warrior against all odds and would later become king. Goliath is described as a giant soldier standing around nine feet tall, clad in heavy armor and carrying a massive spear. The text indicates that Goliath was so intimidating that the opposing army would not face him, until David, carrying only a sling and a few stones, stepped forward.

“Sometimes we wait for better tools, and David didn’t wait for better tools,” Stringfellow said.

Upon reading the verse where David released the stone from the slingshot, Stringfellow asked the men what their Goliath was, encouraging conversation about their recovery journey and how their story relates to David’s triumph over what stood against him.

Several men pointed out multiple incarcerations, substance abuse, as well as relationships and choices they described as “poor.” At a separate time, Stringfellow mentioned how she spent her early years socializing through drinking and substance abuse. Together, the group acknowledged that hardships such as those in their past are only some of the challenges they will face throughout their lives.

For the men, including Stringfellow, the work happening around that rectangle of tables is not just spiritual. According to research by Brian and Melissa Grim, faith may be one of the most effective tools they have toward ongoing triumph in recovery. But Stringfellow is careful NOT to frame it that way. Rather than relying on faith passively, she said it is something that should walk alongside the work. Saying “God’s got this” only goes so far, she believes, without the actions to match it.

The men, whose faces were still but nodded in agreement, were the same ones who teased each other between moments of reflection, the kind of ribbing that only exists between people who trust one another. Benko, in particular, seemed to be a recurring subject, with his name prompting easy laughter around the room. He was quick to laugh along.

Throughout his time at the facility, he said he has watched other men leave permanently without saying a word, whatever their reason may be. But he said he would never go out that way. When his time comes to graduate from the program, he plans to move somewhere close and keep returning for visits.

“Fines paid, everything good,” Benko said, grinning as he talked about his recovery. For men in the facility like him, triumph is a busy kitchen on a Friday morning and the unfamiliar feeling that this time, they have a community worth staying for.

“She’s my sister,” he said of Stringfellow, “and they’re my brothers.”

The tight-knit community Benko described—the one worth staying for—is the same one Stringfellow once rebuilt herself following years of addiction. As she continues showing up for the men in the program, even if that means driving down the street at dawn and coming back with a box of Valentine’s Day-designed donuts so they can have their morning ritual, she does not let the weight of her past hold her back. After all, that same history is what gives her credibility in rooms that matter most to her.

“My past is really what skyrocketed me into the position I’m in now,” she said. “It’s done nothing but helped me today.”

The post How one woman’s recovery became a roadmap for others  appeared first on Hill Magazine.

When Laura Icenogle, 51, was asked what Arkansas does well in supporting dementia caregivers, she laughed.

It was a full, loud belly laugh that took up her entire breath, the kind that would undoubtedly be contagious in almost any other setting. But the reality behind it wasn’t funny. It was the exhausted sound of a woman who spent nearly a decade watching systems fall short and being the only person left to hold the pieces together.

Her situation is a common standard for families in Arkansas. Here, when people struggle with dementia, the support systems are often too thin to matter, leaving families to wing it through a mess of financial and logistical hurdles that never seem to end, resulting in caregivers paying the price in the form of their mental health.

Right now, over 60,000 Arkansans are living with the disease, a higher share of the senior population than the national average, according to the Arkansas Alzheimer’s Association. In a state that is largely rural and already struggling with high rates of chronic health issues, the need for help is simply moving faster than the resources can keep up.

By 2015, Icenogle’s life had already begun to revolve around her father. He was a veteran living in Prairie Grove, dealing with a tricky combination of dementia, Parkinson’s and mental health challenges. As his condition progressed, it became clear he could no longer manage alone.

As an only child, the responsibility settled entirely on her. It forced a life-altering pivot that most people never have to consider. She walked away from a career on Wall Street, abandoning the high-speed, high-stakes logic of the finance world for the slow, more illogical world of memory loss.

The transition was jarring. In New York, her world was defined by logic: problems were identified, analyzed and solved with data and quick, decisive action. There was a sense of agency and a clear path to a result.

But in Prairie Grove, her world would become defined by the navigation of a system that no one could make sense of. She was faced with a father whose health was getting progressively worse, and a disease that didn’t care about a “return on investment” or a logical progression. She became a full-time caregiver overnight, learning to navigate an entirely different world.

Dementia is rarely a steady decline; it is a series of unpredictable ups and downs. While the clinical timeline for dementia progression usually spans from eight to twelve years, according to the Alzheimer’s Society, that path is rarely predictable. For many, it starts with small lapses you can almost ignore: a forgotten name, a lost set of keys or a repeated story that feels like a simple quirk of aging. But eventually, it hits a point where the smaller things create a bigger crisis, and 24-hour supervision becomes the only way to keep a loved one safe.

A guide of support available through dementia progression at the Schmieding Center for Senior Health and Education. The Schmieding Center is a space in Springdale that gives support and resources for those caring for loved ones with dementia.

For Icenogle, dealing with the Veteran’s Affairs added an additional layer of frustration to her father’s decline. He relied on the VA for his medical treatment, but Icenogle said the system’s rigid disability ratings often failed to reflect the treatment a person actually needs. Though her father was battling a multitude of medical conditions, that made caring for him more difficult, the VA placed him at a rating that limited the help Icenogle would receive with his care.

“They have the services there,” she said. “But if you don’t meet that rating, you can’t access them.”

Even with the Veterans Health Care System of the Ozarks near Fayetteville, the physical proximity didn’t bridge the divide. These ratings determine whether professional help arrives, or a family is left in isolation. She found herself fighting a system that prioritized codes over the man in front of her.

“I was pulling teeth and nails to get someone to give him a shower once a week,” she said.

For a while, the crisis remained within Arkansas. Then, in 2019, that changed.

Her mother, who was living in Franklin Township, New Jersey, with Icenogle’s stepfather, started to develop early signs of cognitive decline. Her moment of clarity regarding her mother’s state came without warning during an accidental pocket dial.

On the line, Icenogle could hear her stepfather trying to guide her mother into a wheelchair. He repeated the same instruction again and again, while her mother, who was battling Parkinson’s, struggled to follow. The confusion played out in real time over the phone: the sound of two people drowning in a room a thousand miles away.

“That was the moment,” Icenogle said. “There was no pretending anymore.”

After that, the geography of her life shifted. Roughly 1,300 miles separate Prairie Grove from Franklin Township, and Icenogle and her husband began moving between the two in response to whatever demanded their attention most at the time.

She had to coordinate care from wherever she was not. Appointments were scheduled and confirmed remotely and information didn’t always transfer cleanly between providers. She found herself repeating the same details to different nurses and clarifying instructions that had been lost between conversations. She was constantly on edge regarding her father’s care, as she was the only family he had to lean on.

That kind of sustained pressure, often referred to as shadow work, is the invisible labor of caregiving. For people like Icenogle, it can look like hours spent on hold with insurance companies, late nights preparing for what the day ahead will hold and constant, never-ending anxiety that comes with waiting for the next phone call.

According to the Alzheimer’s Association, nearly 60% of caregivers report high levels of emotional stress, with more than one-third describing that stress as severe. Over time, the strain can turn physical. The CDC found that long-term caregivers face increased risks for heart disease, weakened immune responses and chronic exhaustion, especially when support is limited.

For Icenogle, the breaking point of that system became clear during a trip to New Jersey. While she was there caring for her mother, the VA called and told her that she needed to pick her father up from the emergency room back in Arkansas.

“I kept telling them I’m not there,” she said. “There is nobody else.”

After endless back and forth, the hospital eventually found him a ride, but they made it very clear that it was a temporary solution to Icenogle’s predicament. Her dad needed someone there permanently.

Finding additional help for her dad was draining. She struggled to get access to transportation services, pain medication, palliative care and any form of in-home help.

Managing one parent was consuming but managing two, separated by half the country, was unsustainable. As both parents declined, Icenogle eventually brought her mother and stepfather to Arkansas. She consolidated their care into one place, not because it was easier, but because it was the only way to keep doing it at all.

What she was navigating is part of a massive, growing national problem. More than seven million Americans aged 65 and older are living with Alzheimer’s, the most common form of dementia, and this number is projected to nearly double by 2050, according to the Alzheimer’s Association. The number of caregivers to address this problem, however, is not growing anywhere near the same pace.

But in Arkansas, the systems meant to support that growth are visibly strained, specifically in the workforce. According to Indeed, home health aides in the state earn about $14.09 per hour on average, which is 20% below the national average. It is work that is physically demanding and emotionally heavy, and without better compensation, fewer workers are staying in those roles.

In Northwest Arkansas, these shortages are already creating bottlenecks. At the Schmieding Center for Senior Health and Education, a program in Springdale that provides training and support to dementia caregivers, social worker Lauren Gale said that families can sometimes wait up to six months just for a dementia evaluation through the Washington Regional Senior Health Clinic.

Those delays are tied to a shortage of physicians trained in geriatrics, a field that has not kept pace with the aging population. Because Medicare and Medicaid reimbursement rates for geriatric care tend to be lower than other specialties, it is less financially attractive for new doctors.

Those delays narrow the window for early intervention, leaving caregivers to interpret symptoms and make life-altering decisions on their own without a clear roadmap.

The financial cost makes resources unattainable for many as well. After Icenogle’s mother was diagnosed, the family hired a live-in aide, but within a year, the cost approached $100,000.

“It just disappears,” Icenogle said. “You don’t realize how fast until it’s gone.”

For many, this represents a cruel reality of handling Medicaid, where families must drain every cent of a lifetime’s worth of savings, just to qualify for state help. It is a system that punishes those who save and leaves them with nothing to pass on. Medicare does not cover long-term in-home care, leaving gaps that are filled either by life savings or unpaid labor.

According to AARP, in Arkansas, labor is provided by roughly 178,000 family members who have become a makeshift workforce. They pour an estimated 257 million hours into unpaid care every year. If that labor were paid, the bill would rack up to $4.6 billion annually.

New federal efforts like the GUIDE Model are supposed to bridge these gaps, but for most families, that support is still a future possibility. This leaves local support centers, like the Schmieding Center, to pick up the slack. Schmieding Center social worker Jay Vogler runs what he has called a Memory Café. It is a space with activities and socialization, giving both the patient and the caregiver a rare chance to just feel normal for an hour.

The center also hosts essentrics sessions: gentle full-body workouts that are meant to improve both physical and mental well-being. That specific rhythm helps cut through the confusion for the participants while giving caregivers a few hours of much-needed breathing room: the time to go to the grocery store without checking a clock every thirty seconds, the time to get a haircut or simply the time to sit in a parked car in total silence and relaxation.

Even with those wins, the gaping holes in support are hard to ignore. In NWA, the most apparent issue, according to Gale, is the lack of reliable daytime care. While caregivers in larger cities can often rely on adult day centers that are covered by Medicaid, the last adult day center in the region closed during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Outside of the Schmieding Center, options are slim. There are additional respite services in the area, but locations are limited and not plentiful.

Even within the Schmieding Center, capacity is at a breaking point. Adherence to certain guidelines gives them a limit to how many people are allowed within the space at a time. That limit is often far lower than the need.

“I send out a weekly registration to 25 participants, and it’s full within the first 20 minutes,” Gale said. “Jay and I see caregivers just plummet themselves because they’re trying so hard.”

This labor triggers a secondary crisis: a mental health emergency among the caregivers themselves. According to the Arkansas Alzheimer’s Association, 30% of caregivers have reported being diagnosed with depression.

Without consistent access to professional respite, caregivers often experience prolonged trauma, watching a loved one’s personality vanish while their own social connections and mental stability erode. In Arkansas, where professional help is scarce in comparison to the need, this burnout often leads to higher rates of mental health struggles among unpaid family members who feel they have no off switch.

This is a large reason why many support groups have been created for family caregivers for loved ones with dementia in NWA.

At Clear Creek Memory Care in Fayetteville, peer support takes place on the first Monday of each month in a side room right by the entrance.

In March of 2026, Eleanor Dalmut, 76, arrived early to the Monday meeting. She is a petite woman with peppery hair pulled to the nape of her neck, but her presence fills the room. She spent seven years caring for her husband, Frank, before he passed away in January 2025. She continues to return to the meetings to serve as a source of support for those going through what she once went through herself.

“When my husband passed away… I continued to come because I felt like I had something to offer for the people coming up behind me,” she said.

The room is small, and the circle of chairs is misshapen to make room for everyone who needs to be there. There are two tables taking up space in the room: one is filled with hot pizza for attendees to snack on during the meeting, and the other has a vase with two bright green hydrangeas, bringing lightness to a meeting focused on such serious matters. The air is thick with love, heartache and compassion, only other caregivers understand.

The conversation flows easily between practical questions, like how to get a loved one to become more involved, and more difficult ones, like the unspoken reality of end-of-life decisions. There is no judgment here, only a collective understanding of what it means to love someone who is slowly disappearing in front of your eyes.

Dalmut remains a steady presence in the center of it all. With kind eyes and a quiet, reassuring presence, she becomes someone others turn toward for guidance. It is a kind of support that is difficult to replace.

It was something Icenogle did not have access to consistently throughout her time caring for her parents.

Her caregiving journey ended in 2024. Both of her parents died within months of each other, and she was there for both, holding each of them in her arms as they passed on.

But for the caregiver, the crisis doesn’t necessarily end at the funeral. After a decade of hyper-vigilance and of making someone else’s health the center of your life, the silence that follows can be deafening.

What she experienced is becoming the new reality for Arkansas. The state is aging, the number of residents with dementia is rising and the systems meant to support them are falling behind. While many of these systems are creating issues at a national level, specific state support is lacking as well.

Arkansas is struggling to provide plentiful and affordable respite programs, consistent support systems and fairly paid caregivers. Unless the state’s support systems expand, more families will be left to like Icenogle once was: giving everything up to support their loved ones through their decline until there is little left of themselves to give.

The post The Weight of Caring: A Look Into the Arkansas Dementia Crisis  appeared first on Hill Magazine.

The end of a cold winter signals the return of Fayetteville’s favorite outdoor activities. Residents of “The Natural State” live and breathe for the fresh Arkansas air, and students at the University of Arkansas can be seen on walks and runs the moment the sun peeks through. The culture in Fayetteville differs from most college towns in its passion for the outdoors and staying active with a growing number of U of A students joining run clubs, going on group walks or practicing on the pickleball court. 

Students wasted no time swapping the treadmills for trails as soon as the snow melted, and Josie, a student employee at the University Recreation + Wellness center, said that she saw a noticeable drop in the number of students in the gym when the weather started to warm up. 

“Seeing them outside on a walk in short sleeves makes me want to leave here and join them”, Joise said. 

One day, students are watching the snow melt from the stairmaster, and the next, they are gathered at Wilson Park gearing up for a run, as if on cue. In Fayetteville, there is no fooling yourself that tomorrow is the day to get outside when the city around you wastes no time. It creates a kind of urgency in a world that enables “bedrotting” and “doom-scrolling”, and this urgency is something students come embrace. 

Prioritizing health and wellness is a common trait among Fayetteville’s residents, and a change in seasons signals a change in how it is expressed. Founding Executive of the U of A Wellness Society Victoria Watson said that it is her “cue” to go outside when it is sunny–even if it is still in the mid-40s.

“The treadmill can get boring because you’re kind of looking at nothing,” Watson explained, “I like walking outside and being around nature.” 

It is in Fayetteville’s DNA to yearn for the outdoors because of the scenery and nature of the city, with the U of A website boasting that the nation’s best outdoor amenities and hiking trails are only a short drive from campus. Northwest Arkansas has built the city around the mutual appreciation for fresh air, accommodating U of A students with countless trails, sport courts and crosswalks.

The Razorback Regional Greenway is the backbone of the NWA trail system, spanning over 40 miles and connecting Fayetteville to 5 other cities. Almost every trail leads back to this one, making it a locally beloved piece of the city’s infrastructure. Kessler Mountain is a popular hiking spot to spend the day and earn a breathtaking view at the top, and is only one of over 50 parks found in Arkansas. Fayetteville prides itself on its nature and active culture, and makes consistent efforts to uphold its values and earn its top 10 spot as “Best Place to Live” (U.S. News & World Report) year after year.

Students agree that the local culture is largely what encourages them to be active and take advantage of the outdoors more than their hometowns. Watson agrees that the atmosphere in Fayetteville is more outside-focused and nature-focused than what she grew up around.

While many students get outside to clear their heads during midterms or get some alone time to think, the city infrastructure has become an increasingly popular third space to socialize. Between “Hot Girl Walks”, run clubs and outdoor yoga, the largest “hot spot” on campus is simply just outside your door. Watson said that her favorite way to walk is with friends, adding that she could go for hours just chatting.

The hottest sneakers and the newest athletic set are social symbols, setting personal records on runs earns bragging rights, and first dates are more likely to be at the pickleball court than a fancy restaurant. 

Many students get fresh air with a peaceful walk or jog alone or with friends, and many enjoy adding a competitive aspect to keep things interesting. Training for a marathon or signing up for a tennis tournament are becoming increasingly popular ways to spend your free time. 

Watson shared that her go-to outdoor Spring activities include tennis and pickleball, reading, and going on walks with friends.

Every college campus has its unique trend. Freshmen come back home after their first semester having picked up certain traits of their school’s students, such as a hairstyle or way of dressing. For the U of A, it’s an appreciation for the outdoors and a love of moving your body. Living in Fayetteville comes with a built-in accountability to make every sunny day count.

Daylight Saving Time is right around the corner on March 8, meaning longer days and warmer weather is in view. The trails will be bustling, and students will be taking advantage of every opportunity for outdoor activity. In true Fayetteville style, get outside this Spring and do not miss out on the options available to the city.

The post Trading Treadmills for Trails: Fayetteville Gets Outside appeared first on Hill Magazine.

Yoga has always been a workout conducive for busy college students; it offers a chance to relax, de-stress and find some present movement for those with stacked schedules. Recently, students at the University of Arkansas have started to support local businesses that seek to kick their yoga practices up higher- 95 degrees Fahrenheit higher. 

Heated yoga takes the flow of yoga and hikes up the intensity by causing people to break a sweat in poses that were once soothing. The temperature controlled workouts have risen in popularity at UA with several local heated yoga/flow studios in Fayetteville, like Nooma and Spoonmoon, and ELXR in Johnson.

These studios offer a variety of class types- ranging from slow, Yin-Yoga-like flows, to high intensity mat pilates with weights. The diversity of class types provides students a chance to try new workouts week-to-week and stay consistent with their movement goals. All of these classes are performed in heated rooms with temperatures up to 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

Student Kylie Martin started working at the Nooma location in Little Rock Arkansas during her senior year of high school, and now works at the location in Fayetteville. 

“It’s not like 100 degrees out in the Arkansas summer- it’s not humid,” she said. “It comes from infrared panels, so it doesn’t feel as suffocating.”

Martin says the type of exercises at Nooma are different from any other class she has attended, which motivates her to attend class daily. The workouts combine yoga-based philosophy on mindfulness and a high rate of movement to create a fusion that keeps their brand unique and authentic. 

“The style of movement at Nooma is more focused on how you feel during the movement rather than if you’re doing the movement correctly,” Martin said. 

Nooma repeatedly implements this rhetoric in their mission statement. According to their website, Nooma is an environment where how you feel is valued more than how you look. They enforce the philosophy of meeting people where they are at, which can attract customers, and especially college students who are new to yoga and workout classes in general. 

“It’s as much of a mental regulation for me as it is physical,” Martin said. 

The popularity of heated workout studios around Fayetteville has opened up some new job opportunities for students as well. Sophomore Caroline Hatfield has been a Nooma instructor for about three months after attending classes starting her junior year of high school.

Hatfield says instructing has helped her create even stronger relationships with the people she attends classes with in a new way.

“It gives me a sense of community outside of my regular friends, but I love that I can invite my close friends as well,” she said. “It’s a good way to spend time with each other.”

Hatfield says that attending heated workout classes has visibly become more popular in the past year among college-age students, specifically girls, and that social media is a key factor in this. 

“I feel like a lot of people go just to get a cute picture [to post],” she said “I’ll even post it too because it’s cute, and it’s also a way to brag on your friends that instruct.”

Like Martin, Hatfield also said that the heat aspect of the class makes her feel accomplished both mentally and physically. She said that the combination of yoga, pilates, barre, weight lifting, and dance at Nooma is incomparable to other workouts she has attended. 

“I’ve never gotten a better workout than sweating for an hour… it gets all the stress out after a long day or a long week,” she said. 

A different take on heated yoga flows is woven into the practices at ELXR yoga studio in Johnson, Arkansas. Here, no weights are needed to have a sweat-inducing workout under the infrared panels- each of their three categories of classes (Power Flow, Deep Stretch, and Flow & Stretch) combine the mindful movements of Vinyasa yoga with the intensity of pilates-like workouts in correspondence with their class names.

Gabby Kellar, a freshman at the U of A, has been attending ELXR classes for four years. While other obligations have required Kellar to take a step away from yoga for certain periods during these past four years, she says she loves ELXR and yoga too much to stay away for too long.

“I really love the instructors, and it’s such an amazing workout… The teachers are so focused on making sure I know what I need to do to not injure myself during the poses, and it makes me feel so empowered and safe,” Kellar said. 

Kellar says that the practice of yoga in her life has become so integral to her growth as a person, that it led her to enroll in the 200 hour Yoga Teaching Certification Course offered by ELXR this summer after talking with a few instructors at the studio in Johnson.

“Yoga is one of my favorite things to do. The other day, I ended up talking to a teacher after [class] and she told me that [yoga teacher training] was one of the best experiences of her life,” she said. “I want to do it to get better at yoga, and eventually, I want to work there- that’s an environment where I can definitely see myself working.” 

While attending these workouts also helps alleviate stress and preoccupations about her day, she said, one of the biggest motivators for her to continue practicing yoga is the chances the movements open for mobility when she gets older.

“My goal is to still be able to move a lot when I get older,” Kellar said. “Yoga is a great way to make sure I keep my longevity in my ability to move and make sure I’m staying healthy without doing any extreme exercise [to injure myself]- I just want to do it for my future self.”

The diverse landscape of Fayetteville and the hub that it serves for employees and students from across the United States for educational and job purposes has allowed it to grow into an area where students especially have the liberty of a variety of workout spaces and opportunities; yoga being one of them. With this relatively recent interpretation of yoga in the addition of heated infrared panels and the combining of movement styles, students are free to find what exercise means for them in their lifestyles when aligning with their schedules, skills, and mental health. Studios like Nooma and ELXR are now more spaces where students can find worth in themselves outside of their studies and obligations, and, more importantly, where they can reinvent who they are and what version they want to bring to each day.

The post Turning Up the Heat: Heated Workouts On the Rise appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Samantha Smith

Every Sunday during football season, millions of fans settle in front of their TVs or head to tailgates, ready for another day of fandom and rivalry. Across the country, the rituals of the National Football League dominate the autumn and winter seasons, creating peak moments of shared national tension. But over the years, researchers and advocates have begun sounding an alarm about what doesn’t show up on the field: a troubling uptick in domestic violence tied to football Sundays.

A major study by economists David Card and Gordon Dahl found that in places where the home team was expected to win by at least four points, an “upset loss” corresponded with about a 10 percent rise in male-on-female intimate partner violence in the hours immediately after the game. The increase is concentrated around the final minutes, suggesting emotional volatility tied directly to the game’s outcome.

That said, some experts caution against taking that 10 percent leap too literally. In a recent emergency department study, researchers found no significant spike in assault-related injuries on Super Bowl Sunday compared to control days. PubMed, however, says the reality is complicated: many incidents of domestic violence go unreported, and isolating “game day” as the trigger ignores the persistent patterns of control and abuse that exist year-round. Experts stress that while the stress of a loss can be an accelerant, the true issue is the underlying, chronic climate of power and control within a relationship.

Marcus Pittman, a father of three Arkansas students and lifelong Chiefs football fan, has noticed tension in his household on game days.“It becomes a perfect storm. The alcohol, tension, and disappointment,. You see grown men pounding the couch or cussing the ref, Pittman says. If someone’s already simmering at home, that energy definitely leaks over.”

   Hannah Williams, a junior studying social work, volunteered at a local shelter last season and  she recalled one client who told her she dreaded Sundays. “She said he was more volatile after losses. It’s like Sunday becomes this emotional barometer,” Hannah said. Williams emphasized that many victims feel stuck. “Sunday is when more people are home, harder to get away, and social norms make excuses for aggression masked as passion.”

According to the Roanoke Times, Domestic violence awareness advocates also point to a pivotal moment in 1993 when shelters around the country reported up to a 40 percent rise in calls on Super Bowl Sunday and the day after. Back then, NBC even ran a public service announcement acknowledging the issue. The media dubbed it a “day of dread for women,” framing the game as more than just entertainment.

Sports psychologist Jeff Stotts of Mount Saint Mary’s Academy in Little Rock explained the problem may lie in how deeply fans tie their identity to their team’s performance.

 “The way people consume sports now results in individuals tying their own self-worth and identity into the team, specifically that team’s success,” he explained. “As a result, the wins and the losses begin to feel personal.”

Stotts added that this emotional link can heighten volatility when outcomes don’t go as expected. Stotts nodded that people who make something like sports a major part of your life, your emotional state can be linked to something you have no control over. That lack of control can create instability or anger that spills into other areas of life.

What the research shows  is not that every Sunday is a crisis, but that Sundays, especially when the stakes feel high, can act as flashpoints in already abusive relationships. It’s not football that causes violence, but emotional stress, substance use, and the cultural norms around identity and competition that can push someone over the edge.

Although sports can unite, they can also amplify underlying conflicts. Raising awareness about the circumstances that lead to domestic violence is essential, so individuals and communities can take steps to prevent harm before it occurs.

The post Beyond the Upset: The Troubling Link Between NFL Games and Domestic Violence appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Joe Rousseau

On Saturday, Oct. 4, Fayetteville rock climbing gym and coffee shop Boulders and Brews hosted “House of Cruxes,” their third annual Halloween-themed bouldering competition, and their seventh competition since opening in November 2022. 

In total, 125 climbers showed up to compete. Some came from as far away as San Antonio and Salt Lake City, but most were NWA locals, and many were students at the University of Arkansas. As many climbers as there were, there were even more spectators and volunteers; during finals, the entire venue was packed tight, with attendees standing shoulder to shoulder to watch or help facilitate the grand finale.

The event was open to climbers of all ages and levels of experience: climbers could choose between the recreational, intermediate, or advanced divisions, each with a separate category for male and female. There was also a dedicated non-binary division, and males had an additional “elite” division for the most experienced climbers.

In “bouldering,” as opposed to more traditional types of rock climbing, climbers do not use a rope or harness, and climb to only about 10-12 feet off the ground above a padded floor. Because each route, or “boulder,” is so much shorter than in traditional climbing, the moves are typically more difficult. Where traditional climbing is primarily a test of technique and endurance, bouldering is a test of technique and strength.

At House of Cruxes, the gym was set with 40 boulders, numbered 1-40 in order of difficulty, with more difficult boulders worth more points. Participants had three hours to attempt whichever boulders they wanted; the point values for the top 5 most difficult boulders that each climber successfully completed were added up, and the four highest-scoring climbers from each division moved on to finals.

All through September, the gym was full of competitors training, hoping to be in peak form for the competition. Some went as hard as they could, pushing their abilities and bodies further than they ever had. Beau Baldwin, who competed in the male’s advanced division, took a different approach.

“I’ve been climbing just as often, but for shorter sessions,” he said. “I’ve mostly kept to easier climbs, so I’m still getting the work in, but I’m staying fresh and not wearing myself out.”

Most climbers who competed did so primarily for the fun of the event, and for the spirit of the competition itself. Mason Rheay, who won first place in the male’s intermediate division, said he only wanted to perform better than he did last year. His primary goal was to make the podium; he had forgotten about the winners’ prizes altogether.

But prizes there were. At the front of the gym was a table full of them – tee-shirts, sweaters, chalk bags, hand lotions, fully decorated cakes, nail clippers, concert tickets, gift certificates, dog toys, candies, stickers, and more. These prizes were ostensibly meant for the competition’s winners, but there were far more prizes available than there were winners – more even than there were participants. So, all 125 competitors were entered into a raffle. Names were called for the better part of an hour, and when everyone had taken something, and the table was still full, the names were thrown back into the hat, and another round began. 

“We try to make it so that nobody leaves empty-handed,” said Pat Randall, co-owner of Boulders and Brews. “We’ve always been more focused on spirit and community than the competition. Of course we want the competition to go well, but it’s still mostly a community event. The prize for best costume is as significant as the prize for best climber.”

Community is obviously an important part of Boulders and Brews’s identity. Randall made clear that, though he is running a business that is meant to make money, the parts of the job he finds most rewarding have to do with what the gym provides for its customers. Even the competitions, according to him, make little to no money; but because of the relationships they help forge between the attendees, he believes they are indispensable.

Randall said that he’s had other jobs that made more money, but that he’s never felt more satisfied with his work than he is at Boulders and Brews. He loves seeing people find a space where they can get stronger and make new friends.

“Sometimes, behind the counter, I feel like a friendly NPC in a video game,” he said. “My job is to increase their social skills – and their climbing skills too, if they can.”

But Boulders and Brews’s commitment to the community goes beyond supporting their climbers.

“For the competitions, we keep all of our sponsorships local because he want to highlight small businesses,” said Randall. “Many are struggling right now because of the tariffs and the state of the economy as a whole.”

When the gym began hosting competitions, it struggled to secure sponsorships. They had to reach out to potential sponsors with offers to trade benefits, and relied on those businesses’ generosity to fuel their events. But over time the gym has solidified its place in Fayetteville, and has developed a more credible, established presence: on October 5^th, the day immediately following House of Cruxes, the gym hosted a youth competition officially sanctioned by USA Climbing, the official governing body for rock climbing in the United States. Here, competitors of ages 11 through 15 competed to qualify for USA Climbing regionals, and a chance to represent the United States in international competition.

In November Boulders and Brews will reach its 3^rd anniversary. In those three years it has become a beloved third space in Fayetteville.

“I love this place,” said Rheay. “Sometimes I spend entire days here. I can do homework for a few hours, and then climb when I get bored. And I have so many friends here, it’s easy to lose track of time just hanging out.”

In the future, Randall hopes that Boulders and Brews will continue putting on events, and will remain the close-knit community space it is.

“I just love it here,” he said. “When you have the entire gym chanting for one person to top-out on a boulder they’ve been working on all week… man, that just fills my cup. That’s being a human. What else could you ask for?”

The post Beyond the Wall: Building Community through Competition appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Allyssa Morgan

I was 16 the first time I hit a vape.

It wasn’t a dramatic moment, it was casual. Normal. Everyone around me was doing it—before cheer practice, after school, at lunch. It looked fun. It looked cool. And I wanted in.

I was driving to school, just me in the car, music playing low. I grabbed my vape off the console and hit it at a red light. Not because I needed it—just because I could. No one else was around to stop me, and it was part of my routine. I’d take a few hits on the way there, blow the vapor out the window, then toss it back in the cup holder like it was nothing.

It was how I started most days. Wake up, get dressed, hit my vape. Drive to school, hit the vape. It didn’t even feel like a choice anymore. It was just something I did.

At the time, I didn’t think I was choosing a habit. I thought it was just a fun thing to try, never knowing the real consequences that would later cause me anxiety and a seven-year addiction.

Now I’m almost 24, and quitting vaping has been one of the hardest things I’ve done. Not because I didn’t want to, but because vaping had quietly woven itself into my life.

When I woke up, I’d roll over and take a hit. I’d hit it in the car, on the way to class. Again while doing homework. After eating. When I was bored. When I was anxious. When I was celebrating. It became background noise in my life—always there, always easy, always just one hit away.

I tried quitting more times than I can count—cold turkey, gum, mints, keeping my hands busy—but nothing stuck.

Vaping as a Generation’s Default

I’m not alone in this. According to the CDC, nearly 14% of high school students reported vaping in 2023, down from its peak in 2019, which is when I graduated high school.

Back then 27.5% of high school students reported vaping.

That’s a big drop. A win, maybe. But for those of us who got hooked early, the struggle hasn’t disappeared.

The CDC lists the reasons “E-cigarette marketing, the availability of flavored products, social influences, and the effects of nicotine can influence youth to start or continue vaping.” And that’s exactly what happened. It was everywhere—at school, in our friend groups, and all over our snapchat stories and finstas.

What’s more concerning is the emotional, physical, and social grip it has on people my age, most of whom didn’t realize they were signing up for a long-term relationship when they first picked up a vape.

The Ones Who Got Hooked

Derek Colson 22, was a sophomore at Union High School also started vaping at 16, shared a similar story. “It was never peer pressure,” Derek said. “I just thought it was cool. It was like what cigarettes were in the ’80s.”

What started as a zero-nicotine vape for party tricks turned into a full-blown dependency on high-nicotine disposable vapes. The effects crept in—shortness of breath on the lacrosse field, cravings at leadership retreats, guilt from hiding his vape from his parents.

For Hannah Garvey 24, quitting came earlier and a bit easier. “My older sister said, ‘You don’t even know what’s in that. You’re inhaling chemicals.’ And it just clicked.” She walked away at 19, going cold turkey. But even now, years later, people still hand her vapes at parties. “It’s like people forget not everyone vapes.”

Luke Herndon 25, living in Tulsa was just 14 when he started vaping as a freshman in high school. “I wanted to be a rebel,” he said.

Luke quit for six months during basic training for the military. “I had no choice,” he said. “You can’t vape in basic.” Since then, he’s picked it back up and says he experiences regular cravings and coughing but doesn’t feel ready to quit again.

Vape shops near my high school would offer student discounts, like they knew exactly who they were targeting. Offering a percentage off to students. I went into my old go-to vape shop to see what they thought about it, but they declined to comment.

The Normalization of Addiction

If there’s one word that defines Gen Z’s relationship with vaping, it’s normalized.

“It’s like smoking now,” Hannah said. “People know it’s bad, but they do it anyway.”

Luke sees it from the inside since he still vapes “When I have a craving, I just vape.” In his world, vaping has become a default behavior, not a decision.

Derek said he thinks “It’s worse than cigarettes ever were.”

Maybe that’s true because, unlike cigarettes, vaping comes in different fruity flavors, which, in my opinion, are more appealing than tobacco. We were marketed to like a lifestyle, not a substance. And it worked, and it still has an effect today.

The Reality

For me, the side effects started subtly. I was a all-star cheerleader, always moving, always training. But then I noticed I couldn’t keep up like I used to. Tumbling? I’d be winded. Hitting a routine? My endurance had dropped. I had been vaping for a couple months when I noticed I wasn’t gaining new skills like I used too.

Then I noticed something else, over the last year, vaping stopped calming my anxiety and started making it worse. My cravings came hardest when I was doing nothing—scrolling, sitting, waiting. For a while, I didn’t realize I was using it as much as I was. After a while, I started to feel sick when I would hit my vape. I wanted to quit so bad just honestly didn’t think I could do it. I have an addiction.

I remember during the 2020 pandemic lockdown I thought I had my chance. No one was going anywhere, and I had run out of pods. It drove me crazy; I felt like I couldn’t focus on anything else. I was irritable. It didn’t help that I was stuck at home with nothing to distract me, but I ended up caving within 48 hours. I had my dad get me pods because Trump had changed the smoking age to 21 eight months after I turned 18. I felt defeated. It was emotionally exhausting. I continued vaping for another four years.

Then that all changed this time around, my first day without vaping this time wasn’t as brutal. I slowly started using my vape less and less and tried to replace it with Zyns. It made the process so much easier. After a couple of days, I didn’t even want to hit my vape anymore, and I threw it in the trash. That was such a relief.

Now two years vape-free, Derek still uses Zyns. “I have asthma,” he said. “I had to quit vaping for my lungs. I breathe better now.”

It’s still hard. it isn’t the same when I go out to bars or just sitting at home. I had a moment recently that was honestly one of the hardest when I was in New York for a bachelorette trip.

We were at a club and one of the girls had a vape and I briefly thought two glasses of champagne in “What about just one hit?” Then something in me paused.

Just one to take the edge off. Just one to feel that quick, buzzy calm I used to chase.

I turned away. Pretended I didn’t care. But I did.

And that’s when I realized—it’s going to take longer than I thought for this feeling to go away. That craving to belong, to settle, to soothe something I haven’t totally named yet. I’m not just detoxing from nicotine. I’m detoxing from a version of myself I clung to for seven years.

My Reflection

It’s a Sunday night in April after a long wedding day. I have a 3-hour drive ahead of me. The highway stretches ahead, dark and quiet except for the glow of my headlights. It’s late, too late, but I’ve done this drive before. Oklahoma City to Fayetteville, just me, the road, and a playlist I put on to keep my mind busy. No vape this time. No disposable in the cupholder. Instead, I chew a piece of gum, take a sip of Dr. Pepper to keep me awake, and try to keep my hands moving so they don’t reach for something that isn’t there.

For seven years, this drive would have looked different. A vape was always within reach, almost continuously being the thing I’d do when I got bored. This is my first long drive without it. The habit was as much a part of my routine as turning on my GPS or adjusting the volume. Now, the gaps feel noticeable—empty in a way I wasn’t expecting. I don’t really know how to describe the feeling of withdrawal other than my mind is constantly fixated on nicotine unless I am distracted by something else. I noticed the cravings for sure, but this empty feeling I haven’t noticed until this drive.

It’s been over a month now at this point. It doesn’t sound like a long time, but it feels different. I don’t wake up reaching for it anymore. Which is a huge relief I think that was one of my wake up calls was the fact as soon as I woke up every day I was reaching for something toxic. Not anything that would be beneficial to start your day. The habit itself and the routine is hard to shake.

I started at 16 without thinking much about it. It was just something to do—between classes, after work, on long drives like this. Now, without it, those moments feel different. Longer, quieter. Like I have a voice in my head constantly reminding me I have an addiction. I’m still getting used to it.

I turn up the volume, take another deep breath, and pop another piece of gum in my mouth. It doesn’t hit the same as a vape would.

Research

Vaping is designed to be addictive. According to a New York Times article, JUUL pods have a nicotine level of 5 percent, which is the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes, and the delivery system hits the brain fast.

In the JUUL class action law suit “The Lawsuit alleges that Plaintiffs paid more for JUUL products than they otherwise would have paid if accurate information concerning the products’ addictiveness and safety had been provided. The Lawsuit also alleges that JUUL products were unlawfully marketed to minors. The Defendants deny these allegations and assert that they did not violate any law.”

JUUL was the most common vaping product everyone was using when vaping became “popular,” the flavors cool mint, and mango were the flavors everyone wanted. None of us understood the amount of nicotine we were inhaling and I remember going through these pods so quickly because they were so small and addictive.

According to the National Library of Medicine “The pharmacologic reasons for nicotine use are enhancement of mood, either directly or through relief of withdrawal symptoms, and augmentation of mental or physical functions.”

I really did think at first it was calming my anxiety. I used to take Lexapro sophomore year and stopped taking it once I started vaping thinking. I didn’t need it anymore. But later on I started getting more anxiety because of it. Im assuming I had some placebo effect or maybe because I had vaped for so long I didn’t even get a nicotine buzz/high anymore.

The Cost We Didn’t See Coming

The amount of money I’ve spent on feeding an addiction was insane. I used to spend about $25 every 2 weeks or so on disposable vapes without even blinking. If you add that up over a year, that’s $600; over 7 years, that’s almost $4,200.

Luke said he spends even more, at about $100 a week, to fuel a bad addiction, and urges youth not to start because of the cost alone.

Looking Ahead

Zyns have been the most common alternative to vaping that I’ve seen, and honestly, they’ve helped me the most. We still don’t fully know the long-term side effects, and I’m aware of that. But in my mind, it felt like a better option than constantly inhaling nicotine into my lungs. Whether that’s true or not, I guess time will tell.

The research I did find from Johns Hopkins behavioral pharmacologist Tory Spindle he says, “Sold in 3 mg and 6 mg doses, the pouches deliver nicotine directly into the bloodstream through the mouth’s membrane lining, rather than through the lungs. In many ways, the pouches are safer than other nicotine products on the market because they do not use tobacco leaves and therefore have fewer carcinogens. But they are not risk-free.”

I’ve noticed I don’t reach for Zyns nearly as often as I used to vape, and I can go longer between uses. To be honest, they were tough to get used to at first—the burning sensation was pretty intense. I had the same issue with nicotine gum and mints.

I still use Zyns, and I won’t pretend I’ve got it all figured out.

But I’m working on it. The biggest milestone so far? It’s been almost two months since I’ve used a vape, and I already feel the difference. I don’t think about it as much anymore. I don’t feel like I need it with me every time I leave the house.

There was a time I’d grab my vape before my wallet or my phone. Now, I’m learning to live without it—slowly and intentionally. I hope to quit nicotine completely someday.

Because addiction is sneaky. It rarely feels like a choice. But healing can be.

And I’m choosing that—one less craving at a time.

The post The Casual Activity that Became a Habit: Vaping and Gen Z’s Unseen Addiction appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Stella Hufhines

The moment Ethan Coombs realized he was struggling with a mental illness, he was immersed in the pages of his old writing journal. “I am undoubtedly depressed,” read the title line of one entry, dated Sept. 27, 2022. Coombs practices writing down his moods and feelings each day for future moments of reflection. As he returned to his journals two years later, Coombs recalled the stark differences between his entries. In September’s entries, Coombs wrote of his dark moods, fatigue or lack of focus, while in May, his entries were full of gratefulness, positivity and happiness.

At the time of the September entries, Coombs was unable to wrap his mind around these mysterious feelings. But as he stumbled upon this entry in January 2024, his perpetual sadness made total sense to him. Now, Coombs knows exactly what was infecting his mind two years ago. He was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) in 2023, a malady that has affected nearly every aspect of his life. Coombs has linked the plummet of his grades, lack of energy and tendency to self-isolate to the disorder.

SAD is a subtype of depression that is linked to the change in seasons. Although SAD can appear at any time of the year, it is extremely common in the winter due to the decreased amount of sunlight. How it differs from its associated diagnosis, depression, is that someone with SAD is only affected for three to four months out of the year, while depression is more long-term. 

Typical symptoms of SAD include a disinterest in activities that were once enjoyed, change in appetite, decline in physical activity, sporadic sleep as well as difficulty staying focused and making decisions. These symptoms can evolve into serious mental and physical handicaps for those who are affected. SAD affects a large percentage of the population — up to 5% of all U.S. adults and an estimated 1 million children in North America.

January has been one of the leading months in suicide rates, claiming the lives of over 8,300 individuals in the last two years. Although not all of these suicides are attributed to SAD, there is evidence to show that SAD is extremely common in those who are already diagnosed with a pre-existing mental illness, specifically depression or bipolar disorder.

Despite its pervasive nature in the U.S. population, SAD is often downplayed as a trivial mental illness because it is confused with the winter blues, which most perceive as innocuous. However, the symptoms of SAD are anything but superficial. This preconception that SAD is harmless, along with the global stigma against mental health issues, makes those who endure the disorder often feel unseen and trapped in the shadows of silent suffering.

Ryan Freeman-Burchfield, founder of the Freeman-Burchfield Institute for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and the only Beck Institute Certified Clinician in Arkansas, explained the mental health stigma “exists inside of us and our society.” Freeman-Burchfield said she believes this stigma creates shame associated with mental illness and can be detrimental to those who suffer.

“The consequence of minimizing SAD (or any mental health symptom) is that people will not seek the support they need and it is possible that their symptoms could worsen leading to suicidal thoughts and feelings,” Freeman-Burchfield said.

Coombs, a 23-year-old native of Northwest Arkansas, has grappled with this seasonal struggle for the past four years, but his symptoms appeared to be much worse than the average person. Unable to get any sleep at night, loss of motivation to see friends and the overall miserable veil smothering his mind, make the winter months insufferable for Coombs. When victims of SAD make it out of the trenches of winter, they are usually met with a newfound optimism in the spring, as their days become filled with sunlight and warmer weather. As February ushers in the promise of a sunlit salvation, Coombs said he feels a surge of hope. “In the spring when (my depression) starts to go away, I feel like I’m invincible,” Coombs said. “But It never goes according to plan.”

Spring and summer become his sanctuary, a time for passion projects, academic engagement and the erasure of the previous winter months. The euphoria, however, is short-lived, crashing down as autumn signals the return of his SAD.

The winter of 2021 was an especially troubling season for Coombs, but he did not attribute a specific factor to the intensity of his SAD. Instead, Coombs believes it was just a particularly bad episode “in combination with a lot of responsibilities I couldn’t delegate,” he said. Despite that specifically harsh winter, Coombs claimed when spring arrived, he quickly bounced back. “(The change) was so dramatic that I didn’t even feel like fall was that big of a deal because of how good I felt in the spring — until the next fall came,” Coombs said.

When Coombs’ symptoms began to creep back in autumn, all of his projects and excursions he had planned during the sunshine-filled summer came to a halt. As a psychology and music major at the University of Arkansas, deeply passionate about his studies, Coombs grapples with the impact of his mental health on academic pursuits. He said one glance comparing his fall and spring transcripts could provide a depressive diagnosis on its own. In the spring, Coombs consistently remains a straight-A student, but in the fall, no matter how many hours he is taking, his grades seem to plummet. During the fall semester, Coombs finds himself dropping classes he once eagerly anticipated, paralyzed by the lack of motivation and energy that his disorder brings.

According to his mother, Tina Matsubara, Coombs “was a quiet contemplator, who overthought everything” as a child. Growing up in Northwest Arkansas, Coombs’ life seemed pretty standard. Not showing any previous signs of mental distress, his parents were surprised as to why he started having relentless panic attacks around the age of 7. Coombs, who experienced these intense fight-or-flight responses, now questions the origins of these sporadic panic episodes. Although he said there is no definitive origin, Coombs wonders if the attacks coincided with frequently being left to his own devices as a child. 

With a father who frequently worked late hours and a mother who also worked as a teacher and ran errands often, there was a consistency of being left alone with his brother for long periods. 

Other than the summer months when his mother was not working, he recalled unusual moments when she was home for extended lengths of time. Although Coombs assumed she was sick, having taken off work, he now believes these moments were likely due to depressive spells.

Even though Coombs said he has always enjoyed being alone, these absences seemed to deeply distress him.

Growing up, Coombs’ older brother was diagnosed with depression at the early age of 8. Meanwhile, Coombs seemed to embody normalcy.

That’s why, when Coombs told his father of his diagnosis of depression at 20 years old, his dad was taken aback, almost as much as Coombs, himself, was. Coombs said he suspected both reactions were because he had gone so long without showing any symptoms. 

 “It seemed that, like with my brother, if (depression) was going to emerge, it would have probably happened earlier,” Coombs said. 

Freeman-Burchfield views SAD as a prevalent mental disorder, especially when it already runs in the family. She said genetics play a large role in determining mental illness and emphasized how common it is for children to inherit such disorders from parents who grapple with identical challenges. Additionally, Freeman-Burchfield suggests that there might be a natural, instinctive element to SAD that contributes to its widespread appearance. “I think in the winter we are supposed to slow down generally,” Freeman-Burchfield said. “We’re humans, we are a type of animal in a way.” Although 5% of the U.S. adult population experiences SAD, Freeman-Burchfield believes that, in reality, far more are likely to experience it.

Calvin Ryerse, a 22-year-old living in New York City, has been struggling with symptoms of SAD for eight years, which is another testament to familial mental illness, as both his mother and grandmother share the disorder. This family history, along with his symptoms, suggests the presence of SAD, although Ryerse is undiagnosed. For Ryerse, his seasonal depression mostly manifests through a lack of energy and motivation. “It feels like moving through molasses,” Ryerse said, “which is a challenging way to spend five months out of the year.” Trudging through the thick mental fog of winter, Ryerse finds himself operating at a snail’s pace in his day-to-day life. For Ryerse, the winter of 2023 held a notoriously bad winter for him, as he was fired from his job in November, graduated in December and ended a relationship in February, all while dealing with his usual seasonal struggle.

Ryerse, who is a filmmaker, found that his most bearable winter was when he was working on his senior thesis film. Having a long-term creative project helped Ryerse get through the insufferable winter months.

“The best way to deal with it is to give myself a project to work on,” Ryerse said. “Having something to look forward to kind of cuts through that intense, cold heaviness.”

Another way in which Ryerse fights the symptoms of SAD is by being outside as often as possible — going on long walks and bike rides despite the cold.

Ryerse said he has not considered getting an official diagnosis because he was “feeling unsure about the process,” and is content with being undiagnosed. “There’s something easier living in the uncertainty of it — confronting the truth or the non-truth,” Ryerse said.

Freeman-Burchfield, who has been helping those with SAD since 2007, has many suggestions for treatment options; however, one of her top prescriptions for those with the disorder is time outdoors.

“I believe in nature,” she said.

Freeman-Burchfield has had her own mental struggles throughout her life and occasionally battles mild SAD. After recently undergoing wrist surgery, which left her feeling limited and partially immobilized, she fell back on one of her most suggested forms of healing: going on a hike. Despite the dead trees that look like skeletal sentinels, Freeman-Burchfield listened to the sound of flowing water from a nearby stream and the chirps of birds — a symphony of delicate flutes. 

She strongly believes that getting outside, regardless of the nasty weather, can do wonders for those struggling with SAD. There are many forms of treatment for SAD, ranging from Ryerse’s focus on creative projects to Freeman-Burchfield’s suggestion to get outside, or different kinds of medication. Other common treatments include light therapy, exercise and different methods of talk therapy, however, no single form of treatment works for everyone. 

Summer Rainn, who has been diagnosed with SAD since 2020, has been consistently disappointed in her attempts at finding solace through different treatments.

Rainn’s SAD symptoms greatly hinder her day-to-day life, she said. Shutting herself away from the outside world and friends, her self-isolation becomes a tortuous experience. It is difficult to maintain consistent habits with SAD, so Rainn’s routine tends to fluctuate. Being that her symptoms are so severe, Rainn has sought out many forms of treatment. Medication was her first venture, but it proved to make her condition even worse. “The times I was on medication, it turned me into a zombie, barely functioning as a human,” Rainn said. After her hopeless excursions in the world of pharmaceuticals, Rainn became interested in a more recent and debated form of medicine.

Things began to look up for Rainn when she received her medical marijuana card, which made her symptoms far less intrusive to her daily life. Many recent studies address the correlation between mental illness and marijuana, especially concerning depression. While there are mixed opinions on whether it improves or worsens the condition, there are many personal testimonies that claim the drug is integral to getting those with depression through the day. Outside of marijuana, listening to music seems to be the only other efficient way Rainn can cope with her symptoms.

Similar to Rainn, Coombs has tried almost every treatment option available in the hopes of easing his despair. Before resorting to medication, Coombs attempted to eliminate any environmental factors that could have been feeding his disorder. He endured months of dieting, blood tests, hormone evaluations, light therapy, exercise and a regimented sleep schedule, all to find that nothing truly stabilized his suffering. Medication is the only treatment that seems to lighten the effects of SAD for Coombs — much to his dismay. Coombs has never considered medication a long-term solution and instead views it as a risky last resort due to its possible impacts on the brain. Despite his hesitation toward pharmaceuticals, Coombs has high hopes for the future of healthcare and continues to abide by his same routine of medication, exercise and time outside.

It is common for people with forms of depression to have a hard time envisioning their future. However, Freeman-Burchfield suggests that those who have been diagnosed with SAD and have experienced their depressive cycle find it easier to look to the future.  For someone experiencing symptoms of SAD for the first time, the unexplained nature of their emotions can be perplexing. Deciphering and discovering new feelings can be extremely difficult, especially in a world where mental health is frequently stigmatized.

Freeman-Burchfield said the reverse can also be true for those with SAD, where one feels a sense of dread as winter approaches. Although those who are diagnosed are aware that their struggle is seasonal, it can create a sense of apprehension when it comes to facing the colder months. They know that darker times are ahead, but there is nothing they can do to stop their symptoms from reappearing.

During a surprisingly warm February this year, Coombs said he was springing out of his seasonal slump and seemed unexpectedly optimistic when considering the future state of his disorder. As an undergrad psychology major, Coombs recognizes that, with graduate school ahead, he is going to stay busy for the following years. When he envisions his later career, Coombs does not see SAD in the picture and is fairly optimistic that his current treatments will continue to carry him through the winters. Trying to focus more on the present, Coombs has adopted the idea that “everything will work out eventually.”

“I’m probably not the typical depressed person thinking about their future because I’m very optimistic about this kind of stuff,” Coombs said. 

But this is not always good, he said. Coombs attributed his overly optimistic mindset to his newfound enjoyment of day-to-day life, now that his depressive season was coming to an end.   

Freeman-Burchfield said she believes mental health’s severity is often minimized and that there has been a historical stigma surrounding the topic. She mentioned that a transformative moment in reshaping conversations around mental health emerged with the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. Being locked indoors and estranged from the outside world, COVID-19 brought a 25% increase in the global appearance of anxiety and depression according to the World Health Organization. While acknowledging the grim toll the pandemic took on mental well-being, Freeman-Burchfield highlighted a silver lining in the crisis — “it normalized mental health for a lot of people.” 

Even in the wake of increased awareness and discourse surrounding mental health, Freeman-Burchfield highlights a persistent challenge in the way individuals approach their own well-being. “We maximize other people’s problems, but we often minimize our own,” she said. She encourages individuals to become active participants in understanding their emotional landscape, urging them to contemplate pursuing potential diagnoses, particularly in the case of SAD. “You are the expert on you,” Freeman-Burchfield said. “What you go through, what you experience — you are the expert.” 

The societal norm to minimize personal feelings played a significant role in Coombs’ early diagnosis of depression. Even though Coombs had been struggling with symptoms of SAD for years before it was confirmed, he had programmed himself to blame times of emotional turmoil and sadness on factors other than his mental health. By blaming his feelings on these justifications, Coombs had never considered the possibility that he could be dealing with something more serious, which is why his diagnosis of depression hit him particularly hard. 

Although the overwhelmingly large number of individuals suffering from SAD could be considered a crisis in itself, Freeman-Burchfield said she believes the bigger issue lies in the stigma against mental health. “People don’t know where to start, how to talk about it, or where to go,” she said. At heart, she thinks that by sharing mental struggles with others, people can connect with and inspire those who are suffering to recognize their own mental hardships. If this pattern repeats, the global mental health stigma might slowly begin to dissolve, Freeman-Burchfield said. 

By confronting the bigger issue, individuals may begin to find peace in a more accepting atmosphere. Although Coombs can envision a bright future ahead, others may navigate the darkness by focusing on the day-to-day. 

In the uncertain landscape of her future, Rainn said she finds herself navigating the present with a mix of determination and curiosity. All that she can currently do is keep using the treatments that get her through each day. 

Concerning Ryerse’s future, instead of trying to fight his SAD, he has learned to accept and embrace the disorder. Ryerse said to avoid dreading the next November when his symptoms usually kick in, he finds ways to utilize his SAD. Ryerse views the winter as an opportunity to slow down, a season for intentional rest and introspection. Although the colder months can be tough for Ryerse’s mental health, he finds solace in the knowledge that spring will inevitably come, ushering in a wave of renewal and dispelling the shadows of his depressive mood. 

Although no two victims of SAD will walk the same path, many may find comfort in an open conversation. By sharing personal stories and connecting with others affected, the individual experience becomes that of the group. In this transparent environment, those with SAD are learning to manage the seasonal cycle instead of trying to break it. 

The post A Change in Season: Navigating and Managing SAD appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Dustin Staggs

Picture this: you’re sitting in your favorite study area, bed, couch, or cozy corner doing school work. What do you do now that you’ve completed your final task for the day?

If you’re anything like me, you go for your trusty phone and begin swiping away. Perhaps it’s nighttime, and you know you should get some beauty sleep, but instead you’re scrolling away the hours, filling up that bottomless pit of stimulated satisfaction, and losing track of time until, whoops, it’s 2 a.m.!

So, what is the name of this devilishly enticing digital dance? According to the Cambridge Dictionary, “doomscrolling” is the activity of spending a lot of time looking at your phone or computer and reading negative news stories. Whether we realize we are doing it or not, doomscrolling is an easy situation to find ourselves in with our constant connection to content and the endless feed of social media at our fingertips.

Anyone can spend too much time getting lost in the rabbit hole of negative online news and social media. Men are slightly more likely than women to doomscroll, according to WebMD. The study also states that younger adults are more likely than older adults to do it, and people who closely follow or participate in politics are more likely to doomscroll.

Additionally, doomscrolling causes harm to mental health in a variety of ways. According to UNC Health, doomscrolling contributes to anxiety and depression by reinforcing unpleasant ideas and sentiments. It has the potential to exacerbate pre-existing mental illnesses, like anxiety or depression, as well as increase fear and concern. Furthermore, it can make us agitated, inattentive, and mentally exhausted, resulting in the productivity of a sloth on a sunny day. According to UNC Health, the more time we spend doomscrolling, the more likely we are to have sleep problems, stress-related health issues, and low self-esteem.

Given the possible emotional and psychological consequences of doomscrolling, it is critical to be aware of how much time we spend doing it in order to make efforts to reduce its influence on our mental health.

But wait, there’s still hope! You have the ability to break out of this vicious cycle. The following is how I tamed the scrolling beast: I replaced the scrolling to flipping the pages of a nice old-fashioned book. Since the beginning of the summer, any moment I had the slightest amount of free time and felt like getting on my phone, I instead picked up whatever book I was reading at the time and immersed myself in that. It’s the equivalent of swapping fast food for a five-star supper. While reading may take a little more focus and effort than watching funny cat videos on TikTok, it is way more rewarding.

Therefore, reading is an excellent way to address many of the issues that social media brings, making it a perfect substitute for anyone willing to try it. There are millions of books available for individuals to enjoy, and with the assistance of your local public library, you may choose any book to read for free.

Not only does reading improve your critical thinking and creativity, it also helps increase your vocabulary, knowledge and imagination, according to Nuvance Health.

Nuvance Health also states that being entertained offers physiological advantages, such as generating endorphins in the brain; it is more beneficial when the content we are absorbing isn’t short 30-second videos but instead working out the muscles in our brain by reading. 

Now, some of you may have fallen out of love with books after being pushed to have reading goals in grade school, but books are pure entertainment at their finest. Books have the ability to make you laugh, weep, and keep you on the edge of your seat. It’s like a mental exercise, producing feel-good hormones that can help you relax, manage discomfort and let go of stress.

Immersing oneself in the enticing world of books can perform wonders for stress alleviation. It’s like a spa day for your brain, slowing your heart rate and relaxing those tense muscles. Reading allows you to focus on a tale rather than the turmoil of life, allowing you to compartmentalize, giving way to mental clarity and helping to prevent emotional burnout—which is a skill we all need in this fast-paced world. So, the next time you’re tempted to doomscroll, instead go for a book. It’s a worthwhile quest that might save your mental health.

The post Ditch Doomscrolling, Choose Reading appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Katherine Taylor

Emma Ferguson’s spot on the worn green couch might as well have been spring-loaded. In the midst of a passionate monologue that included topics like the essentials of rabbit care, Lizzo being a “bad bitch,” voting patterns of suburban white women, and the best method for making a beaded lampshade, she popped up and walked into the kitchen several times, simply to open and close the fridge without taking anything out.

This is a regular occurrence with Ferguson, 21. Catch her in a conversation that excites her and just watch; chances are she’ll leap from her seat, subconsciously driven to her feet by sheer passion, then realize she didn’t actually have any reason to stand up so now she has to create one: move a charger from one outlet to another, fill a cup that wasn’t empty, check the fridge, pet the cat.

Being restless and talkative are commonly-known traits associated with ADHD, parts of Ferguson’s personality I’ve become very familiar with as her roommate. These are the things that anyone who meets her sees right away. 

But these are only a few strands of the tangled web ADHD has woven around Ferguson’s life. When she has access to Adderall, her symptoms are manageable; when she’s unmedicated, they become overwhelming.

The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) announced a shortage of amphetamine and dextroamphetamine salts (the generic name for Adderall) in October 2022, with little explanation as to why. Almost a year later, it has yet to be resolved, an abundance of red tape blocking the path to any potential solutions. The shortage has created a myriad of both psychological and logistical problems for people across the country who rely on the medication in their daily lives. 

For Ferguson, the “fun” side of her ADHD takes a backseat when she can’t get her prescription filled. She forgets things: where she put her car keys, meetings, homework assignments, commitments she’s made. Focus becomes elusive. Things get disorganized, jumbled up and confused, a frustrating barrier to success for a high-achieving student. True irritation creeps in and spills out as she fights the feeling that she isn’t in complete control of herself anymore. 

Having her medication doesn’t just make it easier for Ferguson to focus. It makes it possible for her to function.

“When I don’t have my Adderall, it’s 75/25 if I brush my teeth and put on deodorant,” Ferguson said. “I have a hard time doing routine tasks. My impulse control goes out the window, so I drink a lot more and I binge eat. I don’t show up for obligations that I normally would never miss.”

Despite the enormous impact of the shortage, to those affected, it seems like very little is being done to find a solution. A potential explanation is that Adderall is a highly controlled substance. It’s classified as a Schedule II drug by the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA), meaning it has a “high potential for abuse, with use potentially leading to severe psychological or physical dependence.” This is the same designation awarded to drugs like hydrocodone, fentanyl, and opium. 

Despite the addiction risks, Adderall prescriptions are not rare. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), prescription fills amongst people aged 25-44 increased by roughly 10% from 2020 to 2021. From 2006 to 2016, amphetamine use (including Adderall and drugs like it) more than doubled. Data collected by Trilliant Health shows that Adderall prescriptions for people aged 22-44 is outpacing actual ADHD diagnoses amongst the same group. 

Because millions of people are prescribed the drug, strict regulations are set to curb attempts to sell or use it illegally. This is a fair concern; while estimates vary, data collected by the National Institutes of Health showed that roughly 1 in 10 college students used Adderall without a prescription in 2019. An Ohio State study from the previous year had that number at almost 16%. As a “study drug,” many students turn to it during exam season, hoping to increase focus, stay awake longer, and improve performance on tests.

But for Ferguson and others like her—people who are prescribed Adderall for intense and sometimes debilitating symptoms—there is little comfort to be found in the idea that someone else might not be able to get it. She just wants her meds. 

“I don’t love taking Adderall,” she said. “It makes me kind of irritable. But without it, I feel like a little kid because the people around me have to corral me. When I got to college freshman year, I went to my doctor hysterically crying because I thought I’d gotten stupid, when I really just needed a prescription. I can’t do things at the capacity I’m capable of without it.” 

For those who are seeking an explanation for the shortage, there isn’t much out there. The drug industry higher-ups—manufacturers, distributors, the FDA, the DEA—are providing very few satisfactory answers about what is causing this problem or when it will end. Some politicians and legislative committees have called for answers, but the pharmaceutical supply chain does not seem to have much to say. It seems that Big Pharma and all its subsidiaries are shrugging a collective shoulder on this issue. 

According to the American Society of Health System Pharmacists, seven of 11 listed manufacturers have provided no explanation for the shortage, or refused to disclose how much of the drug they have available. Of the four remaining on that list, two have discontinued the product, and two are prioritizing existing customers.

Right now, many with ADHD are simply trying to ride the shortage out, doing their best to navigate a myriad of bureaucratic and logistical issues to get their medication. Through a combination of phone calls, pharmacy cooperation, psychiatrist assistance, and sheer luck, some people have found a path to getting their prescription filled. 

Callie Barnett, 22, is a student at the University of Arkansas studying abroad in Rome last spring. For her, going abroad has made it easier to take her medication consistently. She was able to request a full four months’ supply before she left, though it wasn’t easy to acquire.

“Before January, I was already having trouble getting my normal prescription, but for four months[’ worth] I had to travel five hours away to my hometown to get enough,” Barnett said in an email from Rome. “I have friends who didn’t have that luxury.”

Were Barnett without her medication, though, things could get dark quickly. As part of her diagnosis, she deals with racing thoughts, inability to focus, and suicidal ideation. 

“When I don’t have my meds it is almost impossible to get out of bed,” she said. “My thoughts race and all I can think about is everything I need to be doing, but it feels like I can’t. It sends me into a depressive spiral that makes it extremely difficult for me to get up and join the world.”

Dealing with such serious symptoms means that people who are left without their medication are forced to try and solve the problem on their own. Ferguson, who is prescribed the generic versions of both extended release and instant release Adderall, is supposed to get a month’s worth of both every time her prescription is filled. Recently, though, that hasn’t been the case—especially for the extended release, which she relies on the most. 

“Twice now it’s been 20,” she said. “One time I got ten of each type. I’m on this fucked schedule where I don’t have them at the same time. It’s been about six months that I haven’t gotten my two prescriptions on the same day.”

In order to carefully control the amount of Adderall and other Schedule II drugs on the market, the DEA sets specific quotas at the beginning of every year. Manufacturers are only allowed to produce based on those quotas. Thus, production is limited by estimates derived from data collected in previous years, rather than as a response to actual demand. Producers can’t simply make more to match prescription needs—and individual recipients are saddled with the consequences. 

“When they run out of Adderall, it’s all on me to call my doctor and have her call in more,” Ferguson said. “And I have to call the pharmacy to see if they have it so she can send the script over. I can only have three pharmacies on file, so if none of them have it, I just can’t get my meds. Plus I have to wait until I’ve run out of whatever they gave me initially before I can get the rest of the month filled. You expect me to do all that without my Adderall?”

Because of the strict regulations on the drug, any potential solutions that could be executed lower down the food chain are out of the question. Pharmacists can’t substitute similar drugs; insurance companies have their own rules about what they cover. Once, a pharmacy had Adderall on hand, but Ferguson is only insured for the generic version, not the name brand. She would have to pay $300 if she wanted it.

“That’s unacceptable,” Ferguson said. “I should not be paying the same amount for a medicine I’m prescribed as I would to get it on the black market.” 

Without consistent access to her medication, Ferguson and others like her have had to learn to cope. Because the extended release pills have been harder for her to get, she has been relying on taking multiple instant releases in a day. When she runs out of her measly ration of those, she asks friends who have a prescription to loan her some until she can get hers filled and repay them. More often than not, though, she simply goes without. And the inconsistency has serious side effects.

“When I stop taking my meds suddenly, I can’t even get to class,” Ferguson said. “It’s difficult to slow my mind down enough to focus on one thought, so things slip through the cracks.

“It’s hard to maintain relationships. Due dates become really impossible because my procrastination gets worse. It’s not that I’m intentionally being a shit student or coworker or whatever it is, I just don’t have the capacity to do things in a timely manner.”

No timeline. No answers. No solutions. No meds. The Adderall shortage is affecting people diagnosed with ADHD across the country, and there is little that individuals are able to do to solve the problem. Without the medication, performing the tasks necessary to get more becomes increasingly difficult, and daily life becomes a struggle.

The post No Adderall, No Answers: Drug shortage causes students to struggle appeared first on Hill Magazine.