Every Sunday and Monday at 10 p.m., Barb Childs of Standish sits down at her computer and braces herself.
For two hours, sometimes more, she will field texts from people all over the country – most of them young, most of them in some sort of distress, some even on the verge of suicide.
Childs’ job? First and foremost, keep them typing.
“It is draining, but I like to keep busy,” Childs, 49, said last week. “And I definitely get something out of it, too.”
It’s called Crisis Text Line, a 3-year-old, mostly volunteer operation that grew out of one simple sign of the times: For adolescents, young adults and even some older folks, the text message has replaced the telephone call as the preferred mode of person-to-person communication.
Even when, or perhaps especially when, one of those persons needs help. Not tomorrow or the next day or a week from now, but right this minute.
Based in New York City, Crisis Text Line is the brainchild of Nancy Lublin, who ran a youth outreach program called DoSomething.org in 2013 when she and her colleagues began noticing the migration toward texting by young people in need of someone to “talk” to.
Three years later, the nonprofit crisis line – accessible for free on most cellphone carriers simply by texting 741741 – has logged over 22 million texts, raised more than $24 million from the likes of Melinda Gates and Linkedin founder Reid Hoffman, and connected with every area code in the country.
Childs heard about it in July on National Public Radio while driving home from her job with an accounting firm in South Portland.
Already a longtime volunteer with Sexual Assault Response Services of Southern Maine as well as a guardian ad litem for adolescents in need of an advocate in Maine’s court system, Childs went to Crisis Text Line’s website, crisistextline.org, to learn more.
That led to a seven-week, 34-hour course to become a volunteer counselor. Since completing the training in August, she now splits her required four hours per week over two nights, never knowing what awaits as she clicks on the next text in the never-ending queue.
The texts, according to data carefully compiled by Crisis Text Line, run the gamut from anxiety and stress to suicide and sexual abuse.
Childs recalls being “on the edge of my seat” when, in the final stages of her training last month, she witnessed her first exchange involving another counselor and a texter who was contemplating suicide.
“It can be scary,” Childs said. “But when a crisis counselor can talk that person down and get them to a place where they’re safe until they can get to see a therapist or talk to somebody else – that’s a good night, that’s a good thing, that’s a good text.”
Counselors always have a supervisor with higher-level training looking over their virtual shoulder, ready to offer advice and even arrange real-time intervention if a texter appears to be in imminent danger.
But the basic guidelines remain the same: Empathize, ask open-ended questions, assume nothing, be supportive rather than judgmental, avoid jumping directly into problem-solving mode.
In short, provide the texter a safe haven to reveal, in due time, whatever prompted him or her to start typing in the first place.
“They don’t want to talk to somebody on the phone,” said Childs. “They don’t want to talk to anybody. But they’re glued to their phones. It’s so easy just to text something in.”
Childs is the mother of three grown children, putting her at the older end of the volunteer spectrum.
It’s an advantage in that often she’s been there and done that. But it can also be a challenge as she suppresses the urge to play Mom.
“It’s like this person’s in crisis and I want to tell her what to do,” she said. “I want to say, ‘Your boyfriend’s abusing you, you need to leave or find help.’ But I can’t do that. They have to come to that decision on their own.”
But here’s a problem she can fix, which is why you’re reading about this today: Recently, Childs asked 20 people if they’d heard of Crisis Text Line.
Despite an ever-growing archive of articles by national news outlets, none had.
“I think if the word got out, it could have an impact on many lives,” she said.
Including more than a few lives right here in Maine.
Crisis Text Line keeps copious data on its daily operations, including comparisons showing which problems are most prevalent by state.
Maine ranks first in the country when it comes to texts involving stress.
It ranks second for both eating disorders and anxiety.
And it ranks fifth nationwide for texts prompted by suicidal thoughts.
And this, if Childs’ perception is correct, is without many Mainers even knowing the crisis line exists.
Childs often visits high schools and middle schools in the course of her guardian ad litem work. She plans to start dropping off material promoting Crisis Text Line with guidance counselors – including tear-off tabs with the 741741 text number so students can quietly grab hold of what could be a desperately needed lifeline.
Beyond that, she’ll keep logging on in the quiet of her living room – more texts involving suicidal thoughts occur on Sunday evening than any other time of the week – spreading her virtual safety net while the rest of the world is glued to a football game or reality TV show.
Sometimes a new text will come in just before quitting time at midnight. Childs has the option of handing an ongoing conversation off to another counselor.
But caring soul that she so clearly is, she much prefers to finish every one she starts.
And when it’s finally over?
“I sign off,” Childs said. “And it’s like, I can breathe.”
For more information on becoming a Crisis Text Line volunteer, click here.
CORRECTION: This story was updated at 9:20 a.m. on Sept. 18 to correct Crisis Text Line’s number in the second reference, and on Sept. 19 to correct the spelling of Nancy Lublin’s last name.
Send questions/comments to the editors.
