Author: ACPAAdmin

The June 2027 issue of Developments will focus on the use of children’s literature in higher education particularly in student-facing roles in academic and student affairs. In an attempt to think creatively about ways to approach our work and learning, we are seeking manuscripts of no more than 1,500 words. Submissions should include the following:

1. Title of your article
2. Citation. Example: Sendak, M. (1963). Where the wild things are. Harper and Row.
3.  Abstract
   • How the text applies to higher education
   • How the text might be used with students, staff, or faculty
4. Your Connection to the Text
   • How did you first engage with the book?
   • What does this book mean to you personally?
   • Discuss personal connection to the text.
5. Overview of the Book
   • • Plot
     • Background of the author – if relevant
     • Themes, messages, and takeaways of the book
6. Application to Higher Education
   • How would you suggest that the book be used in higher education?
   • Possibilities include common reading for students, staff development, onboarding for new staff, undergraduate student leadership course, connection to student development or other theories in grad programs
   • Include not just when to use it, but how it might be implemented and what the intended goals of using the text are
7. Discussion Questions
   • What are key points of learning or reflection based on the book and what might engagement around those ideas look like?
   • Provide 3-5 reflection questions related to the text.
8. Author Biography – name, pronouns, and 1-2 brief sentences.

Contact Michelle Boettcher (mboettc@clemson.edu) with any questions or to submit a manuscript for consideration. Submission deadline for initial drafts is November 1, 2026.

When Engagement Does Not Equal Adjustment

One afternoon during the early weeks of the spring 2026 semester, I found myself in conversation with a first-year international student who was part of a Living Learning Community within their residence hall and had recently begun their college journey in the United States. From the outside, the student appeared to be adjusting well. They attended programs, participated in community events, and regularly spent time in shared community spaces. However, during our conversation, the student shared that while these experiences helped them become involved and meet people, they were still trying to make sense of the transition.

The student described the transition to college as both exciting and emotionally overwhelming. While Living Learning Community programs helped them learn about campus resources and meet other students, they continued to navigate the challenges of being far from home, adjusting to a new academic system, and building relationships in an unfamiliar cultural environment. The conversation reinforced an important reality for many first-year international students: visible participation does not always mean emotional connection or a sense of belonging.

Living Learning Communities are widely recognized as a high-impact educational practice that supports student engagement, academic success, and persistence (Inkelas & Soldner, 2011; Kuh, 2008). These communities are designed to integrate students’ academic and residential experiences, promote peer interaction, and create supportive learning environments within residence halls. However, participation in programming does not always address the emotional challenges students experience during their transition to college. This reality can be particularly significant for first-year international students, who often navigate additional layers of adjustment, including cultural transition, homesickness, language barriers, and unfamiliar academic expectations.

Recent scholarship on Living Learning Communities has emphasized that effective programs move beyond simply offering events and instead focus on creating environments that support students’ academic transition, identity development, and sense of belonging (Inkelas et al., 2023). Emerging research also highlights that Living Learning Communities are most effective when they intentionally address both academic and social adjustment, particularly for students who may experience additional transition stress, such as first-year international students (Brower & Inkelas, 2024). This suggests that the success of Living Learning Communities should not be measured only by program attendance, but also by how well these communities support students’ emotional adjustment and sense of belonging during their transition to college.

For residential life professionals, this raises an important question: If Living Learning Communities are designed to support holistic student development, are we placing too much emphasis on programming and not enough attention on the emotional realities first-year international students face during their transition to college? While many Living Learning Communities successfully create opportunities for involvement, less attention has been given to how students’ emotional experiences before and during arrival influence whether they choose to engage in the first place.

Understanding first-year international students’ pre-arrival stress and emotional transition is critical to understanding their engagement in Living Learning Communities. By rethinking engagement beyond attendance and considering the emotional experiences students bring with them to campus, residential life professionals can design Living Learning Communities that more effectively support both student development and student belonging during the critical first semester of college.

The Promise of Living Learning Communities

Living-learning communities have become a widely adopted model for enhancing student success in higher education. These communities group students with shared academic interests within residential environments and create opportunities for faculty interaction, collaborative learning, and peer engagement. Research shows that students who participate in Living Learning Communities often report stronger academic engagement, increased faculty interaction, and higher satisfaction with their college experience (Inkelas & Soldner, 2011). For first-year international students, these structured environments can provide important points of connection in an unfamiliar academic and social setting.

The design of Living Learning Communities is rooted in the idea that learning extends beyond the classroom. By integrating academic and residential experiences, institutions create environments where students can discuss course content, explore ideas with peers, and develop intellectual curiosity within their living spaces. To achieve these outcomes, many institutions rely heavily on programming such as workshops, faculty dinners, academic support events, and social activities intended to foster connection. However, for first-year international students, participation in these programs may be influenced by cultural adjustment, language confidence, and emotional readiness to engage. While programs create opportunities for engagement, the emphasis on programming can narrow how community development is understood. Engagement is often measured through attendance and participation metrics, which may not capture the relational and emotional dimensions of students’ experiences. For first-year international students, attendance alone may not reflect meaningful engagement or a true sense of belonging.

The Emotional Reality of the First Year

The transition to college is one of the most significant developmental changes many students experience. Emerging adulthood is characterized by identity exploration, increased independence, and uncertainty about the future (Arnett, 2000). Students entering college must adapt to new academic expectations, navigate unfamiliar social environments, and develop new support systems. For first-year international students, this transition often involves not only developmental change, but also cultural transition, educational system differences, and geographic separation from familiar support networks, making the adjustment process more complex.

For many students, these adjustments create emotional stress during the first year of college. Students often experience anxiety about academic performance, uncertainty about their sense of belonging, and pressure to establish social connections in an unfamiliar environment (Maymon & Hall, 2021). International students may face additional challenges during this transition, including cultural adaptation, language differences, financial pressure, and separation from family support systems. These factors can intensify feelings of loneliness, stress, and uncertainty during the first semester. As a result, first-year international students may be physically present in campus spaces while still experiencing emotional distance from their campus community.

Residence halls often become the primary environment where students process these challenges. Conversations with peers, interactions with residential staff, and everyday experiences within the community influence students’ sense of belonging and emotional well-being. Tinto’s (1993) theory of student persistence emphasizes that students are more likely to remain enrolled when they develop meaningful social and academic connections within the institution. Residential communities therefore play a critical role in shaping students’ adjustment to college life. For first-year international students in particular, the residence hall is often the first place where they attempt to build community, form friendships, and make sense of their new environment, making the residential experience especially influential in their transition.

However, emotional adjustment is not always explicitly addressed within Living Learning Community programming. Students may attend events and participate in community activities while still struggling internally with feelings of isolation, uncertainty, or self-doubt. For first-year international students, who may feel pressure to appear as though they are adjusting well, these internal challenges may remain invisible to residential staff, even when students are actively participating in programs and activities.

International Students and Emotional Transition in Living-Learning Communities

For international students, the emotional transition to college can be particularly complex. In addition to the academic and social adjustments that many first-year students experience, international students often navigate cultural adaptation, language differences, and geographic distance from family support systems. These challenges can intensify the emotional demands of the transition to university life. International students may also encounter unfamiliar cultural norms and communication styles that shape their interactions with peers and faculty. For example, differences in classroom participation styles or language confidence can make speaking in class or joining social conversations feel intimidating, sometimes leading to feelings of exclusion. Living in residence halls and participating in Living Learning Communities can provide opportunities for connection, but these environments may also highlight feelings of difference or isolation as students adjust to a new cultural setting. Homesickness is one of the most reported emotional challenges among international students during their first semester (Maymon & Hall, 2021). My professional experiences with first-year international students living in Living Learning Communities have similarly reinforced that participation in events does not always eliminate feelings of isolation or disconnection.

Living-learning communities therefore support transition not only through programming but through everyday interactions, peer relationships, and informal support systems within the residential environment.

The Invisible Work of Emotional Support

Within residential environments, some of the most meaningful support students receive occurs outside formal programming. Residential staff, peer mentors, and resident assistants frequently engage in conversations with students who are navigating academic stress, homesickness, or personal uncertainty. These conversations may occur after community meetings, during informal check-ins, or in shared spaces where students feel comfortable discussing their experiences. While these interactions rarely appear in institutional reports or programming assessments, they often represent the most impactful moments of student support.

Research on student well-being highlights the importance of perceived social support in reducing stress and improving adjustment among college students (McLean et al., 2021). When students feel that someone within their residential environment understands their experiences and is willing to listen, they are more likely to develop resilience and confidence during their transition to college. Recognizing the importance of emotional support requires institutions to reconsider how engagement within Living Learning Communities is defined and measured. Supporting students emotionally is not incidental to residential life; it is a central component of student development.

The Emotional Curriculum of Living Learning Communities

Although Living Learning Communities are designed to complement the academic curriculum through co-curricular programming, they also serve as environments where students encounter what may be described as an emotional curriculum. Unlike formal academic learning, the emotional curriculum of residential life emerges through students’ everyday experiences as they navigate independence, identity exploration, uncertainty, and personal growth. For many first-year students, the transition to college represents their first sustained experience away from familiar support systems, requiring them to manage time independently, develop new relationships, and adapt to new academic expectations. These challenges often produce moments of doubt, anxiety, and vulnerability. Within residential environments, students learn not only how to succeed academically but also how to cope with emotional uncertainty and develop resilience. Living Learning Communities therefore function as spaces where emotional learning occurs alongside intellectual development through peer conversations, mentorship, and everyday interactions. These experiences may not appear on programming calendars, yet they represent meaningful forms of learning within residential communities.

Relationships as the Core of Community: While programs may introduce students to their community, relationships sustain that community over time. Peer relationships within residence halls contribute to students’ sense of belonging and engagement (Bronkema & Bowman, 2017). Programs create opportunities for connection, but meaningful relationships often develop through informal conversations and shared experiences, which are critical to students’ sense of belonging during the first year.

The Role of Residential Educators in Supporting Emotional Adjustment

Residential educators occupy a unique position within the university environment because they interact with students in spaces where academic and personal experiences intersect. Graduate assistants, resident assistants, peer mentors, and professional residence life staff often serve as the first individuals who recognize when students are struggling with the emotional challenges of the college transition. Unlike faculty interactions that occur primarily within the classroom, residential life interactions often take place in informal settings where students feel more comfortable discussing personal concerns. Conversations in residence hall lounges, after meetings, or during casual check-ins provide opportunities for residential educators to support students in meaningful ways. These interactions require residential educators to balance multiple roles as mentors, facilitators of community engagement, and sources of emotional support while maintaining professional boundaries. The ability to listen actively, respond with empathy, and connect students to campus resources is an essential component of residential education practice.

Research on student success continues to highlight the importance of supportive campus relationships and students’ sense of belonging in shaping academic persistence and personal development (Strayhorn, 2019; Gopalan & Brady, 2020; Maymon & Hall, 2021). Within residential environments, these supportive relationships often develop through interactions with residential staff who are accessible to students during moments of uncertainty. Recognizing the role of residential educators in emotional support requires institutions to value relational work alongside programming responsibilities. By acknowledging this relational dimension of residential life, institutions can strengthen the impact of living-learning communities as environments that support both academic success and personal growth.

Moving Beyond Programming: Practical Strategies

 

To move beyond programming as the primary measure of engagement, Living Learning Communities must intentionally incorporate strategies that support students’ emotional transitions. The table below outlines common challenges experienced by first-year international students, the residential staff members who are most likely to address these challenges, and the ways in which these interactions contribute to what this article conceptualizes as the emotional curriculum of Living Learning Communities.

 

Emotional Challenge (International Students)	Staff Member to Address Issue	Strategies to Address Issue	Potential Emotional Outcome	Potential Implications for Engagement
Homesickness	RA / APM	Peer support circles, community dinners, cultural sharing events	May strengthen emotional support	May strengthen belonging and participation
Cultural adjustment	APM / LLC Faculty	Transition discussions, cultural adjustment workshops	May strengthen feelings of inclusion	May support classroom and community engagement
Language confidence	APM	Small group discussions, study groups	May increase confidence in communication	May support participation in programs and academics
Social isolation	RA/APM	Intentional small group activities, mentor check-ins	May support the development of friendships	May strengthen community connection
Academic anxiety	Faculty/Tutor/APM	Academic skill workshops, study sessions	May reduce anxiety and increase confidence	May support academic engagement
Fear of asking for help	All LLC Staff	Normalize help-seeking, resource education	May build trust	May encourage use of campus resources
Emotional stress	Professional staff/counseling	Wellness workshops, stress management	May strengthen emotional coping skills	May support sustained engagement

 

As shown in the table, many of the most impactful learning experiences within Living Learning Communities occur through everyday interactions rather than formal programs. These interactions may support students’ confidence, belonging, resilience, and help-seeking behaviors, which are critical components of student success but are often not captured through traditional engagement metrics.

Conclusion

Living-learning communities remain one of the most promising models for integrating academic and residential life in higher education. However, their effectiveness depends not only on the programs they offer but also on the relationships they cultivate. Students entering college navigate complex emotional transitions as they adapt to new academic and social environments. While programming can introduce students to their community, meaningful support often emerges through relationships, mentorship, and everyday interactions. By intentionally prioritizing emotional support alongside programming, Living Learning Communities can create environments where students feel both academically engaged and personally supported. In doing so, residential life professionals can ensure that these communities fulfill their promise as spaces where students not only learn but also grow.

 

Reflection Questions

1. How do Living Learning Communities on your campus define and measure student engagement, and in what ways does this emphasis include or overlook the emotional challenges international students experience during their transition to college?
2. What role can residential educators, including resident assistants, peer mentors, and graduate assistants, play in recognizing and supporting the emotional adjustment of first-year international students within Living Learning Communities?
3. How might Living Learning Communities be intentionally designed to support both academic engagement and emotional well-being, particularly for students navigating additional transitions such as cultural adjustment or studying far from home?

 

Author Biography

Jacob Mensah (he/him) is a Graduate Assistant in Housing and Residence Life at Ball State University, where he works with Living Learning Communities to support first-year student transition and engagement. His developing research agenda focuses on student belonging, educational transitions, international student experiences, residential education, and the institutional conditions that shape student success. His work examines how campus environments, relationships, and support systems influence students’ engagement, belonging, persistence, and ability to navigate higher education.

References

Arnett, J. J. (2000). Emerging adulthood: A theory of development from the late teens through the twenties. American Psychologist, 55(5), 469–480. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.55.5.469

Bronkema, R. H., & Bowman, N. A. (2017). Close campus relationships and college student success. Journal of College Student Development, 58(7), 1003–1018. https://doi.org/10.1353/csd.2017.0078

Inkelas, K. K., & Soldner, M. (2011). Undergraduate living-learning programs and student outcomes. In J. C. Smart & M. B. Paulsen (Eds.), Higher education: Handbook of theory and research (Vol. 26). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-007-0702-3_1

Maymon, R., & Hall, N. C. (2021). College students’ stress and well-being during the transition to higher education. Educational Psychology Review, 33(2), 371–399. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10648-020-09555-y

McLean, L., Gaul, D., & Penco, R. (2021). Perceived social support and stress among college students. Journal of American College Health, 69(6), 699–708. https://doi.org/10.1080/07448481.2019.1699103

Tinto, V. (1993). Leaving college: Rethinking the causes and cures of student attrition (2nd ed.). University of Chicago Press.

Strayhorn, T. L. (2019). College students’ sense of belonging: A key to educational success for all students (2nd ed.). Routledge.

Gopalan, M., & Brady, S. T. (2020). College students’ sense of belonging: A national perspective. Educational Researcher, 49(2), 134–137. https://doi.org/10.3102/0013189X19897622

Maymon, R., & Hall, N. C. (2021). College students’ stress and well-being during the transition to higher education. Educational Psychology Review, 33(2), 371–399.

Maymon, R., & Hall, N. C. (2021). College students’ stress and well-being during the transition to higher education. Educational Psychology Review, 33(2), 371–399. 

Living-Learning Communities That Work (2023)
 Inkelas, K. K., Jessup-Anger, J. E., Benjamin, M., & Wawrzynski, M. R. (2023). Living-learning communities that work: A research-based model for design, delivery, and assessment. Stylus Publishing.

Living-Learning Communities in Practice (2024)
 Brower, A. M., & Inkelas, K. K. (2024). Living-learning communities in practice. Routledge.

Colleges across the country are facing budget cuts while being asked to maintain the same number of student services. As a new professional, I do not remember a time when this was not the case. Many of my colleagues talk about times when “we could buy t-shirts for everyone and have lunch catered,” when now, I am left with discovering what professional development is fun and free. In the face of burnout, budget frustration, and limited opportunities for professional development, new professionals may have to focus on doing less, doing it more creatively, and still doing it well.

Even in times where we are given fewer resources, we are expected to still show up, support students, give the perspective of said students (depending on your age and general Gen-Z-Ness), and carve our own path in the field. Institutional challenges require individual responses. This means coming up with ways to protect your peace and continue to grow during these times. We must develop skills to cope with continuing uncertainty. Young professionals still carry a responsibility to bring fresh ideas and cultivate their own resilience.

Defining what this means to you is essential. To me, this looks like researching training offered for free on campus, making crafts on my own to show my students they are appreciated, and taking any chance offered to me to go and do it. This year, I went to Arizona for 48 hours to attend a conference to get employer contacts, just because I had a free weekend and because, why not? My area of expertise is nowhere near employer relations, but when opportunities present themselves go and do, take the chance. My level of spontaneity is certainly not for everyone; it just works for me to keep myself engaged and challenge the idea of a rigid position description. You can wear the hats that present themselves, expand beyond your job description when appropriate, and roll with the punches.

In an Inside Higher Ed article, a panel of university presidents shared one overarching theme in their advice to young professionals: growth. This could take the form of taking risks, being open to new ideas, and making connections. One sentence that stood out to me from John L. Hoffman, president of Bemidji State University and Northwest Technical College, “If you know where you’re going, you’re never going to end up somewhere else” (Mowreader, 2024). There is no 100% correct path to get to your absolute dream – if you even know what that is right now. Personally, I have no idea. Sometimes it’s a Dean of Students who teaches a yoga class, sometimes it’s a faculty member in a Higher Education program, and sometimes it’s going all the way up and being the President of the whole University! I think it can be easy to think there is one way forward, but flexibility is the way to remain positive in times when we feel like we have fewer options.

Another panel member, Angelica L. Suarez, president of Orange Coast College in California, said to take care of the role that you are in (Mowreader, 2024). Many of my peers in their first role are in an inaugural position – truly, the first to do it. Your time in the position you are in, new or not, sets a precedent for the next “you.” Taking care of your position paves a way forward for the next generation of us, young professionals. Taking care of your learning and professional development with little resources is truly built around intentionality. How you collaborate with your colleagues, how you show up every day, and how you care for and support students, is free. You must be the steward of your own journey, and care about the impact you will have on the long term.

Overall, if you do know your stretch goal or just taking your first years in the field day by day, adapting to what comes next is the advice all young professionals should take in stride. You cannot control budgets, administration, and larger changes in the world that affect higher education. You control how you show up, the dedication you bring to your own experience, and your mindset amid the chaos. Make a point to leave things better than you found them and embrace the wonderful uncertainty of it all.

Reflection Questions

1. What are current challenges in your work that you have control over? What challenges do you not have control over?
2. Who is someone you know who is particularly positive, adaptable and flexible in times of uncertainty? What can you learn from their approach? Consider asking to meet with them to learn more about their strategies during challenging times.
3. How do you hope to show up each day? What steps do you take to work toward that idealized vision for yourself?

Author Biography

Hali Sanders (she/her/hers) is originally from Chesapeake, Virginia, and currently serves as Assistant Director for Career Development at Clemson University. She graduated from Clemson University in 2025 with her Master’s degree in Higher Education, Student Affairs and a Bachelor of Arts in Communications, Media Studies from Old Dominion University in 2023.

References

Mowreader, A. (2024, July 1). Eight considerations for a rising student success professional. Inside Higher Ed. https://www.insidehighered.com/news/student-success/college-experience/2024/07/01/eight-considerations-rising-student-success

“I am doing well.”

When asked “How are you doing?” this is often the easiest answer to give and the hardest to unpack. During my first semester as an African international graduate student in the United States, I said these words more times than I can count. I said them to my supervisor, to my academic advisor, to classmates, and even to friends who genuinely wanted to know how I was adjusting. Each time I said it, the sentence worked like a shield. It protected me from having to explain my confusion, my exhaustion, and my quiet fear that I was not doing enough.

There were days when I repeated this phrase so often that it began to feel automatic. I said it while struggling to understand course readings, while navigating unfamiliar classroom expectations, and while learning how to balance my graduate assistantship responsibilities. The words came easily but they carried weight I did not yet know how to name. Behind them was the pressure to appear grateful, capable and resilient in a system that felt overwhelming.

As an international student from Ghana pursuing graduate education in the U.S, I quickly learned that “doing well” often meant performing stability rather than experiencing it. My response was shaped by culture and upbringing. It was not dishonesty, it was protection. Through my lived experiences and conversations with other African students, I have come to understand that this phrase carries meanings that are often invisible to student affairs professionals, faculty, and peers.

This article is written from my perspective as a Ghanaian international graduate student navigating higher education in the U.S. While my story is personal, it reflects a broader pattern among many African students who carry cultural expectations of strength, gratitude and resilience into academic spaces. I write this piece not to criticize student affairs professionals but to invite deeper listening and reflection. By understanding the cultural weight behind “I am doing well,” educators and supervisors can better support African and international students as they navigate graduate school.

The Cultural Meaning of “I Am Doing Well” 

In Ghanaian culture, saying “I am doing well” is often less about honesty and more about respect. It is a socially acceptable response that protects privacy and maintains dignity. Growing up, I learned early that strength meant being able to endure. There is an Akan adage that says, “It is the man who swallows the bitter pill.” This means that pain is something that you carry silently as a show of strength rather than display openly.

This mindset appeared early in my schooling. When teachers asked if we understood a lesson, many of us would respond yes even when we were confused. Asking questions could be interpreted as slowing others down or exposing weakness. Over time, silence became a form of safety.

As a male student, these expectations felt even stronger. Vulnerability was rarely encouraged in my childhood, while resilience and perseverance were praised. These cultural values shaped how I learned to respond to challenges long before I entered graduate school. What looked like confidence from the outside was often quiet endurance on the inside. Scholars have noted that help-seeking behaviors are deeply influenced by cultural norms and socialization (Yeh & Inose, 2003). Many African students demonstrate strength through self-reliance rather than disclosure, which can complicate engagement with support services in Western educational contexts.

Carrying These Values into U.S Graduate Education

When I arrived in the United States for graduate school, I carried these values with me. During my first semester, everything felt new and fast-paced. The academic language, classroom discussions, expectations around participation, and the balance between coursework and graduate assistantship was a lot to manage all at once.

There were moments when I felt overwhelmed and unsure of myself. When I started my assistantship, I struggled to understand some of my responsibilities and how to manage my time effectively. Instead of asking questions, I tried to figure things out on my own. During meetings with my academic advisor, I said I was “okay”, even when I was struggling to fully understand course content.

I chose not to disclose these struggles because I did not want to be seen as weak or incapable. I worried that admitting difficulty might confirm stereotypes about international students or affect how others perceived my competence. Saying, “I am doing well” felt safer than risking misunderstanding or judgment. Research on international graduate students supports this experience, noting that fear of being perceived as unprepared or deficient often discourages students from seeking help (Hyun et al., 2007). For me, silence felt like self-preservation.

Shared Experiences Among African Students

As the semester progressed, I began having informal conversations with other international students from Ghana and other African countries. In these private spaces, many of us expressed similar feelings of confusion, pressure and isolation. Yet in formal academic or professional settings, we continued to present ourselves as “fine”.

We talked about navigating U.S. classroom culture, where participation is often expected and rewarded. Some shared fears about accents, language processing, or saying the wrong thing in front of peers. Despite these challenges, we rarely voice these concerns to faculty or staff.

These conversations revealed a shared cultural response to struggle, one shaped by gratitude for opportunity, family sacrifice, and the desire to survive without complaint. What looked like adjustment was often quiet endurance.

What Student Affairs Professionals Might Miss

When African or international students say, “I am doing well” student affairs professionals may interpret this as a sign of successful adjustment. However, this phrase can mask significant stress, uncertainty, and emotional labor.

In advising or supervision meetings, time constraints and structured agendas may limit deeper conversations. When a student responds positively, professionals may feel reassured and move on to the next topic. From the student’s perspective, this can unintentionally signal that there is no room to share more. Over time, students may learn that surface-level responses are sufficient and expected.

Power dynamics play an important role. Advisors, supervisors and faculty hold authority, and for students from cultures that emphasize respect for authority, honesty can feel risky. Without intentional follow-up, students may assume that deeper struggles are not meant to be shared.

This gap is not a failure of care but a reminder that culturally responsive practice requires curiosity and patience. As Pope, Reynolds, and Mueller (2019) argued, inclusive advising requires understanding how students’ identities shape communication and help-seeking behaviors. Without this awareness, silence can be misread as confidence.

Rethinking Support and Advising Practices

Supporting African and international students requires more than asking, “How are you doing?” It requires creating an environment where honesty is safe and expected. Questions such as, “What has been the most challenging for you recently?” or “What support would make this feel more manageable?” invite deeper reflection and signal genuine care.

In orientation programs, normalizing struggle early can help students understand that difficulty is not failure. When educators acknowledge that confusion, stress and adjustment challenges are common parts of graduate school, students may feel less pressure to perform perfection.

Advisors can also build flexibility into meetings by leaving space for personal check-ins rather than focusing solely on academic progress. Even small actions like remembering a previous concern or following up on a past conversation can communicate that a student’s well-being matters.

Trust-building over time is essential. For many students, honesty develops through consistent relationships rather than one time check-ins. Small moments of care like remembering details, following up, and listening without rushing can open doors to authenticity.

Growth Through Dual Roles

 Serving as a graduate assistant while being a graduate student has reshaped how I understand student support. I now recognize how easily silence can be read as confidence. Being on both sides as someone who struggled quietly and someone who supports others has taught me that asking for help is a learned skill.

This dual perspective has strengthened my commitment to culturally responsive practice. I am more intentional about listening beyond surface responses and creating spaces where students can share at their own pace. Belonging, I have learned, is built through trust, not assumptions.

 Conclusion

“I am doing well” is a phrase that deserves closer attention. For many African students, it reflects cultural values rooted in resilience, respect, and survival rather than an absence of struggle.

By listening more closely and asking intentional questions, student affairs professionals can better support students whose challenges may be hidden behind polite responses. My hope is that this article encourages reflection and invites educators to look beyond what is said toward what may remain unspoken.

Author Biography

Emmanuel Amankwah (He/Him/His) is a graduate student in the Higher Education and Student Affairs Administration program at Grand Valley State University. He serves as a graduate assistant at the Office of Inclusion and Equity Institute, where he coordinates learning development programs through the Inclusion and Equity Institute. His professional interests include international student support, inclusion and equity.

References

Hyun, J., Quinn, B., Madon, T., & Lustig, S. (2007). Mental health need, awareness, and use of counselling services among international graduate students. Journal of American College Health, 56(2), 109-118

Pope, R. L., Reynolds, A. L., & Mueller, J. A. (2019). Multicultural competence in student affairs (2nd ed.). Jossey-Bass.

Yeh, C. J., & Inose, M. (2003). International students’ reported English fluency, social support satisfaction, and social connectedness as predictors of acculturative stress. Counseling Psychology Quarterly, 16(1), 15-28.

Many times, I’ve heard phrases like, “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” or “Take care of yourself so you can take care of others.” Naturally, many in helping professions can empathize with this sentiment, and some may have even offered this advice to colleagues. While these phrases are well-intentioned and often appropriate, I’ve found in my graduate and professional life that this advice misses the mark. It has become a blanket statement that deserves reconsideration.

My Journey

Some might ask: what is the harm in encouraging someone to care for themselves so they can show up as their best self at work? In some cases, there is no harm. However, as a full-time professional and part-time Ph.D. student, I have learned over the past five years that generalized advice about sustainable mental health practices is just that: a generalization. And generalizations rarely account for the complexity of lived experience.

In 2018, I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and through years of therapy and intentional healing, I came to understand that my experience aligns with complex PTSD (C-PTSD). Healing is not a linear process with a clear endpoint. Instead, it is an ongoing negotiation of what it means to live in what I call “C-PTSD recovery.”

In 2021, as a first-year graduate student in my M.Ed. program, I was hopeful that colleagues in my assistantships, internships, and classrooms would be accepting of my invisible disability when I felt strong enough to disclose it. Instead, I encountered an unexpected level of resistance. In a helping profession, I had not anticipated that my disability would be overlooked unless I advocated relentlessly for myself.

Questions from Others

The question, “What can I do to support you?” often evokes mixed emotions. The first time a supervisor asked me this, I responded candidly: “I’m still learning how to function with these symptoms myself. . .I’m not Google. Supporting me requires understanding what it means to live with this disability.”

Years later, my response has evolved. I now value this question and welcome it from colleagues, supervisors, and even students. What has changed is not just my perspective, but my acceptance that my needs and processes in the workplace will likely differ from those without PTSD or other mental health challenges.

As a para-professional graduate student, I learned the importance of requesting reasonable accommodations under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), particularly Title I, which protects employees from discrimination based on disability. However, the process itself often presents systemic barriers. In the five years since completing my undergraduate degree, I cannot recall a single instance where requesting accommodations felt seamless or truly supportive. Instead, it often felt like bureaucratic compliance, just paperwork that enabled me to function at a baseline level comparable to those without disabilities, rather than empowering me to thrive.

Even now, I encounter questions about my accommodations that feel judgmental. I am periodically asked to provide private medical documentation, despite the chronic nature of my condition, and I hear colleagues question how I have received what they perceive as “special privileges.” These experiences reveal a deeper issue: a lack of understanding about what equitable support actually looks like.

Helpful Theories

What is most difficult to articulate is the variability of my day-to-day experience. Christine Miserandino’s “Spoon Theory” (2003) offers a powerful framework for understanding chronic illness and energy limitations. She describes starting each day with a limited number of “spoons,” which represent units of energy. Everyday tasks such as getting dressed, attending meetings, engaging socially require spoons, and the number needed fluctuates based on one’s physical or mental state. Once the spoons are gone, they are gone.

This is the crux of the issue. We live in a fast-paced, highly demanding society that assumes consistency in energy, output, and capacity. Through frameworks like Bronfenbrenner’s Ecological Systems Theory (1979), I have found validation in understanding how multiple environmental layers interact to shape my experience with C-PTSD. Some triggers are predictable; many are not. Like anyone else, I cannot always forecast my capacity for each day.

This reality became especially clear after returning from ACPA 26, where I served on the Equity & Inclusion team for Convention Planning. For over a year, our work focused on creating an experience accessible and affirming for all attendees. During the conference, I attended sessions centered on the theme “Be More Anchored,” and I realized something profound: I had not anchored myself. I was navigating each day with few or no “spoons,” wondering why my symptoms persisted despite my arduous efforts to manage them.

Shortly thereafter, I came across others identifying as “spoonies” and was introduced more formally to Spoon Theory. While I had long recognized fluctuations in my energy, I struggled to communicate this experience in a way others could understand. Previously, I relied on clinical language. Terms like sympathetic nervous system, window of tolerance, hyperarousal, and hypoarousal. These concepts took years of personal work to grasp. How, then, could I expect colleagues, supervisors, or students to fully understand my needs through this lens? Spoon Theory gave me a shared language. A language that is simple, accessible, and humanizing. It shifted the conversation from abstract clinical explanations to something tangible: energy as finite, variable, and deeply personal.

Conclusion

The problem is not the intention behind phrases like, “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” it is the assumption that everyone’s “cup” functions the same way. For individuals navigating chronic illness or mental health conditions, energy is not simply depleted and replenished through self-care rituals; it is unpredictable, uneven, and often influenced by factors beyond personal control. If helping professions are truly committed to care, then we must move beyond generalized advice and toward individualized understanding. This means listening more closely, questioning assumptions about productivity and wellness, and embracing frameworks, like Spoon Theory, that make invisible experiences visible. Supporting others is not about reminding them to refill their cup; it is about recognizing that, for some, the cup itself operates differently, so as helpers, educators, and advocates, let’s adjust our expectations and systems accordingly within our sphere of influence.

Discussion Questions

1.) What other frameworks can professionals use to describe their energy or advocate for sustainable mental health practices?

2.) For supervisors of employees who have disclosed that they have an individual identity, what can you do to mitigate stressors that come along with the request for reasonable accommodations process?

3.) What other systemic barriers or instances of ableism show up in higher education in regard to an invisible disability?

Author Biography

Serenity Marie Wolf, M.Ed. is a first-generation college graduate with a B.A. Environmental Studies and English from St. Mary’s College of Maryland and an M.Ed. Counselor Education (Student Affairs) from Clemson University. She currently works full-time as the Associate Director for Scholarship Programs in the Clemson Honors College while pursuing her Ph.D. in Educational Leadership part-time. Her research interests are in undergraduate STEM motivation and achievement perceptions with a particular focus on underrepresented student populations and an intersection of experiential learning. Outside of school and work, Serenity enjoys spending time in nature, watching true crime documentaries, and cuddling her service-trained shih-tzu, Oakley.

Part III of the series “Still, We Rise: Translating Research, Practice, and Purpose in Student Affairs”

About This Series: This is Part III of a three-part series grounded in dissertation research on Black undergraduate women at historically White institutions. Part I established the study’s methodological framing and key themes. Part II detailed how those findings were translated into practice through the development of Sista Circles at the University of Georgia, tracing the partnerships, design decisions, and lived outcomes that shaped the initiative. Part III turns to implications for leadership and institutional responsibility, centering sustainability as both an ethical commitment and a practice-based calling.

What Sustainability Actually Looks Like

When I learned that the students in NCNW were keeping Sista Circles going after I transitioned out of my role, it meant everything to me. That is not a figure of speech. It is the truest measure of what the work was always meant to be: something that took root deeply enough to grow without me at the center of it. I had taken my research from theory to practice, and what emerged was something the students claimed as their own. That is a real source of pride, and it is the lens through which everything in this final piece is written.

Parts I and II of this series traced a movement from listening to building. Part I centered the narratives of Black undergraduate women who named hypervisibility, racial battle fatigue, and the sustaining power of community as defining features of their undergraduate experience at historically White institutions (Corbin et al., 2018; Kelly et al., 2021; Smith, 2004; Winkle-Wagner, 2015). Part II described what happened when those narratives were taken seriously as design knowledge, tracing how Sista Circles came into being through partnership, trust, and a commitment to building with students rather than for them. This final piece asks what comes after the building: what does it mean to lead in a way that makes identity-affirming work outlast the practitioner who initiated it, and what does that kind of leadership require of us?

These are not abstract questions. They are the questions I lived, and the answers I found are the ones I want to share here.

Programs depend on the people who run them. Cultures carry themselves. What Sista Circles became, under the stewardship of students who had been trusted from the start, was not a program anymore. It was a practice. And that distinction, between something institutional and something living, is at the heart of what sustainability means in identity-centered work.

Leadership Beyond Position

Sustaining work like Sista Circles requires a kind of leadership that lives in relationship rather than position. It is values-driven, built on trust, and oriented toward the growth and well-being of the students it serves. That orientation does not diminish institutional responsibility. It deepens it.

It aligns with what ACPA/NASPA professional competencies ask of us under Leadership: the capacity to influence institutional culture, advocate ethically, and engage in collaborative practice that moves beyond individual authority (American College Personnel Association & National Association of Student Personnel Administrators [ACPA & NASPA], 2015). What that looked like in practice, for me, was translation work. When questions arose about the programs scope or purpose, I did not retreat from the work’s identity-centered foundation. I connected it to outcomes that the institution already understood and valued: belonging as a driver of persistence (Strayhorn, 2018), community as a buffer against racial battle fatigue (Smith, 2004), and culturally sustaining spaces as conditions for full academic engagement (Paris, 2012). The values did not change. The vocabulary expanded. That kind of bridge-building is not compromise. It is strategy, and it is one that equity-minded practitioners develop over time through the work itself.

The most durable thing I did in sustaining Sista Circles was not design a curriculum or write a proposal. It was investing in relationships with students, with NCNW, with colleagues who believed in the work, so that the initiative was held by a network of people rather than a single set of hands. When I left, those hands were still there. Relational leadership does not produce dependence. It produces capacity. The continuation of Sista Circles after my departure was proof of that.

Building for Continuity

I did not use the word sustainability when I first started building Sista Circles. I was thinking about trust, about partnership, about what it would mean to enter a design process without a predetermined outcome and let students shape what emerged. Looking back, that is exactly what sustainability required.

The partnership with NCNW was not logistical. It was foundational. Asking students what had been missing, and allowing their answers to reshape the plan before a single flyer was designed or a date was set, meant that the program reflected the people it was meant to serve before it ever held its first session. Students were not recipients of something built for them. They were co-architects of something they helped create, and that investment is what made the work transferable when I was no longer there to carry it.

There is something Black feminist thought has always understood about this: that when knowledge is held collectively, it does not disappear when one person leaves the room (Collins, 2000). That principle was not just theoretical in Sista Circles. It was structural. It was the reason NCNW members could keep the work moving, evolve it according to their own priorities, and bring new students into something that already had roots.

Sustainability also requires honest attention to the conditions under which equity work happens. Identity-centered programs should not depend on the extraordinary commitment of a single person, running on passion and personal investment without dedicated support. When the infrastructure behind a program is as intentional as the program itself, the work has a far better chance of outlasting the individuals who initiated it. Advocating for those conditions is not separate from the work. It is part of leading it well.

Mentorship as a Sustainability Strategy

If there is one decision I made in building Sista Circles that most directly shaped its survival, it was treating students as leaders from the beginning rather than beneficiaries of a space someone else designed and maintained.

This came directly from what the research had already taught me. Participants in Part I described community as foundational to their persistence, not supplemental to it (Strayhorn, 2018). They named spaces grounded in shared identity and collective care as essential to their ability to show up, persist, and make meaning of their experiences. That understanding shaped every design decision in Sista Circles, and what I did not fully appreciate until I transitioned out was how thoroughly that investment in student ownership would determine the program’s future.

Mentorship within Sista Circles was never hierarchical. It was reciprocal. Students supported one another’s growth while facilitators modeled reflective practice. Knowledge moved in multiple directions. That is consistent with how Black feminist traditions understand community: leadership as distributed, care as central, and the wisdom held in lived experience as genuinely authoritative (Collins, 2000; Dillard, 2008). Students in NCNW were not volunteers executing a staff-driven vision. They were co-stewards of something they had helped create, and they brought that ownership forward when the institutional structure shifted around them.

When Sista Circles continued without me, it was not despite my departure. In an important sense, it continued because of how the work had been built. That is the goal: not programs that require us, but communities that sustain themselves. The work we do in equity-centered spaces is not ours to keep. It belongs to the communities it serves, and our deepest contribution is creating the conditions for those communities to lead.

Attending to Leader Well-Being and Purpose

There is something I want to name directly, because I think practitioner literature sometimes softens it: this work is demanding in ways that are specific to equity-centered practice. The emotional labor is real, cumulative, and it does not disappear when you close your office door.

There were moments in the development and sustainment of Sista Circles when I was holding multiple things at once: supporting students through difficult experiences, managing programmatic demands, navigating institutional conversations, and doing my own ongoing reflection as a scholar-practitioner. What sustained me through that was not any single strategy. It was a combination of purpose, community, and the discipline of returning to the research.

Going back to the participant narratives, sitting with the findings, asking what the data still required of me, was not just an intellectual exercise. It was renewal. It reconnected me to why the work existed in the first place and reminded me what was actually at stake. For scholar-practitioners, inquiry and leadership are not separate endeavors. The research does not end when the program begins. It continues as a resource for reflection, grounding, and purpose.

Community sustained me in ways I did not always have words for in the moment. The colleagues who understood this work without needing it explained, who could sit with the complexity of it without simplifying or minimizing: that network was not supplemental to my capacity to lead. It was foundational to it. We talk about building community for students. We have to be equally intentional about building it for ourselves.

Setting limits and protecting space for reflection are not failures of commitment. They are conditions of sustainability. The students we serve deserve practitioners who are present and grounded, and that requires us to tend to our own well-being with the same seriousness we bring to theirs.

Sustaining Cultures, Not Just Programs

Ultimately, sustainability is not about preserving a single initiative. It is about cultivating the kind of institutional culture where students’ lived experiences are recognized as legitimate sources of knowledge, and where the spaces built in response to those experiences are treated as essential rather than supplemental.

The measure of Sista Circles was never whether it continued in the form I designed. It was whether those young women had something that held them. Something that let them be fully themselves without explanation or performance. Something they did not have to earn or justify. That is what they built together. That is what they kept.

Part I documented what participants were missing: spaces where they did not have to explain themselves, where their intersecting identities were not accommodated as exceptions but centered as the starting point (Collins, 2000; Dillard, 2008; Crenshaw, 1991). Part II described what it looked like to build that kind of space with intention and in genuine partnership with students. This final piece has tried to ask what it looks like to lead in a way that makes such spaces outlast us, and to sit honestly with the answer: it requires us to build with communities, not just for them.

Across this three-part series, a throughline has emerged. When institutions listen to students, respond with intention, and lead with purpose, equity work becomes embedded rather than symbolic. That embedding does not happen by accident. It happens through relationship, through reciprocal mentorship, through advocacy for the structures that make this work survivable, and through practitioners who stay connected to their own purpose even when the work is hard.

The title of this series is Still, We Rise. I chose that framing deliberately, because rising is not a singular event. It is a practice, repeated across circumstances, carried by communities, sustained through relationship and intention. The students who built Sista Circles alongside me are still rising. The students who find that space now, without knowing my name or my role in its origins, are rising in it. That is not a footnote to the work. That is the work.

What we owe students is not programs that depend on our presence. It is cultures that hold them in our absence. When we lead, mentor, advocate, and reflect with that goal in mind, we do more than create initiatives. We create conditions. And conditions, unlike programs, can outlast us all.

Practice Takeaways

• Sustainability begins at the design stage. When students are co-architects from the start, they develop a stake in the work that outlasts any single staff transition.
• Relational leadership builds capacity, not dependence. Invest in the network of people who believe in the work, and it will be held by more than one set of hands.
• Advocate for the infrastructure that makes equity work survivable: dedicated staffing, protected time, and institutional structures that treat this work as essential.
• Mentorship across roles, practiced with reciprocity and generosity, is one of the most powerful sustainability strategies available to us.
• Stay connected to your own purpose. Returning to the research, to community, and to the students’ stories is not a luxury. It is what keeps the work grounded and the practitioner whole.

Reflection Questions: Part III

1. How do your leadership practices create conditions for identity-affirming work to endure beyond your own presence in a role?
2. In what ways are you mentoring emerging professionals and students to center equity as a leadership responsibility, not just a personal value?
3. How do you care for yourself and your team in ways that model sustainability rather than normalize sacrifice?
4. Where in your institution is identity-centered work being sustained by individual commitment alone, and what would it take to change that?

Author Biography

Wanda Johnson (She/Her) is an award-winning scholar-practitioner whose research and practice center the lived experiences of Black women at historically White institutions. Grounded in Black feminist thought and critical narrative inquiry, her work explores belonging, identity, and institutional transformation while advancing culturally responsive support initiatives for Black women in higher education.

References

American College Personnel Association & National Association of Student Personnel Administrators. (2015).  ACPA/NASPA professional competency areas for student affairs educators (2^nd ed.). Washington, DC: Authors. https://www.naspa.org/files/dmfile/ACPA_NASPA_Professional_Competencies_1.pdf

Collins, P. H. (2000). Black feminist thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment (2nd ed.). Routledge.

Corbin, N. A., Smith, W. A., & Garcia, J. R. (2018). Trapped between justified anger and being the strong Black woman: Black college women coping with racial battle fatigue at historically and predominantly White institutions. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 31(7), 626–643. https://doi.org/10.1080/09518398.2018.1468045

Crenshaw, K. (1991). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review, 43(6), 1241–1299. https://doi.org/10.2307/1229039

Dillard, C. B. (2008). When the ground is black, the ground is fertile: Exploring endarkened feminist epistemology and healing methodologies of the spirit. In N. K. Denzin, Y. S. Lincoln, & L. T. Smith (Eds.), Handbook of critical and indigenous methodologies (pp. 277–292). SAGE Publications.

Kelly, B. T., Gardner, P. J., Stone, J., Hixson, A., & Dissassa, D.-T. (2021). Hidden in plain sight: Uncovering the emotional labor of Black women students at historically White colleges and universities. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 14(2), 203–216. https://doi.org/10.1037/dhe0000161

Paris, D. (2012). Culturally sustaining pedagogy: A needed change in stance, terminology, and practice. Educational Researcher, 41(3), 93–97. https://doi.org/10.3102/0013189X12441244

Smith, W. A. (2004). Black faculty coping with racial battle fatigue: The campus racial climate in a post-civil rights era. In D. Cleveland (Ed.), A long way to go: Conversations about race by African American faculty and graduate students (pp. 171–190). Peter Lang Publishing.

Strayhorn, T. L. (2018). College students’ sense of belonging: A key to educational success for all students (2nd ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315297293

Winkle-Wagner, R. (2015). Having their lives narrowed down? The state of Black women’s college success. Review of Educational Research, 85(2), 171–204. https://doi.org/10.3102/0034654314551065

Similar to other ‘helping professions’ (e.g., counseling, nursing, social work), careers in higher education and student affairs (HESA) often come with limited salaries, ample hours, incessant political pressures, and consistent stress (Ardoin, in press; DeMatthews et al., 2021; Hricová & Lova Ová, 2018, Marshall et al., 2016; Saade et al., 2022). While some people know what they are signing up for and accept it as part of ‘paying it forward’, this combination of realities can hit hard, negatively impact well-being, and even cause burnout and attrition. Scholars such as Ardoin (2026), Chessman (2021), Lynch and Klima (2021) and Wilson and colleagues (2025) have written about the criticality of well-being in the HESA field. Accordingly, it is essential that HESA professionals forefront their well-being, and it is tactical for their employers to support them in sustaining it (McClure, 2025; O’Brien & Lynch, 2025; Perez & Bettencourt, 2024). Because the truth of the matter is that well-being shouldn’t be something we do when we are at our wit’s end and cannot be truly cultivated with episodic occurrences. Rather, well-being should be a central, consistent aspect of how we create our lives, including how we approach and negotiate our work.

A Master’s Cohort 20 Years Later

Acknowledging that more scholarship addresses why people leave rather than why they stay (ACPA, 2022; Burns, 1982; Evans, 1988; Marshall et al., 2016; NASPA, 2022; Nyunt et al., 2024; Rosser & Javinar, 2003; Sallee, 2021; Tull, 2006; Ward, 1995), we (Sonja and Scott) thought it would be interesting to use our own master’s cohort as a case study for the latter—those who choose to stay in HESA careers, albeit not necessarily in the functional area or even institutional division (e.g., student affairs) where they began their journey. Our cohort, the 2006 Florida State HESA master’s cohort, celebrated our 20th graduation anniversary in April 2026. Being “seasoned” professionals who are squarely in the “mid-career” stage invites natural reflection on where we’ve been and where we plan to go. We invited those in our cohort who have stayed in the HESA field or a related one—17 out of the 29 individuals (59%)—to offer their insights, and 13 of them took us up on the offer. Unsurprisingly, most of our careers have looked different than we initially imagined, though a few of us were adept predictors. This is the third in a three-article series for ACPA Developments about our cohort’s HESA career development, looking back over 20 years and forward to the next 20 years. The first article offered insights on why we stay. The second article outlined our career trajectories, including the possibilities and pivots that shaped our pathways. This one will showcase how we have (or haven’t) centered our well-being and fostered holistic lives for ourselves during the first half of our careers. 

Super’s (1953) Development Self-Concept Theory

Super’s (1953) developmental self-concept theory, also called the lifespan theory, is considered one of the most influential vocational theories of the 20th century (Borgen, 1991). Super viewed career development as an ongoing decision-making process that aligned one’s vocational self-concept with a social context (Swanson & Fouad, 2020). He believed that people could find meaningful work in multiple occupations, and that an individual’s work identity may fluctuate based on their life stage, suggesting that the importance of work will ebb and flow over the lifespan based on competing life roles (e.g., student, caregiver, partner). Super (1953) theorized five life stages: growth (ages 4-13), exploration (ages 14-24), establishment (ages 25-44), maintenance (ages 45-65), and disengagement (over age 65), which he believed were linear but variable phases. For example, someone may stay in the exploration stage for a longer duration or “recycle through the stages” if they switch career fields (what Super deemed a “minicyle”; Swanson & Fouad, 2020, p. 138). However, these stages should not be used as deadlines for career or life milestones. It is more appropriate to view the stages as an arc and to recognize that the place where work falls on the priority list will likely shift between life stages.

Philosophies, Primary Priorities, and Practical Enactment:

Cohort Contemplations on Well-Being 

The official definition of well-being is “a state of contentment, with low levels of distress, overall good physical and mental health and outlook, or good quality of life” (American Psychological Association, 2018, para. 1). If it sounds like a formidable task, it can be. Well-being is a dynamic, fluid state that is often altered by life circumstances and stages (Super, 1953). The pursuit and sustainment of well-being comes with numerous benefits though, including but not limited to increases in thriving, moral alignment, emotional fulfillment, honoring growth and successes, and health outcomes (McClure, 2025; O’Brien & Lynch, 2025; Perez & Bettencourt, 2024; Wilson et al., 2025). As we reviewed our cohortmates’ well-being stories, we were struck by the realization that we likely stayed in the HESA field, or adjacent ones, because we were able to figure out how to be well and do our jobs, at least eventually. Some of us started out on solid ground, while others recognized that we were standing on sinkholes and had to fix the issue before we fell to our demise. Regardless of the career stage (Super, 1953) in which we arrived at our well-being efforts, there were similarities at how we approached the endeavor—we each developed a philosophical foundation (though those philosophies were all individualized), we clarified our primary well-being priorities, and we actively enacted well-being practices. Illustrating these themes further, we offer snippets from our stories in a “conference panel” format.

Pluralistic Philosophies

Many of us entered the field knowing about the less traditional work schedule, limited compensation, and (over)reliance on intrinsic motivators. The realities of these conditions can pit our professional aims against our personal well-being. Our cohort serves as evidence that some HESA professionals begin their careers with helpful well-being philosophies, while others ‘learn the hard way’ and contend with burnout before focusing on well-being. Either way, what we discerned from our cohort’s reflections is that it is essential to develop an individualized, well-being philosophy. 

Sonja: [So let’s be real, y’all.] I did not attend to my well-being very well from 2006-2010. I worked a lot and centered my career which meant I put everything else on the back burner. I’m not sure that was healthy (it wasn’t), and it was a hard habit to break. I’m still working on it, but now, I try to manage my career as part of my life, not the center. The first things on my calendar are personal and then I put in work around that. But I know some of y’all were more strategic about well-being from the start. What guides your approaches to well-being?

Lucas: [Welp. I’m no help here, Sonja.] I’m a bad example too. I was raised by the generation of student affairs professionals who lived and breathed their work. It was their identity. It took me years to start setting boundaries and seeing myself as something more than my role. I made choices and spent time that were good for my career but maybe not always great for my personal life.

Mary: As a younger professional, I also struggled with maintaining my well-being. I often stayed on campus late into the evenings and worked on weekends, believing it was important to be constantly visible and available for my students. While being engaged with students is valuable, this approach did not support positive self-care. Over time, I have learned to set healthier boundaries and prioritize balance. Maintaining this balance is a conscious choice, and it will continue to be a high priority for me.

Khadish: [We’re the recovering workaholics!] It took me a while to learn that success is best delivered and enjoyed from a centered place. When I am most centered physically, mentally, and spiritually I find that I am also most successful in my professional endeavors.  Seeing them (well-being and professional success) as mutually reinforcing and not a zero sum game has been very impactful for me.

Jackie: [I hear you]. Early in my career, I spent a lot of energy proving myself and saying yes to everything. As I gained experience, I became more aware of the importance of rest, reflection, and sustainability. Accordingly, I have tried to be intentional about integrating my career with my life rather than treating them as competing priorities. I have learned that being present at home and taking care of myself ultimately makes me a better leader at work.

Scott: [I’m the opposite. I don’t integrate. I separate.] I’ve always been very good about drawing boundaries between work and my private life. That’s benefited my personal well-being, even if it has been a negative for my career [at times].

Brandon: [I’m the odd man out here, but …] I don’t believe in the idea of balance because balance to me implies everything is equal. Priorities change.

Jesse: [Correct.] I take it one day at a time!

As you can see from our conversation, there is not one ‘universal’ well-being philosophy that works for everyone. This is because we all have unique contexts and life components that shape our well-being. What is most important is that each person has developed their own philosophy that works for them and adapts the philosophy when it no longer serves them. 

Primary Priorities: Family, Location, and Community

While our philosophies range, our cohortmates’ well-being coalesced around three primary priorities, which won’t surprise anyone. We are focused on attending to our families (of all kinds), living in places that align with our needs, and creating and contributing to our communities.

Sonja: [Speaking of boundaries and priorities …] For the last 10 years, my career decisions have been made with my partner. We wanted to live in one of our home states and in places where we could both pursue our careers. We now have a daughter and want to ensure she has stability and community. So, family, location, and community shape my well-being. Are your priorities similar? 

Ann: [It’s no question.] I put family first.

Rebekah: [Same here.] I have 4 kids that are very active, so I am forced to focus on things outside of work, due to their demands. I only get one chance with them; my career can wait (even if I don’t want it to).

Scott: [Family and location are the top two priorities for me as well.] Being gay and prioritizing locations/institutions where I felt safe and was closer to family has meaningfully influenced my career (mostly limiting it), and being in a serious relationship (dating then, now married) has been a real benefit in feeling like I have support and company.

Mary: [I hear you, Scott.] Geographic location has become increasingly important to me. As a mother to a young daughter, it is important to be near family who can play an active role in her life. My partner has also been a significant influence.

Jesse: [I face similar realities.] I’ve chosen to stay at my current institution because of my spouse’s career, the proximity of our extended family, and now the community we’ve built.  My husband and I often talk about what it would take to uproot our children and leave our aging parents. These are complex, values based considerations that they don’t introduce in graduate school!

Jackie: [Jesse knows what’s up.] Family, [location, and community] have been the most significant influences on my career decisions too. Being close to family, staying rooted in Houston, and being present as a spouse and parent have all shaped where and how I have chosen to work. Those priorities have guided the pace of my career and the opportunities I have pursued. I have also found that having interests and commitments outside of work helps keep me grounded and provides perspective.

Andrew: [Yes to hobbies!] I became quite involved in community theater in my location. It’s one of my personal passion areas. I am eager to remain in locations—primarily large cities—that allow me to continue my involvement with community theater.

Rebekah: [I believe in engaging with the local community too.] I am involved in the community in non-profits and held several leadership positions in those organizations.

Khadish: [As y’all know, I’m more global than local. HA!] My interest in travel has certainly contributed to my enjoyment of leading a global enterprise.

Our well-being centered family, location, and community, though each individual may have defined these primary priorities a bit differently. We also recognize that these may be influenced by our career stage (mid-career) and age (40s). The primary well-being priorities for professionals earlier or later in their careers or at various ages could shift and change. However, no matter what those priorities are, it is critical they are forefronted through practical enactment. 

Practical Enactment

It is one thing to develop a philosophical foundation and clarify primary well-being priorities; it is another thing to actively enacted well-being practices that align with one’s philosophy and priorities. But, without the application, the philosophy and priorities are just wishful thinking.

Scott: [While it is useful to consider what drives our well-being, it stays theoretical unless we discuss our actual well-being practices.] For me, I’ve tried to prioritize my emotional/mental well-being by having clear boundaries between work and life, and I think I have been successful at this. I leave work when my hours are done, I almost never respond to emails outside of work hours, and I make time to do the things that give me energy/recover in my free time. What practices are y’all enacting?

Mary:  [I’m with you on the boundary stetting]. Being able to intentionally disconnect from work and focus on my family is something I deeply value. Having a position that generally aligns with a traditional 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. schedule has helped, as has recognizing that emails and other tasks can wait when necessary. I also choose to commute an hour and fifteen minutes so that I can live closer to my partner and remain in a community where I have a strong support system. Although I was often questioned about why I did not relocate, it was a personal decision that aligned with my priorities and was important to me. I have become intentional about modeling a sustainable work-life balance for colleagues, demonstrating that it is possible to be effective in this field while also taking care of yourself.

Jackie: I have become more thoughtful about boundaries too, including how I use my time, and what I say yes to. I pay closer attention to my physical and mental health, protect time with my family, and try to model healthy behaviors for my [work] team. Well-being is not something I handle once; it is something I revisit and adjust as life and work change.

Brandon: I also do my best to practice what I preach. I make sure I take wellness days to find time to truly disconnect and recharge.

Rebekah: [I focus on the simple things.] I escape through reading, journaling, and going on walks with my family.

Sonja: [Simple works for me too.] I am committed to time with family, yoga, being outdoors, and Catholic mass. These commitments are the first things on my calendar, and then I put in work around that. I have also learned to say no more. Earlier in my career I had fear of missing out (FOMO) and fear of not being asked again; now I am more selective about how I spend my time and with whom.

Nancy: [Yes to simple!] I stay well through exercise, yoga, and building a strong community.

Jesse: To be honest, I’ve had periods of doing this well and periods where my well-being was not something I paid attention to. [That’s life.]

Lucas: [Right. We’re not all good at this.] BUT, I’ve been lucky to find, in most places I’ve lived/worked, a good group of colleagues and friends to commiserate, celebrate, and navigate with. [People are my practical enactment.]

Ann: [Be wary of which people though.] I think sometimes in student affairs we like to trauma bond over how much we work. I made friends outside of work. When you have friends in other professions you realize that it is okay to leave work. You also don’t have to talk about work when you are just hanging out. I also found a hobby outside of work.

For our cohort, establishing clear (but alterable) boundaries was a significant well-being practice. This included unplugging from work emails, protecting our time, and taking vacation and sick days. Those boundaries safeguarded our ability to attend to our health, spend time with family and friends, and identify and engage in hobbies. Instituting these practices also allowed some cohort members to model well-being for students and colleagues, shifting the overall workplace culture to a healthier environment.

Thoughts and Action Items for Early-Career Professionals

As an early-career professional, it can be helpful to think about your well-being and life outside of work like you might think about planning for a road trip. Just as your travel experience can be smoother for having thought out and prepared for it, so too can your career and well-being journey be improved by taking time early in your career to reflect and plan.

1. Think about your desired destinations and routes

When taking a road trip, it is important to know where you would like to end up and how you prefer to get there. You can aim to get there the quickest way possible, the most cost effective way, or maybe you want to sight-see by avoiding interstates.

As an early-career HESA professional, your desired destinations (aka: goals) and routes (aka: plans) can be whatever you want them to be. Is it a specific job title, a geographic location, or a specific lifestyle (e.g., travel, family, hobbies)? Rather than thinking about just one definitive destination, we recommend you think about multiple destinations across the span of your career (Super 1953). It’s okay if you don’t have every part of the journey already mapped out (and we’ve found there’s a very good chance the plans will change later anyway), but the more you’re able to think about both shorter-term and longer-term destinations, the better you’ll be able to get to them in a way that supports and enhances your well-being.

2. Look at the weather forecast

When you’re traveling, it can be very helpful to look at the weather forecasts for your trip. That means look at the forecast for when you’re starting your journey but also means looking at it across the journey from start to finish. Knowing both the regular climate of a place, and also if you should expect any unusual weather events during your travel is tremendously useful information. It can help you know how warmly you need to dress, if you need to bring an umbrella, or if you’re going to have to take a detour to avoid hazards.

In your life, as you are navigating your career and well-being outside the field, this means not only thinking about what kind of social climates you want to place yourself in, but also what kind of life events and desires you might reasonably anticipate experiencing in the future (e.g., committing to a partner, becoming a caregiver, purchasing a house). Although each member of our 2006 cohort has had a unique journey, there have been many similarities in our journeys as we enter middle age and mid-career. For example, knowing that you might want to settle down in a location closer to family (or a partner’s family), or that you might have child care and/or elder care responsibilities 20 years-ish into the future might help you plan out some of your early career decisions so that you’re in a better place to meet those responsibilities when they arrive. And just like the weather, life can offer surprises! Focusing on your well-being will position you to manage the unexpected rain or rainbows when they arise.

3. Don’t forget to take breaks

When you’re driving, especially when you have some distance to travel, it can be tempting to try and power through it without taking any breaks. Anyone who has done this, however, can tell you that it takes a toll on your body (and mind). Sitting for that long can cause physical discomfort, and it can make it harder to concentrate, ultimately making your travel less safe for you and others. Taking an appropriate number of breaks, however, can help you focus, stretch your body, help you drive safer, and leave you feeling physically and mentally better than if you had not.  If you’re planning ahead, you can even time those travel breaks with opportunities to visit locations and/or people that can transform your journey from something that you need to do to get to your desired destination into something that is rewarding in itself.

Like all things in life, what an appropriate number of breaks is, and what kind of breaks they should be, is dependent upon you and your circumstances, and will change over time (Super, 1953). At the beginning of your HESA career, how many ‘breaks’ you feel you need, and what those ‘breaks’ consist of will likely look a bit different 20 years from now. It will also look different day-to-day and month-to-month. So rather than trying to achieve the ‘perfect balance,’ we suggest you find what well-being looks like for you right now and then adjust it over time.

For our cohort, ‘breaks’ have meant time spent with loved ones (friends, family, and partners), hobbies (travel, community theater, and civic engagement), creating boundaries between work responsibilities and personal time, and moving into roles that have fewer ‘after hour’ responsibilities. In short, each of us have found ways to practice the type of well-being that has allowed us to maintain our motivation and sustain ourselves and our careers.

4. Stay flexible

Our final recommendation is to stay flexible (as best you can). While we just discussed many ways in which planning and self-reflection are beneficial, it is important to not be too rigid either. During your journey you might find a road is under construction, encounter an accident along the way, or get a flat tire. Unexpected things happen, but they can open up new opportunities or create lasting memories. An unexpected road closure might mean you get to take a detour through a scenic location and see something beautiful that you would have otherwise missed. A traffic jam might mean you end up spending extra time with your co-navigator that you truly value (and give you stories to share later).

In life things don’t always go according to the plan. Sometimes that can mean experiencing disappointments and tragedies, and sometimes it can mean experiencing moments of serendipity and self-discovery. Like your GPS will reroute you after you miss your exit, try and remain open to alternative pathways across your career and life stages (Super, 1953). Not only will this help you ameliorate negative situations as you experience them, but it can also help you take advantage of unexpected opportunities when they present themselves. While some members of our cohort are doing precisely what they had planned 20 years ago, the vast majority of us found new routes and destinations. Our flexibility and well-being practices have supported us as a way to stay well as HESA professionals and as people.

References

ACPA: College Student Educators International. (2022). Report on 21st century employment in higher education. https://myacpa.org/publications/.

American Psychological Association (APA). (2018). Well-being definition. In APA Dictionary of Psychology. Retrieved June 13, 2025, from https://dictionary.apa.org/well-being.

Ardoin, S. (in press). Helping professions as a health problem? The ironic combination of credentialism and classism experienced by [many] higher education employees. Journal of Black Sexuality and Relationships.

Ardoin, S. (2026). The strategic guide to shaping your student affairs career (2nd ed.). Routledge.

Burns, M. A. (1982). Who leaves the student affairs field? NASPA Journal, 20(2), 9-12.

Chessman, H. M. (2021). Student affairs professionals, well-being, and work quality. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 58(2), 148–162. https://doi.org/10.1080/19496591.2020.1853556

DeMatthews, D., Carrola, P., Reyes, P., & Knight, D. (2021). School leadership burnout and job-related stress: Recommendations for district administrators and principals. The Clearing House: A Journal of Educational Strategies, Issues and Ideas, 94(4), 159–167. https://doi.org/10.1080/00098655.2021.1894083

Evans, N. J. (1988). Attrition of student affairs professionals: A review of the literature. Journal of College Student Development, 29, 19-24.

Hricová, M., & Lova Ová, S. (2018). Stress, secondary trauma and burnout: Risk characteristics in helping professions. Ad Alta: Journal of Interdisciplinary Research, 8(2), 161–165.

Lynch, R. J., & Klima, K. L. B. (2021). Emotional labor and well-being. In M. W. Sallee (Ed.), Creating sustainable careers in student affairs: What ideal worker norms get wrong and how to make it right (pp. 159–175). Stylus.

Marshall, S. M., Gardner, M. M., Hughes, C. & Lowery, U. (2016). Attrition from student affairs: Perspectives from those who exited the profession. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 53(2), 146-159. https://doi.org/10.1080/19496591.2016.1147359

McClure, K. R. (2025). The caring university: Reimagining the higher education workplace after the great resignation. Johns Hopkins University Press.

NASPA: Student Affairs Administrators in Higher Education (2022). The compass report: Charting the future of student affairs. https://www.naspa.org/about/future-of-student-affairs-report/the-compass-report-charting-the-future-of-student-affairs.

Nyunt, G., Pridgen, R., & Thomas, I. (2024). Disrupting student affairs staff departure: Examining needed changes to the field of student affairs to attract and retain a diverse workforce. Journal of College Student Development 65(2), 183-200. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/csd.2024.a923528.

O’Brien, J. J., & Lynch, R. J. (2025). Between policy and principle: Understanding moral suffering in student affairs practitioners. Journal of College and Character, 26, 1–18. https://doi.org/10.1080/2194587X.2025.2481567

Perez, R. J., & Bettencourt, G. M. (2024). Exploring compassion fatigue and community care in student affairs. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 61(2), 266–278. https://doi.org/10.1080/19496591.2023.2176774

Rosser, V. J., & Javinar, J. M. (2003). Midlevel student affairs leaders’ intentions to leave: Examining the quality of their professional and institutional work life. Journal of College Student Development 44(6), 813-830. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/csd.2003.0076.

Saade, S., Parent-Lamarche, A., Bazarbachi, Z., Ezzeddine, R. & Ariss, R. (2022). Depressive symptoms in helping professions: a systematic review of prevalence rates and work-related risk factors. International Archives of Occupational and Environmental Health, 95, 67–116. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00420-021-01783-y

Sallee, M. W. (2021). Creating sustainable careers in student affairs: What ideal worker norms get wrong and how to make it right. Stylus Publishing.

Super, D. E. (1953). A theory of vocational development. American Psychologist, 8, 185–190.

Tull, A. (2006). Synergistic supervision, job satisfaction, and intention to turnover of new professionals in student affairs. Journal of College Student Development 47(4), 465-480. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/csd.2006.0053.

Ward, L. (1995). Role stress and propensity to leave among new student affairs professionals. NASPA Journal, 33(1), 35–44. https://doi-org.libproxy.clemson.edu/10.1080/00220973.1995.11072393.

Wilson, A. B., Díaz, H., & Brown, L. A. (2025). Reconstructing professionalism for well-being among student affairs professionals. Journal of Education Human Resources, 43(1), 54–75. https://doi.org/10.3138/03_Wilson_Diaz_Brown_4 

About the Authors: 

Sonja Ardoin, Ph.D. is a professor of higher education and student affairs at Clemson University. She studies social class identity, rurality, first-generation college students, and career preparation and pathways in higher education and student affairs. Learn more about Sonja’s work at www.sonjaardoin.com.

Scott Radimer, Ph.D. is the Assistant Dean for Assessment, Accreditation, and Accountability for William & Mary’s School of Education. He earned his bachelor of arts in political science from the University of Vermont, his masters of science in higher education student affairs at Florida State University, and his doctor of philosophy in higher education from Boston College.

We are at a time of the year and a time in higher education where it can feel like everything is shrinking. Budgets are getting tighter. Social support of higher education is contracting. With the enrollment cliff, student numbers are down. Even the days are getting shorter. It is easy to turn to fear and frustration.

But let’s not.

As you read the articles in this issue of Developments, you will find strategies for managing the difficulties – how to do less, how to care for yourself in the midst of the chaos. You will also find a theme about relationships: relationships sustained over time, how to support international students through relationship and care, how to lead through relationships, and strategies for building relational engagement.

We hope that in the midst of a time when it feels like things are shrinking, pull those around you close. Show care, express gratitude, and put hope into action. We have some really amazing colleagues in our work. Some of them have shared their work with you in this issue. Be kind to yourselves, everyone.

Michelle Boettcher, Developments Editor

I love this time of year. A new academic year means the opportunity for a new beginning, or at minimum the chance to reflect and reset. When the calendar flips to August, I am reminded why our work matters and why finding and maintaining connections with each other across our industry is so important. It’s a season of new beginnings: new professionals entering the field in their first full-time role, students searching for purpose and meaning, and established practitioners and scholars recommitting themselves to a profession that continues to rapidly evolve.

This year, those feelings of new beginnings are especially meaningful for ACPA. On July 1, we officially began offering complimentary membership to undergraduate and Master’s students, and I couldn’t be more excited to welcome these new members into our community. Members of the Leadership Council and International Office have been overwhelmed by the interest and enthusiasm we have experienced from new members in the just the first few weeks of this offering, and we could not be more pleased with how the ACPA community is blossoming. If you know an undergraduate or Master’s students who have not joined yet under our complimentary membership offer, I hope you will share this website with them to learn more and sign-up: https://myacpa.org/join/free/

To those new undergraduate and Master’s students who are joining ACPA for the first time, welcome. We’re genuinely glad you’re here. Some of you are considering whether higher education is the career for you. Others are already deeply engaged in graduate preparation programs and are eager to learn, connect, and grow. Wherever you are in your journey, my hope is that ACPA becomes more than just an association you belong to. I hope it becomes a community that challenges you, supports you, introduces you to lifelong colleagues, and reminds you why this work matters – even on the days when higher education feels especially complicated.

And let’s be honest—it is a complicated time. That is exactly why professional community matters now more than ever. One of ACPA’s strategic priorities is ensuring that our association remains accessible, relevant, and responsive to the people who make higher education possible. Offering complimentary membership to undergraduate and Master’s students is one way we’re investing in the future of our profession by removing financial barriers to engagement and creating earlier opportunities for students to develop professionally, build networks, and discover the value of active participation in a professional community.

But investing in the future doesn’t mean focusing only on those entering the profession.

One of the conversations I’ve had most often over the past year is about how ACPA can better support members throughout their entire careers. What does meaningful membership look like for a first-year graduate student? For a new professional? For a faculty member? For someone leading a division of student affairs? For a vice president/provost or dean, seasoned scholar, or retired professional who still has so much wisdom to share? Those questions matter because our members’ needs change over time—and ACPA must continue evolving alongside them.

That’s why we are intentionally examining how we create value across every career stage. We’re expanding opportunities for professional learning, leadership development, mentoring, scholarly engagement, and meaningful connection. We are working to think differently about how we engage senior-level leaders and experienced professionals whose perspectives are essential to shaping both our association and the future of higher education. We are also well-aware that today’s new professionals are tomorrow’s senior-level leaders.

One of the things I’ve always appreciated most about ACPA is that our greatest resource has never been our programs or publications. It’s our people. It’s the faculty member who encourages a graduate student to attend their first convention. The mid-level professional who volunteers to mentor someone navigating their first job search. The senior student affairs officer who shares lessons learned after decades of leadership. The researcher whose scholarship helps practitioners think differently about their work. The colleague who simply checks in and reminds someone that they belong.

Those relationships are what make ACPA special.

As we continue implementing our strategic priorities, my hope is that ACPA becomes an even stronger professional home – one where people find community, develop as leaders, contribute new knowledge, and remain engaged throughout their careers. Whether someone joins us as an undergraduate student this month or has been a member for thirty-plus years, there should always be new opportunities to learn, lead, and make a difference.

ACPA has always been at its best when multiple generations of educators learn alongside one another. That is how we strengthen our profession. That is how we support student success. And that is how we ensure that our association continues to thrive for years to come. I’m excited about where we’re headed together, and I’m grateful that you’re part of the journey. I’ll close this message with a toast on the eve of the new academic year.

Cheers to our newest student members, whose curiosity, passion, and fresh perspectives will help shape the future of our profession.

And here’s to our longtime members, faculty colleagues, researchers, senior leaders, and retired professionals, whose mentorship, scholarship, leadership, and generosity continue to strengthen this community every day and year after year.

Together, you are the very best of ACPA: a community where every career stage has something to learn, something to teach, and something meaningful to contribute. Cheers to you, to us, to the year ahead, and to all we’ll accomplish together.

We meet Them before They know who They are.

 

Before the confidence in their voices,
before the major is set with certainty,
before the friend groups settle,
and the homesickness softens into new routine.

 

They arrive waves of rolling suitcases

Boxes stuffed to the brim
and overpacked expectations in tow

carrying dreams stitched together

from late nights, hard choices.

And the quiet courage it takes to start over

over in a place where everything feels both exciting

and overwhelmingly new.

 

Schedules clutched like lifelines,
not out of fear,
but out of determination
to belong,
to make this place Their own.

 

Students introducing Themselves
time and time again,

voices and hands attempting to be steady,

risking awkwardness

and unfamiliar spaces
for the chance at connection.

 

We see Them before They know who They are.

 

We are there,

not in the photos They will post,

not in the stories They will tell later,

but in the quiet structure of the institution.

 

We witness the strength it takes

to step onto a campus

and decide,

day after day,

to stay,

to grow,

to risk.

To become what we know They can.

 

We help Them before They know who They are.

 

We carry Their uncertainty
like something fragile.

We answer the same questions a hundred times a day,
knowing the question is rarely about the program
or the schedule
or the room number.

It is about reassurance.
About permission to be unsure.
About someone steady
in the middle of so much change.

 

We carry Their questions.

Where do I belong?
Am I ready?
What if I fail?

 

It’s the student pretending They are not overwhelmed.
The student who smiles through fear.
The one who says, “I’m fine,”
and lingers just a moment longer our desk.

 

We carry the late-night emails,
unspoken anxieties,
and the invisible weight
of being a safe space on a campus full of transitions.

 

They will not remember
every moment
or every carefully planned program.

 

But They will remember
the feeling of being guided,
of being seen
before They fully see Themselves.

 

We carry their stories
before They are even written.

We watch them arrive uncertain
to this place,
to this chapter,
sometimes even to themselves.

 

And while they are busy
becoming who they are meant to be,
we stand at the threshold
of Their hero’s journey.

carrying Their fears,
their questions,
their potential,

until, slowly,
they no longer need us to hold so much
of who they are becoming.

 

We know Them after They know who They are.

 

Author Biography

Tyler Brown (he/him) is a Summer Start Program Coordinator at Clemson University, originally from Ottumwa, Iowa. He is a Graduate from Clemson University’ Masters of Higher Education and Student Affairs program and got his bachelor’s degree from the University of Iowa.

Introduction 

“Yes Sir.” For us, these words are not just a response. They are a way of understanding how to relate to authority. They reflect how we were raised, how we learned to show respect, and how we were taught to navigate professional and educational spaces.  As African international graduate assistants, our understanding of authority and professional relationships did not begin in the United States. It was shaped in African classrooms, communities, and workplaces where hierarchy mattered, where authority was rarely questioned, and where respect was expressed through deference, agreement, and careful communication.

When we entered higher education in the United States, we encountered a different expectation. We were asked to speak up, share ideas, challenge perspectives, and engage with supervisors and professors as colleagues rather than subordinates. What was framed as collaboration and openness in this new context often felt unfamiliar and, at times, uncomfortable. This shift is not simply about adjusting communication styles. It is about navigating deeply rooted cultural understandings of power, respect, and professional identity. For many African international graduate assistants, the transition from hierarchical to more collegial relationships with supervisors is not immediate. It requires unlearning, relearning, and ongoing negotiation.

In this article, we draw on our experiences as African international graduate assistants to explore how cultural background shapes relationships with supervisors and professors in U.S. higher education. We examine how differences in power dynamics and communication expectations can create moments of tension, misunderstanding, and growth. We also offer practical insights for student affairs professionals, supervisors, and faculty who seek to better support international graduate students as they navigate transitions to graduate education in the U.S. – both in and out of the classroom. By centering our experiences, we aim to move beyond assumptions about engagement, professionalism, and initiative and instead invite a more culturally informed understanding of how students relate to authority in higher education settings.

“Yes Sir”: Where It Began

Emmanuel

My “Yes Sir” moment began during my time as a teaching assistant at the University of Cape Coast. In that environment, my role was clear: follow direction. Whether it was grading, organizing tutorials, or supporting faculty, I waited to be told what to do. At the time, this did not feel limiting; it felt normal. It was how the system worked. Initiative was not discouraged explicitly, but it was not expected either. Acting without instruction could even feel inappropriate. So I learned to wait, to ask, and to confirm before acting.

Over time, this shaped how I saw myself in professional spaces. I became dependent on direction. Even when I noticed problems that needed attention, I hesitated. Should I act? Or should I ask first? Most of the time, I chose to ask. This experience made me disciplined and attentive. It taught me how to follow through and respect structure. But it did not teach me how to act independently.

When I transitioned into my graduate assistantship in the United States, I carried this mindset with me. I entered meetings, waiting for direction. I approached tasks expecting instruction. But instead, I was told something unfamiliar: “You are a colleague here. You can take initiative.” I heard the words, but I did not fully understand them. Being called a ‘colleague’ felt empowering but also confusing. I was being invited into a role I had not been trained to occupy.

Shadrack

My experience reflects a similar pattern to Emmanuel’s. During my national service as a teaching assistant at the University of Cape Coast, I worked closely with professors and students. It was a meaningful experience that strengthened my academic and professional skills. I learned about grading, assessment, and pedagogy, and I gained insight into how academic departments function.

However, the structure of that environment was deeply hierarchical. Professors were highly respected and often placed on a pedestal. There was both a visible and invisible distance between them and those who worked with them. As teaching assistants, we operated within those boundaries.

We followed instructions. We executed tasks. We rarely contributed to decisions.

There were moments when teachers developed course designs without input from teaching assistants. Even when we had ideas, we often kept them to ourselves. Not because we lacked insight, but because the system did not invite it.

“Yes, Sir” became a way of navigating that space, an agreement that maintained order, even when it limited participation. These experiences shaped how we understood authority. They taught us what it meant to be respectful, but they also shaped our understanding of what was possible within professional relationships.

Cultural Background and Relationships with Authority

The way African international students relate to supervisors and professors is shaped by cultural values, social expectations, and early experiences with authority. In many African societies, respect for elders and those in authority is deeply embedded in everyday life. This respect is not only about politeness; it is a way of maintaining order and harmony in relationships. From a young age, individuals are taught to listen carefully, follow instructions, and avoid openly challenging those in positions of authority. These expectations carry into educational and professional settings, where authority figures such as teachers, supervisors, and community leaders are often approached with deference. Cultural values, including communal responsibility and respect for hierarchy, shape how individuals communicate and behave in professional environments (Oppong, 2013).

This cultural orientation is closely connected to collectivist values. In collectivist societies, individuals see themselves as part of a group, and maintaining harmony within that group is often prioritized over expressing individual opinions. In the Ghanaian context, for example, identity is closely tied to community, family, and social relationships, and these connections influence how individuals interact with others, including those in authority (Oppong, 2013). As a result, even when students have questions, they may choose caution, humility, and agreement in their interactions with supervisors and professors.

Research on cultural dimensions further explains these patterns. Ghana is characterized by a high level of power distance, meaning that hierarchical relationships are widely accepted and expected (Hofstede, 1980; Hofstede et al., 2011). In such contexts, authority figures are often seen as decision-makers and sources of direction, while those in subordinate positions are expected to follow guidance rather than question it. This structure shapes expectations in professional relationships, where speaking up or challenging ideas may not feel appropriate or comfortable.

African international students encounter a different set of expectations when they enter higher education settings in the United States. In many U.S. academic and professional environments, relationships between students and faculty are less formal. Students are encouraged to share their ideas, ask questions, and engage in open dialogue. Supervisors may expect initiative, independence, and even disagreement as part of professional growth.

For African international students, this shift can be difficult to navigate. Behaviors that signal respect in one context may be interpreted differently in another. For instance, a student who remains quiet during meetings or avoids challenging a professor may be seen as disengaged or lacking confidence. However, this behavior may actually reflect a cultural understanding of respect and professionalism rooted in their upbringing.

Communication styles also play a role in these dynamics. In many African contexts, communication can be more indirect, with meaning conveyed through tone, context, and nonverbal cues. This contrasts with more direct communication styles often expected in U.S. academic environments. As a result, students may find it challenging to express disagreement, ask for clarification, or advocate for themselves in ways that align with local expectations.

These cultural differences highlight the importance of understanding the background that African international students bring with them. Cultural values do not disappear when students enter new environments; instead, those values continue to shape how students engage. Work behavior and interaction patterns are closely linked to cultural and social values, and these influences remain strong even as individuals adapt to new settings (Oppong, 2013).

For student affairs professionals, supervisors, and faculty, recognizing these dynamics is critical. Recognition allows for a more thoughtful interpretation of student behavior and reduces the risk of misjudging silence or deference as a lack of engagement. Creating inclusive environments means not only encouraging participation but also understanding the cultural frameworks at play. Ultimately, the relationship between African international students and their supervisors or professors is shaped by a negotiation between cultural values and new expectations. As students learn to navigate less formal power dynamics, they are not simply adapting to a new system; they are also redefining what respect, professionalism, and engagement mean in a different cultural context.

Communication as a Site of Tension

Communication is where power, culture, and professional identity intersect for African international graduate assistants. Differences between African and U.S. communication norms often become most visible in everyday interactions such as email exchanges, meetings, and supervisory relationships. These differences are shaped by culturally embedded understandings of authority, respect, and social hierarchy.

Formality vs. Informality

African communication styles are generally influenced by respect for authority, which tends to produce more formal modes of interaction. Titles such as “Sir,” “Madam,” or “Doctor” are not merely polite additions but signify recognition of hierarchy and social order (Oppong, 2013). Communication with supervisors is often structured, deferential, and cautious, reflecting deeply ingrained cultural expectations about how one engages with authority figures.

In contrast, many U.S. higher education environments operate within relatively low-power-distance frameworks, where informality is normalized and encouraged. Graduate assistants may be expected to address supervisors by their first names, use a conversational tone in emails, and engage in collegial dialogue. For African international graduate assistants, this shift can be disorienting. What is intended as respect in one context may be perceived as excessive formality in another, while informality may be perceived as inappropriate or disrespectful.

This tension often requires African graduate assistants to code-switch, adjusting their tone, language, and communication style. The transition from “Yes Sir” to first-name interactions is not simply linguistic but represents a deeper shift in students’ understanding of how professional relationships are enacted.

Speaking Up and Disagreeing

Voice and participation are closely related to communication style. In many African contexts, speaking up, especially in ways that challenge authority, is often discouraged. Cultural norms emphasize listening, obedience, and respect. As a result, individuals may avoid openly disagreeing with supervisors or authority figures, even when they have valuable insights or alternative perspectives. Wanasika et al. (2011) noted that high power distance cultures tend to reinforce expectations of unquestioned obedience and directive leadership. Similarly, Oppong (2013) highlighted that employees in such contexts are often socialized to follow instructions rather than engage in critical dialogue. These patterns can carry over into academic and professional environments abroad.

In U.S. higher education, however, graduate assistants are expected to actively contribute, question ideas, and engage in critical discussions. Participation is frequently interpreted as a sign of competence and engagement. For African international graduate assistants, this expectation may conflict with prior socialization, leading to hesitation to speak up. This does not reflect a lack of knowledge but rather a different understanding of appropriate professional behavior.

Fear of Misinterpretation

These differences in communication norms can also generate a heightened sense of vulnerability, particularly the fear of being misunderstood or misjudged. African international graduate assistants may be uncomfortable speaking up, while also worrying that remaining reserved might be interpreted as disengagement. Communication is about conveying information and also about negotiating identity. The risk of misinterpretation can therefore lead to self-monitoring where individuals carefully filter their contributions to avoid negative judgments.

Additionally, accents, language differences, and cultural expressions may contribute to concerns about being misunderstood. Even when communication is clear, differences in tone, phrasing, or nonverbal cues are interpreted through unfamiliar cultural lenses. This reinforces feelings of marginalization, particularly when feedback is not explicitly communicated or when expectations are not clarified.

Rethinking Supervision: What Professionals Should Know

 

The supervisory relationship is one of the most important spaces where cultural differences in power, communication, and professional identity become visible. For African international graduate assistants, supervision is not just about completing tasks or receiving feedback. It is also a space where deeply held cultural understandings of authority are challenged, reshaped, and, at times, misunderstood. Therefore, effective supervision requires intentional, culturally informed practices that move beyond assumptions and create space for mutual learning.

Practicing Cultural Humility

First, supervisors must approach their work with cultural humility. It is easy to interpret behaviors such as silence, deference, or hesitation as a lack of confidence or engagement. However, for many African international graduate assistants, these behaviors are rooted in cultural values that emphasize respect. Cultural humility means recognizing that one’s own understanding is not universal and requires supervisors to remain curious and willing to learn from students’ experiences. Instead of asking, “Why is this student not speaking up?” supervisors might ask, “What cultural expectations might be shaping how this student engages?” This shift in perspective allows for more meaningful relationships.

Clarifying Expectations Explicitly

In many U.S. higher education environments, expectations around communication, autonomy, and initiative are often implied rather than stated. For African international graduate assistants, this lack of clarity can create confusion. Supervisors can make expectations explicit by stating

• how communication should occur (e.g., email tone, use of first names, meeting participation)
• what initiative looks like in practice
• how decisions are made and how input should be provided

When expectations are clearly communicated, students can begin to navigate their roles with greater confidence and understanding.

Encouraging Questions and Normalizing Uncertainty

Another important aspect of supervision is creating an environment where questions are welcomed and uncertainty is normalized. In many African contexts, asking too many questions, especially to authority figures, may be seen as inappropriate. As a result, students may hesitate to seek clarification. Supervisors can counter this by:

• inviting questions
• framing uncertainty as a natural part of learning
• reassuring students that asking questions is a sign of engagement, not weakness

Simple statements such as “It’s okay not to know yet” or “Feel free to ask questions anytime” can go a long way in reducing hesitation and building trust. 

Providing Structured Guidance and Gradual Autonomy

African international graduate assistants may initially expect structured guidance. Being told to “take initiative” without context can feel unclear or overwhelming. Supervisors can support this transition by offering structure early on. This might include:

• Clear task breakdowns
• Specific examples of expected outcomes
• Regular check-ins

As students become more comfortable, supervisors can gradually increase expectations for independence. This developmental approach allows students to build confidence while adapting to new professional norms.

Building Relationships Through Consistency and Trust

For many African international graduate assistants, trust develops over time through consistently supportive interactions. Supervisors who follow up on previous conversations, check in regularly, and show genuine interest in students’ experiences create a sense of safety. This relational approach is especially important for students navigating unfamiliar systems. When students feel seen and understood, they are more likely to share their ideas, ask questions, and take initiative.

Moving from Assumption to Understanding

Ultimately, rethinking supervision requires recognizing that behaviors are shaped by cultural contexts. Adaptation is a process, not an immediate outcome. By practicing cultural humility, clarifying expectations, encouraging questions, providing structured support, and building trusting relationships, supervisors can create environments where African international graduate assistants can move more confidently from “Yes, Sir” to colleagues. This shift does not require students to abandon their cultural values. Instead, it creates space for them to integrate those values into new professional identities that are both respectful and engaged, both grounded and evolving.

Conclusion

The transition from “Yes Sir” to “colleagues” is not just about language. It is about identity. It is about learning new ways of relating to authority while holding on to deeply rooted cultural values. For African international graduate assistants, this complex transition requires unlearning, relearning, and constant negotiation alongside opportunities for growth and reflection. For student affairs professionals, the challenge is not to change students, but to understand them. By recognizing how culture shapes communication and engagement, supervisors and educators create environments where students can show respect while giving voice to their ideas.

Reflection Questions

1. How do my assumptions about professionalism shape how I interpret graduate student behavior?
2. In what ways might cultural background influence how students engage with authority in my office or classroom?
3. How can I create space for students to express their ideas without fear or feeling that they are being disrespectful?

 

Authors

Emmanuel Amankwah is a graduate student in the Higher Education and Student Affairs Administration program at Grand Valley State University. He serves as a graduate assistant at the Office of Inclusion and Equity Institute, where he coordinates learning development programs through the Inclusion and Equity Institute. His professional interests include international student support, inclusion and equity.

Shadrack Bannor is a graduate student in the College Student Personnel Program at Ohio University and a graduate assistant for Well-Being Programming and Outreach. Originally from Ghana, he has professional experience in education and student affairs that has shaped his interests in student development, intercultural experiences, and belonging. His work focuses on student well-being, leadership, and the experiences of international students navigating identity and cultural transition within higher education.

 

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