To Those Who Have Stayed
For a few years after I graduated college, I worked several part-time and then one wildly low-paying full-time job, while I tried and tried to just get a foot in the door in a higher ed setting. I worked part-time at a university (teaching CPR and swimming), went to conferences, volunteered at extramural tournaments, and awkwardly networked, as introverts do.
In 2006, I finally nabbed a position, in an area of campus recreation I disliked (aquatics), but at least I was in. Finally in. I stayed in that position for six years, loving my coworkers, the students, and the opportunities I had. I only moved on because I had truly outgrown the position, and my supervisor and director knew it and encouraged me to find my next great thing. I sobbed on my last day, yet I knew I had found the right field and that I was even more prepared for the next right position.
Seven years later, in 2019, with a master’s degree, a Ph.D., and thirteen years of experience working at five universities, I left the field. With no regrets. I cannot imagine going back.
I keep trying to wrap my head around how many people are eagerly fleeing my former professional field, a field so many of us once believed to be the perfect profession: fun, challenging, rewarding, and packed with amazing people we often called friends, family even.
Many of my friends and colleagues have left in the past few years. People I thought were “lifers.” Some left for higher paying positions. Some left for lower level positions. Some made lateral moves. Some just left, with nothing lined up.
Yes, the pandemic shook things up. But frustration had already been building. Still, life in student affairs often seemed better than alternatives because of the moments of joy and meaningfulness.
Then, in early 2020, the deep-seated, structural problems with student affairs could no longer be hidden behind the students — because the students just weren’t around. For over a year. There has been nothing to distract from the crush of the system and people who uphold it.
On top of that, educators — at all levels — have been risking the health and safety of themselves and their loved ones — for work. The opening of their work environments has been the subject of public debate, nearly always centered on whether or not it is safe and necessary for students, completely ignoring the people who work there. Many of these staff members have been working harder than ever, have been dealing with constant changes, may not be allowed to take measures to protect themselves, and risk punishment for doing so
The same, of course, is true of all frontline workers. They deserve better, too. I just can’t personally speak to their experiences and relate those experiences to what it was like “before.”
It also became clear that no matter how much loyalty our institutions demand of us, they will never be loyal to us in return. Student affairs professionals are supposed to be in it for the love of the “calling” and to serve students. Then, when budgets are cut, we’re let go like in any other field.
— Except not like any other field. Because the majority of staff who were let go in the pandemic were low-level staff who didn’t have early retirement options or severance packages. They were just abandoned by their institutions, even those institutions who had in the past referred to them as “family.”
The increasingly frequent essays, articles, posts, and messages about leaving student affairs have inspired me to look for patterns.
I’m an Arranger, always have been.
While everyone has their own unique struggles and experiences, the patterns I’ve noticed when talking to friends and reading student affairs message boards amount to “We’re overeducated, overworked, underpaid, undervalued, and unable to advance.”
From higher ups, in person and on the same message boards, I hear, “It’s the pandemic. It’s happening everywhere, and not just in higher ed. The folx in this generation just want to explore new careers.”
But the thing is, it’s not happening everywhere, and it’s not just one generation. It’s happening where people are overeducated, overworked, underpaid, undervalued, and unable to advance.
The pandemic was the disruptor that allowed us to feel our feelings and has highlighted the value of busyness and demand of one-way loyalty, now at the expense of our health and the health of our loved ones. With the values we claim to have, we should be reflecting on our practices and considering what we could do differently.
We’re Overeducated
Degree Preferences
Many student affairs positions require or “strongly prefer” (i.e., require) a master’s degree, even for entry-level professional positions. The thing is, we really don’t *need* master’s degrees to do entry-level student affairs work. We don’t even need one to do upper level student affairs work.
I’ve heard it touted that master’s programs give us theoretical and practical knowledge necessary to do the job. If that were true, we’d all be required to have master’s degrees in student affairs administration. We aren’t. Almost any master’s degree can get a candidate past that requirement.
I’m a nerd. I love theory. I think it can be an extremely helpful tool. Yet, in most places I’ve worked, we only talked about theory when it came to assessment and reports. It wasn’t a part of our daily work — and when we were asked to incorporate theory, it was a short-lived assessment initiative that was written up in report that no one read and everyone soon forgot about.
The field justifies the value of higher education and the validity of student affairs by forcing staff to pursue higher education. We prove we value learning by engaging in formal learning — while we simultaneously telling students that learning happens in and out of the classroom. Then, we undervalue out-of-the-classroom learning when hiring staff.
Limiting Access
Student populations are becoming increasingly diverse, yet student affairs staff populations are not changing at the same rate. Some claim the “trickle up” theory — where the changes will happen as new generations become more “qualified” for professional positions. The issue is what is required to be considered qualified and if those barriers are shifting too.
Narrator: The barriers were not shifting too.
Degree requirements are one of the many reasons why the demographics of student affairs professionals at an institution rarely match their student population and their surrounding communities. It’s why there’s even less diversity in upper level positions.
Education is a privilege. It’s expensive, and it requires the ability to step outside the workforce orto simultaneously juggle work, school, and other responsibilities for an extended period of time. Requiring a master’s degree requires one to have had the privilege to earn an undergraduate degree and then to have been able to do it again for a master’s degree.
Degree requirements are gatekeeping. They ensure that people with lower socioeconomic status — a population with a higher percentage of historically minoritized racial and ethnic people and people who live in rural areas — have a harder time even being considered to work at our institutions.
Institutions claim to want to recruit a diverse student population, yet they limit who works at the institution through practices that are currently and historically discriminatory. Higher ups jump at opportunities to “train” their staff on justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion and to encourage recruitment diverse populations (students and staff), yet they balk when asked to consider how their current practices contribute to exclusion and injustice… if anyone actually has the courage, energy, and perspective to challenge those practices at all.
The voices who could explain how to recruit historically underrepresented student populations have to persist past structural barriers to even get a spot at the table. Instead, we’re perpetuating the status quo and actively preventing the very justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion we claim to value, at institutional, departmental, and individual levels.
While you’re at it, check out your other access-limiting requirements, such as being able to lift X number of pounds or stand for X amount of time (ableist requirements that are easily accommodated), dress codes (racist, sexist, and classist requirements created to visually distinguish who should be included), interviewing at in-person conferences (classist practice), presentations during interviews for positions that do not require public speaking (ableist practice), etc.
We’re Overworked
Understaffing Due to Turnover
It’s a common complaint among student affairs professionals that offices are short staffed. We’re asked to shoulder additional responsibilities, while the department works to fill an open position. Rarely are we provided additional compensation for doing so. It’s just “taking one for the team.”
We see so much turnover, at the very bottom and the very top of the hierarchy. Both are expensive and a toll on those who stay.
With ample turnover at the bottom, employees can be seen as disposable, interchangeable. Their ideas and concerns may not be taken seriously because it’s assumed they’ll move on before anything comes of anything. That then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as staff becomes frustrated that their ideas and concerns are not taken seriously, and they leave.
Then, the turnover at the top can be so very distracting, and so much of it is just politics and aesthetics, initiatives to position VPs, provosts, and presidents to step into their next roles. Those who stay are faced with changing expectations and responsibilities without consistent follow through and support.
Burnout
Because of the cyclical nature of the academic year and the shifts below and the shifts above, it’s hard to keep up. It always seems like, “We just need to get through X, and then things will lighten up.” But then Y appears. Then we’re in a retreat. Then, there’s Z now. And now the end-of-the-year report is due. And there’s a new technology to learn. And we are required to go through a webinar on a topic we supposedly should have learned in our master’s programs. And now a new school year starts, and we’re back to A.
Then, there are areas of student affairs where burnout is just expected. Some of those areas even have limits on the number of years a person can work in a specific position because of how stressful the position is, leaving the person with the stress of the job and the stress of knowing they’ll need a new job soon. When these positions also have live-on requirements, there’s also the stress of needing to find a new place to live once the contract is up.
Pausing to send love to those of you who live at work as part of your job requirements and extra love to those of you who are told repeatedly that requirement is a benefit by people who would certainly reject that “benefit” if it were offered to them.
On top of usual burnout, the pandemic has added a whole host of additional responsibilities, from physical changes for safety protocols to tracking and transporting students who have or have been exposed to Covid-19 to monitoring student behaviors that could increase the spread.
In addition, at the point in the pandemic when students left campus, some offices could no longer offer their usual programs and services or had to severely limit capacity (i.e., special events, recreation centers and programs, housing). Instead of taking the time to reflect and consider the very human struggles people of all levels were experiencing, many higher ups decided the priority should be on justifying the continued need for their office, forcing their employees to do work that was well beyond “other duties as assigned.” People going through a global pandemic, a novel experience for everyone, were tasked with creating brand new programming, shifting current programming, and sometimes just busy work, so that their directors could look up and say, “See? We’re still important! And hard working!”
Because many (though certainly not all) of those employees were working from home, they were also asked to document their work and were monitored more closely than ever before to ensure everyone was still being productive. Busyness and proof of busyness became more important than physical and mental well-being.
Some higher ups then had the audacity of calling Fall 2021 a “return to work,” a phrase that negates that many staff members had been working harder than ever, or “return to campus,” completely disregarding the folx who were never able to work from home due to the nature of their jobs and had sustained the highest levels of risk.
Now, after more than a year of the stresses of the pandemic and the micromanaging, we’re just burned out. And burned through. And are sometimes taught to wear that exhaustion as a badge of honor.
Dealing With Trauma — Theirs and Ours
Student affairs professionals develop meaningful relationships with students, support student communities, and may work in students’ living areas. Because of these roles, student affairs professionals may be the closest, most trusted nonstudent and the person to whom students disclose trauma. Student affairs professionals are then expected to care for the student, connect them to resources, and carry that trauma with them. Yet, in most areas, student affairs professionals are not specifically trained on how to respond appropriately and often feel unprepared and unsure of how they helped or hurt the situation.
In some areas of student affairs, professionals will encounter students currently going through trauma. This happens most often in areas where students live (e.g., housing, residential life) or high-risk areas (e.g., collegiate recreation, fraternity and sorority life). The professional then must become a first responder before providing secondary care, connections to resources, and carrying the trauma with them.
In some areas, professionals themselves experience trauma, whether it is a happenstance experience or a pattern of experiences due to identities. They then carry their own trauma and that of others.
Personally, I have worked with multiple students who have been severely injured in the activities I coordinated (recreation activities having inherent risk) and multiple students who have struggled immensely with their mental health. It’s hard for me to talk about, but I have known students who have died, through illness and suicide. I carry them with me. I question if I could have done more.
In some areas of student affairs, such as residence life, professionals may have some training and learn about resources. That does not exempt them from being impacted by the trauma of self-harm, sexual assault and rape, violence, etc.
In most areas of student affairs, we do not get any training on how to respond to traumatic events. In my dissertation research, I learned that almost half of student affairs professionals have been trained in responding to an active shooter, an event that, while distressing, too frequent, and always widely covered in the media, is very unlikely to happen. Fewer than 22% of student affairs professionals had ever had any training in anything related to mental health, even though we know, consistently, year to year, students self-report than in the last 12 months, around 50% experience anxiety, around 30% experience depression, around 6% have engaged in self-harm, and around 1.5% have attempted suicide. That last number may sound low until you do the math: 10,000 students = 150 who have attempted suicide… just in the last 12 months. Yet, we’re not consistently taught about these issues nor trained to respond — practically, legally, ethically — and we’re left with the impact for the rest of our lives and with inconsistent, sometimes very expensive, mental health support and care, short and long term.
We’re Underpaid
“We do the job for the students, not for the salary.”
Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard that phrase.
It sounds nice. It fits our idea that our profession is a calling, something special that a chosen few get to do.
But it’s not nice. It’s gaslighting.
It means that we can never ask for more compensation because as soon as we do so, we’re not fit for the job anymore because we’re thinking of ourselves, not our students.
We can’t make ends meet, so we pick up side gigs. Some of us see it as just part of the cost of pursuing our “calling.”
Regardless, many of us become exhausted juggling two (or more) jobs, while most of our peers with equivalent education and work experience are buying homes, taking vacations, investing, accumulating generational wealth, etc. Here we are, highly educated and working, often over 40 hours/week, in a field about which we’re passionate, and we can’t keep up, while peers with equivalent or less education and similar experience continue to accumulate wealth and investments.
Then, there’s the lingering expense of education: student loans and other forms of debt. For people who cannot afford to pay out of pocket, of course. (See above point about education as a privilege.)
Yes, people in a multitude of fields carry student loan debt. However, student affairs is a field that “strongly prefers” advanced degrees, yet salaries are not commiserate with funding those degrees.
Yes, some universities have tuition remission, but that means one must first have a job to qualify for tuition remission, and may positions, as mentioned previously, require or strongly prefer master’s degrees.
Yes, there are graduate assistantships that can limit debt accumulation, but there aren’t enough of those positions to cover all future student affairs professionals and certainly not enough for every person who pursues a master’s degree in the hopes of pursuing a career in student affairs. Even those who are lucky enough to score an assistantship must live on a tight stipend that may or may not cover their living expenses and equate to cost of living in their location.
Then, the rest of us, the unlucky many who do not secure graduate assistantships rely on savings, family members, full-time work, part-time work, loans, credit cards, etc. Many, many, many of us rack up debt that upon graduation, requires large monthly payments, further draining our low salaries and delaying our financial security.
We’re Unable to Advance
It’s not until we’re a few years in that many of us learn that there’s a bottleneck to advance in student affairs. There are so very many entry-level positions, a few at the next level, and then positions become very scarce. There just isn’t anywhere to go. So we leave.
Many of us are familiar with the phrase “you have to move out to move up.” It’s so unlikely that we’ll advance within our institutions that we’re expected to leave when we’re ready to advance.
Some institutions treat open positions as an opportunity to be equitable: to pick the best possible candidate, even if it’s an outside person (and it can be). It means that to advance, we have to relocate, and in lower level positions, it is rare for moving expenses to be covered. That means many of us have the choice of relocating — uprooting our lives for work, going into more debt to finance the move, risking our current circumstances for the unknown — waiting for a position to open in our own institutions and actually being considered and selected when it does, or moving out of the field.
In prioritizing national searches in the name of equity, we undervalue institutional knowledge**, which takes time to build. A higher up who has moved up within the same system could surely tell you why their institutional knowledge and meaningful cross-campus connections are valuable, and yet, in hiring, those assets are often disregarded.
**And then there’s the opposite, when an internal candidate is preselected for a position, yet the department engages in a performative search, wasting time, possibly paid time off, money, resources, and energy of other candidates. And still claims to value justice, equity, and inclusion.
With the “move on to move up” philosophy, it’s expected that professionals will leave their positions and institutions. Professionals are treated as dispensable and immediately replaceable. It’s assumed they will eventually take their talents elsewhere, and it’s not possible to retain top talent. Take that same concept and place it in any other field — not possible because it’s ridiculous. It’s puzzling why this field operates as if top talent will inevitably leave for better opportunities, rather than doing everything possible to retain that talent, especially when there are endless articles freely sharing practices that work in sustaining employees.
We’re Undervalued
What makes a workplace happy one is when the people with power see their employees as full humans who offer unique value to the organization. They recognize that unhappiness outside of the workplace leads to unhappiness inside the workplace. They get creative and support their employees in living full, happy lives. Those employees with full, happy lives then bring their full, happy selves to work and do a great job when they’re there.
The distractions and band aids are not good enough. Pizza parties aren’t good enough. Yes, we like free food, even low-quality free food. We like it in the way that students like it… because our budgets are tight due to our low salaries. T-shirts aren’t good enough, especially when most places won’t let us wear them at work. Occasional yoga classes and mental health webinars aren’t good enough, especially when we feel guilty going because we’re unsure if our supervisors approve of the time of away from our offices. These things have never been good enough.
Many former student affairs folx are opting for gig work because their compensation is actually based on the work they do. If they work their asses off, they get paid more — and they probably get recognized for it. It’s not something they just have to do because “we care about our students.”
Other former student affairs folx have explored and found companies that offer reasonable salaries for people with master’s (or higher) degrees, remote work, flexible work schedules, advancement opportunities, and real support for employee wellness, including choices about how to best care for ourselves and our loved ones. They’re lured away by organizations that have realized that caring for the whole humanness of their employees is a win-win-win. Yet, higher education is fiercely resistant to change.
We’re Unhealthy
No, this one wasn’t in my original list because it’s the hardest one to admit. Student affairs is chock full of toxic positivity. It’s a place that’s supposed to be for happy, whole people (wink wink, for those who know). This has been especially hard to handle during Covid-19.
We’re not supposed to admit when we’re struggling. We fear that if we admit it, we’ll be seen as weak, selfish, lazy, incapable, etc. We have to put on an eager, energetic, excited face, so the students feel supported and cared for.
We know many students are struggling, and we work hard to support them. We don’t admit that the professionals live in the same world and have some of the same struggles as those students.
In my thirteen years in the field, I never once opened up about my own issues with depression and anxiety. I wrote my whole dissertation on supporting students with mental illness, while simultaneously hiding my own. I feared it was a violation of the expected toxic positivity of the field. I feared I’d no longer be seen as a professional capable of incredible things. I feared I’d be seen as flawed and a risk. At the same time, I knew people around me were doing the same thing, due to the stigma of mental illness, which I was studying.
In addition to mental health struggles, like I mentioned in previous sections, we’re overworked and underpaid. It’s hard to afford gym memberships, even to our own campus gyms, and then it’s hard to find the energy to exercise. As many of us have large monthly payments or copays for our health, dental, and eye insurances (if we even have all of those), and we may hesitate at making an appointment for fear of the cost. We hold in stress and stay unhealthy or in pain for fear of the cost.
So Do Something
We’ve all advocated for change and heard in response: “This is just how things work.” The thing is, just because it worked for you* does not mean that it works. We know it doesn’t work for most people in the profession. It’s time to fix it.
*If it did work for you, you’re likely a highly educated, able-bodied, straight, White ciswoman from middle to upper middleclass origins. If it worked for you and you’re in an VP or equivalent position, you’re likely a highly educated, able-bodied, straight White cisman from middle to upper middleclass origins.
These things are not going to change until people with real systemic power decide that change is necessary and possible. This is the hardest part because higher ups are the mostly likely to believe the system works because the system worked for them.
Personally, I decided my energy is better used tangential to higher ed, but for those of you who are determined to stay and want to explore how you can make an impact, here are some ideas.
1. Listen
My number one piece of advice for anyone managing anyone anywhere: listen.
Don’t ask for feedback after you’ve made a decision. Ask for feedback constantly, and make decisions based off of that feedback.
Really, actually listen.
With curiosity.
Ask your employees what you want to know: Why are people leaving? What could I have done to get them to stay? What do you need to do your best work?
Consider that everything they say is valid and true.
If there’s something you don’t understand, say things like, “Can you tell me more?” or “I’m trying to understand that part. Would you be willing to explain it to me?”
Consider your employees may not feel safe speaking up. If they claim to have no complaints or hardly say anything at all, they likely do not feel safe sharing their opinions with you. Student affairs professionals have lost their jobs for even light criticism of systemic inequities. If you really want to create a healthy workplace, you will need to put in the work to earn their trust and to convince them you really want to know what they think.
While you’re working to earn their trust, read opinions of employees like yours. Many, many people have written about it.
Then, consider the underlying issues from what people share. As De Smet et al. (2021) explained, “Employees were far more likely to prioritize relational factors, whereas employers were more likely to focus on transactional ones” (para. 16). Look for what really needs fixing, not for quick responses that do nothing to address the actual problem.
2. Recognize that your employees are human beings who bring their whole selves with them wherever they go.
Employees shouldn’t be expected to check their nonwork selves at the office door — because they can’t. We bring our whole selves with us wherever we go. If we’re stressed, worried, feeling ill, etc., we’re those things at work, at home, and everywhere in between.
Instead of demanding your employees to prioritize work, think of what you can do to support them so that they are able to prioritize work when they’re at work. To do so, they need support in living physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, and financially healthy lives. Thriving organizations have been exploring ways to offer that support: Steal their ideas.
Here are some general ideas.
3. Do Less.
“We’re going to have to do more with less.”
That phrase is like nails on a chalkboard.
No.
Do less with less.
Especially during the pandemic and also always, I’ve been shocked to hear how much student affairs professionals are asked to do. It’s okay to do less. As a friend said to me, when a restaurant runs out of something for the night, they 86 it. They don’t send the chefs running around town trying to find more of whatever they’re missing, taking away capacity of restaurant staff who are actively working on pleasing customers. They just say, “No more of this tonight.” And maybe they try to fix it tomorrow. Or if it’s not possible, they just won’t offer that item anymore. Maybe they’ll replace it. Maybe they won’t.
It’s okay to take care of people — students and staff — to ensure they’re thriving, to check in about their capacities, needs, wants, goals, etc. If staff can’t thrive while doing their jobs, it’s okay for them to do less, temporarily or permanently. If students aren’t showing interest, it’s okay to drop that initiative and find one more worth everyone’s time.
Just… do less.
Especially in a pandemic.
4. Check out what successful organizations are doing for their employees.
Some organizations ARE thriving. They are recruiting and maintaining amazing employees. No matter what level you’re at, you can make some decisions that influence others. Check out what dynamic organizations, profit and nonprofit, are doing.
Here are some ideas and some examples
- Academic articles: flexstyle, organizational change, change specific to Covid-19, transparent communication with change
- Blogs: organizational change specific to Covid-19, organizational culture changes due to Covid-19, human-centric workplaces
- Consultants — who often have some free resources: human-centric workplaces
- Podcasts: kindness, work & life
I’ll keep adding to this list as I find resources. Feel free to send more my way. I’d love to collect and share them.
Before you respond with, “It’s not possible to do [a four-day work week, unlimited PTO, extended maternity/paternity leave, required vacation time, student loan payments, fill in the blank with another innovative idea] here,” consider: Why not? Higher education is notoriously slow to change, yet change is inevitable, whether decision makers accept it and respond appropriately or not. The world is going to keep changing, what could you fight for to attract and keep top talent?
5. Move from toxic positivity to critical hope.
I am so curious about this idea of critical hope. Check it out.
6. Decide what to tackle first.
Can you do everything? No. Of course not. But if you supervise others or a team, it’s your job to keep them engaged. Figure out which issue seems the most pressing, let them know you are actively working on that one thing, and then work on it. Daily.
Sending love to the folx at those two jobs I LOVED because you showed you value your staff and fought for them, including me. You know who you are. You all deserve better than you’ve received.
Hi! I’m Megan Krone, Ph.D. (she/her/they/theirs). I’m an academic writing coach and editor who sometimes writes. I offer discounts for students & doctoral candidates, work supporting social justice, and frontline workers. Check out my website at megankrone.com
I’m also curious about your experience and would love to write more on this topic and related ones. Reach out to me at megan.krone@gmail.com
Help me pay off my student loans or buy me a tea. Venmo: @megan-krone Paypal: @MeganKrone
