Author: ACPAAdmin

This reflection draws from my experience as a Ghanaian graduate student navigating life and learning in the U.S. My article looks closely at how my cultural upbringing, expectations, and internalized beliefs shaped how I and potentially other international students, particularly those from African backgrounds, may view counseling and emotional support. What may seem like resistance or avoidance to some staff is often rooted in deeper cultural realities.

I share my perspective on counseling to highlight aspects of student well-being that are often underdiscussed. This piece invites student affairs professionals, particularly academic advisors and counselors, to think more intentionally about engaging culturally diverse students who may not express distress in familiar ways. My reflection and guidance in this article align with the ACPA/NASPA Advising and Supporting competency by encouraging a more culturally aware approach. I hope that this article will help student affairs practitioners see beyond the surface and allow students to access support in ways that feel safe, respectful, and authentic to who they are.

Akan Cultural Norms and Emotional Expression

The identity of many Akan men, mainly from Ghana, has been shaped by culturally embedded values that emphasize strength, self-control, and endurance as essential components of respectable masculinity. Among the Akan, socialization practices often reinforce the expectation that men remain composed and emotionally restrained, particularly in public and familial settings (Dzokoto, 2018). Proverbs such as “Barima nsu” (“a man does not cry”) crystallize broader norms that encourage boys to internalize distress, resolve challenges independently, and avoid behaviors that might be interpreted as weakness. Scholarship on Ghanaian masculinity also highlights how emotional restraint is linked to notions of adult competence and social reputation, with emotional vulnerability often relegated to private or nonverbal forms of expression (Dzokoto & Adams, 2007). Within many Akan households, emotional struggles are more likely to be interpreted through moral, communal, or spiritual lenses rather than through direct emotional discourse (Dzokoto et al, 2018). These cultural scripts do not deny the existence of emotional pain but instead regulate how and where it can be expressed, shaping how Akan men learn to communicate distress indirectly through tone, action, or silence rather than explicit verbalization.

Cultural Narratives Around Counseling         

With my intersecting identities as a Ghanaian, an Akan, an ethnolinguistic group native to Ghana and parts of Côte d’Ivoire with shared cultural, historical, and linguistic traditions, and a man, counseling was never something I openly discussed. Sitting down with a stranger to share my feelings felt unnecessary at best. With my experience in a Ghanaian Akan home, I think emotional distress was often understood within Akan cultural frameworks that primarily emphasize endurance, communal responsibility, and emotional restraint. Within many Akan families, seeking formal mental health counseling might sometimes not be viewed with much importance, as it is supposed to be, unless distress becomes visibly severe, with greater reliance placed on family guidance, spiritual interpretation, or personal resilience.

These cultural expectations can shape how emotional pain is expressed, interpreted, and addressed, particularly for men, for whom norms around strength and self-control may further constrain openness about mental health challenges. From a masculine perspective, struggling emotionally was valid, but in my community, it was often interpreted as a sign of weakness. Gender norms further amplified the stigma as showing vulnerability, especially for men, was frequently a failure. Our Akan community did not necessarily intend to harm us with these messages as boys growing up. However, I inherited survival strategies, passed down through generations, shaped by colonial legacies, economic uncertainty, religious influences, and deeply held social norms.

Historical and Societal Considerations

I was raised in a patriarchal Ghanaian society in which gender roles were clearly defined and reinforced through family, community, and cultural expectations. Historically, patriarchal societies equated emotional restraint among African men with resilience and leadership, expecting them to carry the weight of familial and communal responsibilities without complaint (Ezeugwu & Ojedokun, 2020). During and after colonial rule, African masculinity became closely tied to ideas of discipline, stoicism, and productivity, qualities promoted through colonial education systems and missionary doctrines that positioned emotional vulnerability as weakness or moral failure (Amadiume, 1987; Lindsay & Miescher, 2003). These values were not neutral but were actively shaped through colonial education and missionary systems that promoted Western ideals of manhood, discipline, and emotional restraint as markers of maturity and leadership (Miescher, 2007). Boys were taught in the colonial education systems to be “future leaders” by suppressing emotions, focusing on labor and obedience, and distancing themselves from anything seen as weak or overly expressive (Lindsay & Miescher, 2003).

Religious values might also be a significant cause for my feelings about therapy. As John S. Mbiti famously observed, “Africans are notoriously religious” (Mbiti, 1969, p. 1). In many African households, and specifically Ghanaian households, faith is not just a private belief but a guiding framework for understanding life’s experiences. In my experience, religion often provides comfort, meaning, and communal strength. However, this deep spiritual orientation can sometimes lead to emotional or psychological struggles being interpreted primarily through a religious lens. For instance, distress or mental health challenges may be viewed as spiritual battles, seen as tests of faith, punishment for wrongdoing, or evidence of demonic influence. As a result, individuals may be encouraged to seek prayer, fasting, or deliverance rather than psychological support or counseling.

While these religious responses can be significant and valid within their context, they may also unintentionally delay or dismiss interventions that are more suited to emotional or mental health needs. This highlights the importance of integrating spiritual sensitivity with psychological literacy, ensuring faith remains a source of strength without becoming a barrier to holistic care (Abood et al., 2021). Over time, these externally imposed ideas blended with existing patriarchal norms, creating deeply rooted expectations that “real men” must be emotionally self-reliant, unshakable, and uncomplaining. This historical shaping of masculinity continues to influence how many Ghanaian men today, including students, view mental health, counseling, and the act of seeking help.

Internalizing the Narrative: How the Messages Shaped Me

These cultural narratives did not just exist around me; they lived in me. I carried them silently, often without knowing. If I were hurt, I wanted to get over it myself. If I felt isolated, I wanted to tough it out. No one explicitly told me seeking support was wrong, but the silence around the idea of support or counseling spoke loudly. At funerals, I could see many women wailing through different forms of expression, rolling on the floor, speaking poetically. I saw sadness on men’s faces as they sat silently, nodding heads and holding cheeks, but explicitly exhibiting sadness through crying or wailing was rare.

I heard the popular phrase, “Barima Nsu,” which means men do not cry, very often. I gradually interpreted this to mean that strong men must swallow any form of emotional expression and become consolers of women. This was a strength; my community needed this form of masculinity from me. I then decided to figure things out independently and believed that any public display of distress would make me seem weak or unreliable.

As I carried these messages into adulthood, I began to internalize my struggles. Instead of reaching out when I felt overwhelmed, I turned inward. I would sit with my emotions in isolation, convinced that if I could process them quietly enough, they would go away. I did not realize that what I thought was strength was emotional suppression. I had trained myself not to ask for help when experiencing any emotional rollercoaster, not because I did not need help, but because I did not believe I should need it.

As I carried these messages into adulthood, I began to internalize my struggles. Instead of reaching out when I felt overwhelmed, I turned inward. I would sit with my emotions in isolation, convinced that if I could process them quietly enough, they would go away. I did not realize that what I thought was strength was emotional suppression. I had trained myself not to ask for help when experiencing any emotional rollercoaster, not because I did not need help, but because I did not believe I should need it.

How My Perspective Shifted

When I began graduate school in the U.S., I did not imagine that counseling or even conversations about counseling would become such a central part of my personal development. Coming from a background where I quietly endured emotional issues, I saw counseling as something far removed from my reality. However, my understanding shifted over time through my involvement in student support roles, my transition period, classes, and conversations with peers.

In those early months of graduate school, I often found myself in random conversations with other Ghanaian international students. We mostly unpacked the quiet struggles of transitioning to life in the U.S., including the unexpected loneliness, the cultural disconnection, and the silent battles with anxiety and self-doubt. We would mostly laugh, not because it was funny, but because humor was the safest way to talk about our pain. We joked that we were “too strong” for depression, that therapy was for people who did not grow up with strict mothers, morning devotions, or hardship as a regular part of life. We respected each other for surviving, but in retrospect, I see how our conversations were laced with a resistance not just to therapy itself, but to the idea that emotional vulnerability had any place in our definition of strength.

At first, some of my cohort members and professionals at my graduate assistantship office casually mentioned going to therapy or described their breakthroughs with their counselors. These were not dramatic stories of crisis, but small reflections on how talking to someone helped them process a tough week, confront imposter syndrome, or reflect on their growth. Hearing my peers speak so openly and without shame challenged my mental picture of who and what counseling was for.

What truly began to shift my internal narrative was my role as a peer mentor supervisor. Working closely with our peer mentors, some of whom were international, meant I had to show up with empathy, patience, and presence. I would hold space for my peer mentors struggling with homesickness, academic pressure, identity questions, or isolation. I saw the power of simply listening without fixing as they opened up to me. I saw how much strength it took for them to be vulnerable and honest, especially those who came from cultures or family systems where expressing mental or emotional struggles was taboo.

Ironically, while creating a safe space for others, I realized I had not created that space for myself. I encouraged students to reflect, seek help, and consider campus counseling resources, yet I had not considered doing the same. I played the supporter role but never allowed myself to be supported. The gap between what I offered to others and what I allowed for myself became increasingly hard to ignore.

Furthermore, my “Helping Skills” course brought that realization closer to my own experience. In the class, we did not just read about soft skills needed to help students in different situations, but we practiced them. Active listening, open-ended questioning, reflecting feelings, and affirming experience were tools we learned. As part of the course activities, we were supposed to make videos of us implementing the soft skills we learned as helpers and helpees in our colleagues’ videos.

At first, I struggled to let myself be “the client” in my colleague’s practice sessions. I gave short answers, avoided going too deep, and often used humor to deflect discomfort. It felt so unnatural and uncomfortable at the start. However, as the semester progressed, I saw something shift. There was something disarming about being genuinely listened to without judgment, without a rush to solve, without the weight of cultural expectations. It did not feel like weakness. It felt like relief.

The more I interacted with my peers in the HESA program, the more I began to see that seeking help did not mean weakness. It was a tool that could coexist with everything I already believed in. I did not have to stop being a man to acknowledge when I was tired, unsure, or needed help.

From Lived Experience to Practice

Now, I find myself in a different space emotionally. Counseling, something I viewed as more foreign and even unnecessary, has become a method I deeply respect and have slowly embraced. While I have not entirely gone through formal therapy myself, the openness I now feel toward it is a significant shift from where I started. I no longer see therapy as something that indirectly undermines my strength, but rather as something that can exist alongside it. Therapy adds language, tools, and practices that allow me to move through the world with more awareness, balance, and compassion. Moreover, more importantly, it permits me to care for myself.

This change has had a significant impact on how I approach my work with students now, especially those whose identities (such as international, first-generation, queer, religious) intersect in ways that can make it harder to be vulnerable or seek support. As a prospective student affairs professional, I now encourage students to reflect openly and see strength in vulnerability. Thus, when I support students now, I do it with gentleness, knowing how hard it can be to unlearn those deep-rooted narratives.

I have also learned not to push counseling onto students, as some derive support back home, but to remind them it as an option. Sometimes this means normalizing therapy through everyday conversation, as my cohort members did for me. Other times, it means validating a student’s spiritual or cultural beliefs while gently introducing the idea that emotional support can take many forms, including counseling. I have also come to understand that for many international students, especially from Africa, counseling is not just about treatment but also about trust. Trust in the system, in the practitioner, in the process. That is where I see student affairs professionals come in, not as experts with answers, but as bridges. I have realized how powerful it is when students hear someone they relate to speak openly about mental health and support-seeking.

In some cases, students are not looking for advice; they are looking for permission to admit they are not okay, to rest, and ask for help. I will still offer that permission by being honest about my journey. We should help students translate their experiences into language and frameworks that feel accessible and affirming.

In addition, I have started recommending campus wellness resources more often as options for students and one of many tools students can use to stay grounded. I will continue sharing stories of how counseling has helped others. As I continue this path in student affairs, I want to keep learning how to help students who sit at the crossroads of multiple identities, who, like me, may struggle with whether or not it is acceptable to talk to someone about their pain. Whether through mentorship, programming, workshops, or one-on-one conversations, I want to continue dismantling the belief that strength means silence. I want students, especially those from backgrounds like mine, to know that caring for their mental health is not a foreign practice but a human one.

Recommendations for Student Affairs Professionals

Supporting international students, particularly those from African backgrounds, requires more than offering generic mental health referrals. It requires cultural humility, patience, and understanding of how identity and upbringing shape help-seeking behavior. Based on my evolving reflections on counseling and my work supporting students, I offer the following strategies for student affairs professionals, especially advisors and counselors.

1. Gradually normalize conversations about mental health. Weave mental health into everyday interactions rather than assuming every student feels safe or comfortable talking about emotional struggles. Mentioning therapy casually without framing it as only for crises helps shift perception. Students often listen closely even when they do not respond immediately. Your tone can either reinforce stigma or help dismantle it.
2. Avoid one-size-fits-all referrals. Telling students to “go to counseling” may feel dismissive if they have never encountered therapy in their home culture. Instead, consider asking: “How do you usually process stress?” or “What kind of support feels safe?” From there, gently introduce campus resources as options, not solutions.
3. Use peer influence as a bridge. Many international students open up more readily to peers. So, consider building peer-led wellness discussions or panels where students from similar cultural backgrounds share how they have navigated therapy or emotional self-care. Representation matters, as research has proven the effectiveness of even group counseling and therapy (Yalom,2020).
4. Create culturally responsive spaces. Ensuring that the emotional support services on campus are visibly inclusive is also a good way of tackling the issues raised. This includes hiring diverse staff, partnering with international student offices, and offering wellness materials in a culturally relevant language. Even small cues like office posters or program titles signal whether a space is safe.

Reflection Questions

1. How might your cultural assumptions about help-seeking influence the way you support international students who are hesitant to use mental health services?
2. In what ways can your office or campus create spaces where students from different cultural backgrounds feel emotionally safe enough to be vulnerable?
3. What steps can you take to integrate culturally responsive advising practices that validate and respect alternative coping and healing methods?

Author Bio

Osei Akomeah (he/him) is a Higher Education and Student Affairs graduate student at the University of Iowa and a graduate assistant with the First Gen Hawks program. His research interests focus on cultural perceptions of mental health, and student services, globalization of U.S. higher education and its impacts, and the experiences of queer international students.

References

Abood, J., Woodward, K., Polonsky, M., Green, J., Tadjoeddin, Z., & Renzaho, A. (2021). Exploring the barriers to mental health help‑seeking among African migrants in Australia: A qualitative study. International Journal of Social Psychiatry, 71(6).

Miescher, S. F. (2007). Making men in Ghana: Cultural change and colonial modernity in the early twentieth century. The Journal of African History, 48(1), 29-55.

Amadiume, I. (1987). Male daughters, female husbands: Gender and sex in an African society. Zed Books.

Dzokoto, V. A. (2015). Culture and emotional expression: Implications for mental health in Ghana. International Journal of Psychology, 50(5), 372-378.

Dzokoto, V. A., & Adams, G. (2007). Understanding emotions in African contexts: Toward a cultural psychology of emotional expression. Journal of Black Psychology, 33(1), 5-30.

Lindsay, L. A., & Miescher, S. F. (2003). Men and masculinities in modern Africa. Heinemann.

Mbiti, J. S. (1969). African religions and philosophy. Heinemann.

Yalom, I. D., & Leszcz, M. (2020). The theory and practice of group psychotherapy (6th ed.). Basic Books.

Ezeugwu, C. R., & Ojedokun, O. (2020). Masculine norms and mental health of African men: What can psychology do? Heliyon, 6(12).

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

This three-part series centers the lived experiences of Black undergraduate women at historically White institutions (HWIs) and reflects my commitment to ensuring their stories are not only heard but used to inform practice. Grounded in my dissertation research and guided by Black Feminist Thought, the series draws on narrative inquiry to elevate student voice as a critical source of knowledge for equity-minded student affairs work. Part I introduces the study’s methodological framing and key themes that emerged from participants narratives, illuminating how racialized campus climates, belonging, and community shape Black women’s undergraduate experience. Part II details how these insights were translated into practice through the development of Sista Circles, a culturally sustaining initiative designed to affirm Black women’s identities and foster collective care. Part III turns to implication and action, inviting practitioners to reflect on institutional responsibility while offering guiding questions to support assessment, program design, and sustainable support for Black women students. Together, these pieces are intended to move readers from listening to student stories toward intentional, community-centered action.

Historically White Institutions (HWIs) of higher education have proven to be a complex and contradictory space for Black undergraduate women. While these women are frequently celebrated for their resilience and leadership (Haynes, 2019), their lived experiences are shaped by racialized and gendered campus climates not designed with their identities in mind (Corbin et al., 2018; Kelly et al. 2021; Winkle-Wagner, 2015). Navigating these environments, Black women often encounter isolation, invisibility, and heightened expectations to persist without adequate institutional support (Corbin et al., 2018; Kelly et al., 2021; Miller, 2017; Porter & Dean, 2015; Winkle-Wagner, 2015).

Although institutions acknowledge the importance of inclusive practice, many fall short when it comes to engaging students who hold marginalized identities (Rosales & Persons, 2003; Miller, 2017; Winkle-Wagner, 2015). As a consequence, Black women’s experiences are often rendered invisible within dominant narratives of student success, persistence, and engagement (Commodore et al., 2021). Understanding these experiences requires approaches that move beyond the data and center Black women’s voices as critical sources of knowledge.

This article focuses on the narratives of Black undergraduate women whose stories highlight the complexity of identity, belonging, and resilience within institutional contexts. Drawing from my dissertation research, this piece centers their experiences as a vital form of knowledge and positions critical narrative inquiry as an essential tool for equity-minded student affairs practice. Part I establishes the conceptual and methodological foundation for this three-part series, connecting participant insights to the ACPA/NASPA Professional Competency Areas of Assessment, Evaluation, and Research (AER), Social Justice and Inclusion (SJI), and Student Learning and Development (SLD).

Methodological Frame: Qualitative Inquiry with Purpose

My dissertation, Still, I Rise: Using Sista Circles to Explore the Lived Experiences of Black Women Who Attend(ed) Historically White Institutions as Undergraduates, emerged from my desire to better understand how Black women make meaning of their undergraduate experiences within predominantly White spaces. Guided by critical narrative inquiry and informed by Black Feminist Thought, my study prioritized storytelling as a method of knowledge production.

Using Sista Circle methodology, a culturally grounded qualitative approach that centers collective dialogue, storytelling, and relational accountability (Johnson, 2015), participants engaged in facilitated group conversations that revealed both the challenges they encountered and the strategies they used to persist and thrive. Sista Circles position participants not simply as sources of data, but as co-creators of meaning whose lived experiences hold epistemic value. This approach aligns strongly with the AER competency through its emphasis on ethical, participant-centered data collection and interpretation while attending to power, positionality, and context.

It is important to note the method functioned as both inquiry and intervention. Participants frequently described the circles themselves as affirming spaces where they could process experiences rarely acknowledged in institutional settings. In contrast to traditional surveys or quantitative retention metrics, these narratives provided nuanced insight into how institutional climate, identity, and power intersect in students’ daily lives. Critical narrative inquiry thus emerged not as supplemental, but as essential to understanding student experience in its full complexity.

To provide context for the narratives that follow, Table 1 summarizes participant pseudonyms, ages, and institutional affiliations. This overview is offered to situate participants’ stories while honoring the narrative inquiry approach that centers lived experience over categorization.

Table 1. Participant Pseudonyms and Institutional Context

Pseudonym	Classification	Institution Type	Age
Angela	Graduate	Public, Land-Grant Research	25
Carter	Undergraduate	Public, Land- & Sea-Grant Research	22
Charlotte	Graduate	Public, Land- & Sea-Grant Research	23
Delores	Undergraduate	Public, Land- & Sea-Grant Research	21
Mary	Graduate	Public, Land-, Sea-, and Space-Grant Research	27
Nancy	Graduate	Large, Public Research	28
Naomi	Graduate	Very Large, Public, Metropolitan	22
Sarah	Undergraduate	Public, Land- & Sea-Grant Research	21

 

With this context in mind, the following section explores the key themes that emerged from participants’ narratives.

Key Themes from Participants Narratives

Participants’ stories revealed three interrelated themes that shaped their daily campus lives: navigating racialized climates and microaggressions, negotiating belonging and authenticity, and relying on community as critical support. Together, these themes offer critical insights for student affairs professionals committed to fostering equity, inclusion, and student belonging. Taken together, these themes trace a progression from the racialized conditions participants navigated, to the ways those conditions shaped belonging and authenticity, and ultimately to the role of community in sustaining Black women within environments not designed with them in mind.

Navigating Microaggressions and Racial Climate

Participants’ experiences were shaped by a racial climate in which microaggressions were not isolated incidents, but routine features of daily life that influenced how Black women navigated classrooms, campus spaces, and institutional interactions.

Participants recounted many encounters with racial microaggressions and implicit bias that shaped their academic confidence, peer relationships, and sense of self. When Angela sought academic support as an undergraduate, she recalled being told by the faculty member she “should think about community college.” This interaction called into question her academic legitimacy, highlighting how routine advising moments can erode students’ confidence.

Experiences like these contributed to what many described as racial battle fatigue (Corbin et al., 2018; Smith, 2015), with cumulative effects on well-being, engagement, and perceptions of safety and belonging (Donovan & Guillory, 2017; Profit et al., 2000; Winkle-Wagner, 2015; Zamani, 2003). Although often minimized or unacknowledged at the institutional level, participants described these interactions as deeply consequential to their campus experiences.

Despite these challenges, students demonstrated agency by drawing on internal resilience, faith, family support, and peer relationships, often in the absence of adequate institutional support, to navigate institutional barriers. Participants were clear, however, that these strategies emerged out of necessity rather than choice. As Mary shared, “We just can’t be defeated or let that get to us…”. Charlotte reflected that her faith helped her, “… definitely being strong in my faith helped me get through a lot of like, just tough times in college”. Delores described relying on peers, explaining that “a source of support has come from my friends and like, that friend group is a support group that I built”.

While these forms of support sustained students, they also highlight how responsibility for survival was frequently shifted onto individuals rather than addressed at the institutional level. These narratives underscore the need for student affairs professionals to strengthen their capacity to assess racial climate beyond isolated incidents or aggregate indicators. SJI and AER competencies require practitioners to interrogate how everyday interactions, advising conversations, classroom exchanges, and institutional responses to bias, collectively shape students’ sense of safety and legitimacy. Participants’ stories remind us that climate is experienced relationally and cumulatively, and that equity-minded assessment must center student voice, attend to power and positionality, and recognize narrative as a credible form of institutional data.

Over time, these repeated encounters did more than create moments of discomfort; they shaped how participants understood their place within the institution and whether they could show up authentically, laying the foundation for deeper questions of belonging.

Belonging and Authenticity

Within their racialized campus climates, participants described belonging as conditional and authenticity as constrained, often requiring them to carefully manage, when, where, and how they were visible (Apugo, 2019; Stewart, 2017). Participants’ reflections on belonging extended beyond involvement or participation to include authenticity and psychological safety. Belonging was described as the ability to show up fully without suppressing cultural expression or engaging in constant code-switching to be perceived as competent or acceptable (Apugo, 2019; Strayhorn, 2012).

Charlotte shared advise her dad gave her, “You have to work twice as hard to be half as good,” reflecting the belief that, as Black undergraduate women at historically White institutions, they must expend greater effort for distinguished recognition. Naomi, a 22-year-old from Gulf University, captured this tension when she stated, “White people wake up worthy, Black people have to work for worth.” Her words stress the ongoing labor required to validate their presence on HWI campuses.

Their narratives challenged deficit-oriented models of student success that place responsibility within individuals rather than institutional structures. From a Student Learning and Development lens, belonging emerges as an institutional outcome shaped by relational, curricular, and co-curricular environments, not a trait students must earn, perform, or sustain alone. Participants’ insights invite practitioners to reframe success through an asset-based, identity-affirming lens.

Hypervisibility and Invisibility

An important subtheme that emerged within participants’ discussions of belonging was the simultaneous experience of hypervisibility and invisibility. Hypervisibility refers to the heightened attention Black women students often receive due to their intersecting racial and gender identities. Participants described being closely watched, scrutinized, and stereotyped in classrooms, meetings, and campus spaces. Carter, a 22-year-old from State University summarized this experience when she described “that feeling of having to be on top of your game all the time”. While this visibility sometimes resulted in opportunities for leadership or representation, it more often produced microaggressions, tokenization, and the expectation to speak on behalf of an entire race or gender.

Participants also described profound experiences of invisibility within historically White institutional environments. Mary, a 23-year-ol student reflected on being the only Black student in her Spanish class and noted that it is “really important, especially for White professors, to know how to provide support to students…because it is not a one-size-fits-all approach.” Across narratives, participants noted limited representation in curricula, faculty, leadership roles, and campus initiatives, as well as exclusion from decision-making spaces that shaped their academic and co-curricular experiences. Sarah articulated the exhaustion of rarely encountering Black women in the classroom, while Angela described the significance of finally seeing a Black woman faculty member whose scholarship centered critical race theory. Delores extended this invisibility to leadership, noting that access to highly visible roles often required Black women to exceed already elevated expectations. Collectively, these experiences reveal that invisibility was not merely symbolic, it carried tangible consequences for participants’ sense of belonging, agency, and institutional trust.

Importantly, participants did not experience hypervisibility and invisibility as opposing forces, but as coexisting realities. They were often called upon when institutions needed diversity labor, serving on committees, responding to campus climate issues, or representing “the Black student perspective”, while simultaneously being excluded from spaces where power, influence, and long-term decisions resided. This selective visibility demanded emotional labor while offering little agency or power (Porter & Byrd, 2021; Zamani, 2003). Recognition without power did not foster belonging; instead, it reinforced marginalization.

Participants’ reflections challenge practitioners to reconsider how belonging and development are understood and operationalized within predominantly White institutional contexts. From a SLD perspective, these narratives reveal how identity, power, and environment shape students’ ability to show up authentically and engage fully in their learning. Social Justice and Inclusion competencies call practitioners to recognize the emotional labor produced by hypervisibility without agency and invisibility with affirmation, and to question institutional norms that requires Black women to perform belonging rather than experience it as an assure condition of their campus lives.

As institutional spaces frequently failed to offer affirmation or agency, participants increasingly sought connection elsewhere, turning toward community as a vital source of validation, resilience, and support.

Community as Critical Support

In the absence of consistent institutional care, participants identified community as essential to their persistence, well-being, and sense of self on campus. Prior scholarship affirms this reality, emphasizing that success for Black undergraduate women is not achieved in isolation but sustained through access to supportive, affirming community (Everett & Croom, 2017; Porter, 2017).

Across the narratives, participants described community, particularly spaces grounded in shared identity and cultural understanding, as foundational to their success. Delores, a 21-year-old student at State University spoke about how her CA and RA helped ground her and provide community. For her, “It was helpful to have somebody that was there for me specifically to help me grow”, she explained. Participants consistently emphasized the importance of environments where they could speak candidly without needing to explain or justify their experiences.

While institutions often offer generalized support services, few spaces explicitly affirmed the intersection of race and gender in ways that resonated with the participants’ lived realities. As Charlotte, 23-year-old from State University shared, “It is either one or the other, but never both.”

Participants’ reliance on community highlights the developmental and sustaining role of identity-affirming spaces in environments where institutional care is inconsistent. SLD and SJI competencies ask practitioners to move beyond viewing community as supplemental and instead recognize it as foundational to persistence, well-being, and meaning-making for Black women students. These narratives illuminate the limits of self-constructed support networks and underscore the responsibility of institutions to intentionally create, resource, and legitimize spaces that honor the intersection of race and gender rather than leaving students to navigate these needs alone.

In response, students often created informal networks to meet these needs. Participants emphasized that community was not ancillary to success but foundational. At the same time, their experiences revealed the limits of relying solely on self-constructed support, underscoring the need for intentional, institutionally supported spaces that center Black women’s voices, healing, and belonging.

Implications for Practice

For student affairs practitioners, these findings underscore the need to rethink how support structures are designed, assessed, and sustained. Black women’s experiences at HWIs cannot be fully understood through traditional engagement metrics or satisfaction surveys alone (Patton & Croom, 2017; Porter & Byrd, 2021). Research that centers narrative, voice, and lived experience offers a more intricate understanding of what students need to feel supported, affirmed, and empowered.

Integrating qualitative and narrative approaches into assessment strategies, such as focus groups, reflective dialogue, and story-based evaluation, can deepen institutional understanding and support more responsive practice. This approach aligns with the AER and SJI competencies by elevating voice, honoring lived experience, and using data to advance equity rather than merely document disparities. When narrative insights are intentionally connected to program design and strategic planning, practitioners can move beyond awareness toward action.

In this study, participants’ stories directly informed the development of an initiative designed to address the needs they articulated. These insights formed the foundation for the practice explored in Part II of this series.

Summary

Together, these narratives offer more than insight; they present a call to action rooted in student voice and lived experience. When students tell us who they are and what they need, the work before us is not whether to listen, but how to respond with intention, care, and purpose. If we accept these findings as credible and consequential, the question becomes not what Black women need, but what this knowledge requires of us in practice.

The next article in this series examines how these research insights were translated into intentional action through the creation of Sista Circles, an initiative designed to create conditions where Black women students are seen, heard, and supported on their own terms.

Reflection Questions

1. How might your campus assessment practices incorporate narrative and qualitative approaches to better capture the lived experiences of students with intersecting identities?
2. In what ways do institutional structures contribute to the experiences of visibility without agency?
3. How can student affairs professionals leverage stories of belonging and resilience to inform program design and institutional strategy?

Author Biography

Wanda Johnson (She/Her) is an award-winning scholar-practitioner whose research centers the lived experiences of Black women at historically White institutions. Drawing on critical narrative inquiry and Black feminist thought, her scholarship bridges research and practice to create institutional conditions where Black women are seen, supported, and able to thrive.

References

Apugo, D. (2019). A hidden culture of coping: Insights on African American women’s existence in predominately White institutions. Multicultural Perspectives, 21(1), 53-62. https://doi.org/10.1080/15210960.2019.1573067

Commodore, F., Baker, D. J., & Arroyo, A. T. (2021). Black women college students: A guide to student success in higher education. 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

Donovan, R. A., & Guillory, N. A. (2017). Black women’s college experience. In L. D. Patton & N. N. Croom (Eds.), Critical perspectives on Black women and college success (pp. 188–199). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315744421

Haynes, C. S. (2019). A loophole of retreat? Predominately White institutions as paradoxical spaces for high achieving African American women. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 32(8), 998–1018, https://www.doi.org/10.1080/09518398.2019.1635281

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Growing up in a working-class rural community, I understood that individual, familial, and community functionality were often linked to collective capacity. Families stuck together. Neighbors helped one another. Farmers, gardeners, and hunters engaged in food swaps to generate balanced meals. Volunteers enabled the availability of community services (e.g., fire department) and religious groups. People didn’t give more than they had, but they gave what they could. My family contributed to this functionality, serving the community through many of these avenues. Accordingly, I learned to do my part inside and outside of the home. Then I signed up for multiple volunteer and community service roles as a high school student. This behavior carried on in my undergraduate experience where I oriented new students to campus, participated in shared governance through student government, volunteered in the local community, and advised upper-level administrators as a student representative on university-wide committees. Ultimately, service is what led to my interest in a higher education and student affairs (HESA) career.

The value of service was reinforced during my time as a HESA master’s student. Our coursework affirmed that higher education institutions were structured in ways that required service and shared governance, much like my home community. Our practice (e.g., graduate assistantships, internships) demonstrated how service imparted new skills, offered additional connections, and invited different perspectives into spaces. I was quickly assigned to several service roles and volunteered for others. I viewed service as a way to contribute, to learn, and to belong. My commitment to service continued throughout my 10 years as a HESA practitioner and carried forward when I shifted to a HESA faculty role in 2015.

What some (rightfully) view as dreaded “other duties as assigned” (e.g., accreditation processes, committee appointments, special projects, task forces) or coercive representation (e.g., we just someone from our unit to show up, we need someone with your perspective on this) is often the collective discussion and, ideally, action that helps to create institutional climate and culture. These rooms are where ideas meet implementation strategies, where common issues become policy solutions, and where individuals have the opportunity to turn annoyances into advocacy. Even roles that we are “voluntold” to do and, thus, do so begrudgingly frequently offer us opportunities to advance our knowledge and skills and extend our understanding of institutional inner workings (Ardoin, 2026). As a PhD student, I was informed that I would sit on the University Libraries committee, essentially because none of our departmental faculty members wanted to utilize their time in that way. Being someone with a deep appreciation for and love of libraries but limited understanding of how university libraries functioned, I was likely more of an observer on the committee than an active participant. I was quickly schooled on library budgets, publisher restrictions, facilities maintenance, and space use controversies. The timing of my joining the committee also made me privy to the construction process of a brand new, state-of-the-art library on campus. Was I the best person for this committee? Probably not. But I ensured our department was represented, learned a lot, have a more nuanced understanding of how university libraries function, and am better positioned to both utilize and support campus library services. As a bonus, I got to play a miniscule part in building a new library that benefitted friends who joined the same PhD program years later.

This is not to say that service is without reproach. U.S. higher education was built on exploitative labor (Nash, 2019; Wilder, 2013) and is structurally and systemically dependent on overworking and (often) underpaying employees (ACPA, 2022; Bichsel & Schneider, 2025; Marshall et al., 2016; Sallee, 2021). Essentially, institutions demand and operate on free labor. Further, service is more frequently expected from and performed by employees who are in contingent or early-career roles and/or who hold minoritized and marginalized identities—particularly women of Color—a dynamic Padilla (1994) deemed cultural taxation (ACPA, 2022; Anderson, 2021; Bazner, 2022; Breeden, 2021; Garcia, 2016; Kortegast & van der Toorn, 2018; Marshall et al., 2016). These individuals feel more compelled to say yes to service, out of obligation, fear, or (to my first point in this article) a sense of identity, community, and collective capacity. If you grew up observing service, engaging in service, and understanding the need for service, you (regrettably) might also be manipulated for your commitment.

The Association for the Study of Higher Education acknowledges that service is often “unrewarded and unacknowledged—but it is also so very critical to the functioning of the academy” (Sallee et al., 2025, p. 6). In their Report on the 21st Century Employment in Higher Education, ACPA (2022) named that “doing more with less undergirds the labor of reaching organizational goals” in student affairs (p. 12). This alludes to the additional service expected of staff to ensure organizational functionality, whether that is in the form of interim roles, absorbing responsibilities of unfilled positions, committee memberships, or emotional labor with students. Further, the ACPA and NASPA (2015) Professional Competency Areas for Student Affairs Educators includes service within its Values, Philosophy, and History area, noting the “importance of service to the institution and to student affairs professional associations” (p. 18), with both associations recognizing members annually for such service.

It is evident that service expectations extend across institutional and professional spheres, assuming contributions to the unit, department, college, university, and field and creating a dynamic where “the time allotted by both institutions and [employees] often does not align with the amount of time actually spent” (Sallee et al., 2025, p. 7). Due to finite time and capacity, higher education employees may choose to engage more as “locals,” focusing on their institutions, or more as “cosmopolitans,” focusing on their field (or professional associations) (Gouldner, 1957, 1958). However, Sallee and colleagues (2025) argue that service should not be an either-or endeavor, offering one’s time and talents to either the institution or the broader field. Rather, service should have a both-and emphasis, sharing one’s identity, capacity, and efficacy with both the institution and the broader field. I agree with my colleagues, and it’s a tall order.

 

I have embraced this both-and service emphasis throughout my career, both as a practitioner (2005-2015) and as a faculty member (2015-present), offering my time and talents to both institutional and professional service opportunities. I seek opportunities where my knowledge and practice can add value to the collective good. A strength of my institutional service is that it has generally aligned with my professional expertise or personal interests, extending the reach of the units I have worked for or inviting me to advocate for things and people I believe in. Additionally, my professional service on the regional, national, and international level has been helpful in not only promoting the interesting work we were doing on campus but also recruiting prospective students and employees to my institutions and being able to offer a broader lens to the campus. In short, my institutional service and professional service have been symbiotic, allowing me to scale campus happenings to national benchmarks and juxtaposing national trends to campus particularities.

The question becomes: how does someone do their “fair share” of service without sacrificing their jobs or—more importantly—themselves in the process? It’s a great question. And one I failed at for a long time, despite the great example my working-class rural home community set for me.

For much of my career, I was a “yes person.” If someone presented a service prospect to me, I took it, both when I wanted to and when I didn’t. As a first-generation college student, I felt like I was playing catch up to my colleagues and should take every chance to learn more. I also felt a sense of duty to do more, to pay forward the ample opportunities I had been given as a student. It didn’t help that I was single and without formal caregiving duties into my late 30s and, thus, often seen as available for extra work, particularly on nights and weekends. If we’re being honest, I also made myself relatively available. However, in the past four years and through becoming a parent, I have learned how to establish better boundaries, more accurately assess my time and capacity, and say no graciously.

Let’s be clear though: You shouldn’t have to get a pet, partner, or time-specific pastime to avoid service getting dumped on you by colleagues. Rather, you should position yourself to engage in service in ways that benefit you, represent your unit, and offer your expertise to your campus and professional communities without feeling overworked or exploited. As Wilson and colleagues (2025) illustrated, boundary setting is a self-preservation practice. As an example, I recently told a colleague I admire that I couldn’t volunteer for a service opportunity they were offering me. Their response was refreshing: “You will find few people who appreciate a good boundary more than me! Thank you for saying no!”

How might you set boundaries around service? I suggest that you start by assessing some data points:

• What percentage of your work time is allotted for service or “other duties as assigned”? You can look at your job description to see if there is a percentage for this work category. If there isn’t, you can ask your supervisor. This gives you a clue about the number of hours you should be spending on this type of work. For example, if service or “other duties as assigned” is 20% of your workload, then you should cap your service commitments at a maximum of 8 out of the 40 hours of your workweek. Because, make no mistake—service is work, even if it involves something you want to learn or enjoy doing (don’t get fooled by a “wolf in sheep’s clothing”).

 

• What are the unit or institutional expectations about service types/levels? It would be useful to learn whether everyone in your office is expected to engage in a specific number of committees or service appointments. It is also important to inquire about whether people are required, or encouraged, to engage in service at different levels (e.g., unit, college/division, institution, profession). Knowing the requested reach informs how many contributions you can allocate within your available service workload percentage.

 

• Which type(s) of service are you most interested in and why? Reflecting on what forms of service “fill your cup” and what forms “deplete your battery” is a useful practice in identifying why, how, and where you may want to serve. For example, I thoroughly enjoy being a part of search committees, whether as a member or chair. I like promoting job openings, talking to prospective applicants about the position and institution, meeting colleagues through the interview processes, and playing a role in hiring our colleagues. Other people loathe search committees. Conversely, you may relish the opportunity to join an institutional strategic planning committee in order to help set the direction and goals for the institution over the next 3-5 year term. If I never have to serve in that way again, it will be too soon.

 

• What are the specific commitments of each service endeavor? Determining the amount of time, level of effort, and collegial encounters attached to a service prospect helps you estimate what it would really mean to get involved. If those details aren’t apparent or aren’t included in the request you receive, ask! For example, a search committee may require time intensity and significant collegial interaction with 10 people over a three-month period, while a strategic planning committee could stretch out over several years inviting interspersed collegial interaction with 50 people and the creation of a report, website, and communications plan. You need to know what you’re signing up for and how it fits into your existing commitments.

 

• When and how can/will you say no to something that is not of interest or puts you over workload capacity? First and foremost, there will be some service you cannot decline, even if you don’t have interest or capacity. There are realities to being shortstaffed, working on smaller teams, or rotating undesirable tasks that will require you to do some service that you would prefer to avoid. However, that is not the case every time. Sometimes you can ask questions—to yourself and your supervisor—about whether this opportunity is your I heard a keynote speaker once who offered these insightful reflection prompts when contemplating an opportunity:
  • Do I need to do it? – this applies to the things you cannot refuse or ones that will position you well for future endeavors
  • Do I want to do it? – this relates to your true interest and capacity
  • Do I have something to offer? – this questions whether you have expertise to add to the service context

The speaker suggested that all three questions have to produce a yes response for you to agree to take on the task. I often use these prompts myself when a service opportunity arises. I also employ a mantra that my colleague, Dr. Jeremiah Shinn, offered me—and his Division of Student Affairs—several years ago: Do Less Better. We must accept that if we keep piling more and more onto our proverbial plates, they will either spill or break. Resultantly, we should make data-informed decisions about what to keep doing (better!), what to stop doing, and what to start doing (if anything). So as you get new service requests, consider what appointments may be ending that could be replaced or recognize where your interests may have waned and you need to reinvest before you add anything more.

 

• How is service evaluated during yearly employee evaluation processes? You should learn about what kinds of service, if anything, “count” toward your employee evaluation metrics. Most employees get evaluated at least once a year based on specific categories set by institutional human resources offices. It’s not to say you should only serve in ways that “count,” but you need to concede that if you are compromising other work categories (e.g., assessment, event planning, supervision) that are considered essential in order to engage in service, you are likely doing yourself a disservice. Because make no mistake, again—service is work, and we should give what we can but not more than what we have (e.g., capacity, time).

 

As HESA employees, we must recognize that institutional functionality is dependent on collective capacity—on service. For some of us, this comes naturally (maybe too naturally) and we need to be proactive in how we navigate service across institutional and professional spheres to optimize our contributions and minimize our exploitation. For others who may be service avoiders or delegators, consider how your approach may be impacting your colleagues, reassess why it is important for you to contribute, determine how you can be an active community member, and contemplate whether you keep asking the same people to give more. Finally, there will be situations where the entire team’s capacity is full and yet another service task still arrives. That is the signal to ponder—is this service necessary? If so, does our team have to be the one to do this? If yes, what can we pause or stop doing that is less important than this new task?

 

Service is what led to my interest in a HESA career, and in many ways, it is what keeps me here. While my family and home community rooted me in service and my K-20 schooling experience offered me opportunities to enact my abilities, it is my career that has proven to me that commitment to collective capacity can create conditions to change individual lives, (re)shape institutions, shift communities, and bring us closer—whether a millimeter or a mile—to a more equitable world.

 

Knowing this, my advice to you and to myself is: Don’t give more than you have, but always give what you can. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to share in service.

 

References

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

ACPA: College Student Educators International & NASPA: Student Affairs Administrators in Higher Education (2015). Professional competency areas for student affairs educators. https://www.naspa.org/images/uploads/main/acpa_naspa_professional_competencies_final.pdf

Anderson, R. K. (2021). Burned out or burned through? The costs of student affairs diversity work. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 58(4), 359–371. https://doi.org/10.1080/19496591.2020.1822853

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

Bazner, K. J. (2022). Views From the middle: Racialized experiences of midlevel student affairs administrators. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 15(5), 572–582. https://doi.org/10.1037/dhe0000384

Bichsel, J., & Schneider, J. (2025). Retention of student affairs professionals: Compensation, remote work, flexibility, and advancement opportunities. Journal of Education Human Resources, 43(1), 183–201. https://doi.org/10.3138/jehr-2025-00XX

Breeden, R. L. (2021). Our presence is resistance: Stories of Black women in senior-level student affairs positions at predominantly white institutions. Journal of Women and Gender in Higher Education, 14(2), 166–186. https://doi.org/10.1080/26379112.2021.1948860

Garcia, G. A. (2016). Exploring student affairs professionals’ experiences with the campus racial climate at a Hispanic Serving Institution (HSI). Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 9(1), 20–33. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0039199

Gouldner, A. W. (1957). Cosmopolitans and locals: Toward an analysis of latent social roles I. Administrative Science Quarterly, 2(3), 281-306. https://doi.org/10.2307/2391000.

Gouldner, A. W. (1958). Cosmopolitans and locals: Toward an analysis of latent social roles II. Administrative Science Quarterly, 2(4), 444-480. https://doi.org/10.2307/2390795.

Kortegast, C. A., & van der Toorn, M. (2018). Other duties not assigned: Experiences of lesbian and gay student affairs professionals at small colleges and universities. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 11(3), 268–278. https://doi.org/10.1037/dhe0000046

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

​​Nash, M. A. (2019). Entangled pasts: Land-grant colleges and American Indian dispossession. History of Education Quarterly, 59(4), 437–467. https://doi.org/10.1017/heq.2019.31

Padilla, A. M. (1994). Ethnic minority scholars, research, and mentoring: Current and future issues. Educational Researcher, 23(4), 24–27. https://doi.org/10.2307/1176259

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

Sallee, M.W., Washington, L. F., Cain, T. R., Cho, K., Bertrand Jones, T., Nguyen, D., Reyes, H. Taylor, M.Y. (2025). Re-centering the importance of service in academia: A collective responsibility. Association for the Study of Higher Education. https://assets.noviams.com/novi-file-uploads/ashe/pdfs-and-documents/Reports/Presidential_Commission_on_Service_Report.pdf

Wilder, C. S. (2013). Ebony & ivy: Race, slavery, and the troubled history of America’s universities. Bloomsbury Press.

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

 

Sonja Ardoin, Ph.D. (she/her) is an associate 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.

Leadership in higher education today unfolds within a landscape marked by sustained uncertainty. Declining enrollment, constrained budgets, shifting public expectations, and policy volatility have become persistent features of the sector rather than temporary disruptions (Grawe, 2018; Hillman, 2020). For many leaders, the work is no longer about guiding institutions from one stable moment to the next, but about maintaining purpose, mission, momentum, and care amid ongoing change.

As I write, I am marking a professional milestone completing my second year as an associate vice president for student affairs at a regional public university. I do so with deep appreciation for the experiences that have shaped my leadership. My first year in this role was underscored by significant leadership transition, significant budget deficits, and the compounding realities of declining enrollment and retention, all within a broader context of federal and state policy pressures shaping institutional decision-making. During that year, the institution experienced three presidential leadership configurations: a permanent president when I began, followed by an acting president, and then an interim president charged with navigating fiscal constraint and organizational restructuring. As I begin my third year, I am preparing to welcome a new permanent president while continuing to lead teams through the ongoing work of addressing enrollment and retention challenges, managing budgetary constraints, and supporting academic and co-curricular realignment in an increasingly complex policy and funding environment.

I do not frame these experiences as obstacles to overcome or crises to survive. Instead, I view them as formative opportunities that clarified my values, strengthened my leadership practice, and deepened my understanding of what it means to lead during prolonged uncertainty. This reflection centers on what I have learned about sustaining institutional mission, staff morale, and student support while responding to mounting pressures that increasingly define contemporary higher education leadership.

Learning to Lead Without the Promise of Stability

Early in my role as associate vice president for student affairs, the pace of leadership transition challenged my assumptions about what effective leadership looks like. Experiencing three presidential configurations in a single year underscored that leadership cannot depend on positional continuity to create coherence. Instead, leadership is shaped by how leaders show up consistently, communicate transparently, and ground their decisions in shared values (Kezar & Holcombe, 2017).

Research on organizational sensemaking suggests that during periods of ambiguity, individuals are often less concerned with certainty of outcomes and more attuned to consistency of behavior, values, and meaning-making, as well as reassurance that people, not just budgets or metrics, remain central to decision-making (Weick et al., 2005; Maitlis & Sonenshein, 2010).These experiences reshaped my understanding of leadership responsibility. In the absence of stable executive direction, middle and senior leaders become critical anchors for institutional culture. Our work shifts toward sustaining continuity of care for students, maintaining trust with staff and faculty, and reinforcing the mission even as strategies evolve. This aligns with contemporary leadership scholarship emphasizing relational and distributed leadership as essential in complex organizations (Bolden et al., 2015).

This understanding shaped how I approached leadership during periods of transition. Rather than relying on clarity from above or certainty about what would come next, I focused on maintaining consistency in how I showed up for staff and students. While staff understandably sought definitive answers amid leadership change, what became most apparent was their deeper need to feel heard, understood, and taken seriously in the midst of uncertainty. My role increasingly centered on being a visible and reliable presence, communicating what was known, naming uncertainty honestly, and reinforcing shared commitments to students and one another. Instead of attempting to resolve ambiguity prematurely, I prioritized consistency in decision-making processes and in how people were treated. This approach reflects the literature on sensemaking and relational leadership, demonstrating that when stability cannot be promised, coherence must be intentionally cultivated through trust, transparency, and care.

Responding to Pressures With Intention

Sustained enrollment decline and budget constraints formed the backdrop of much of my early leadership experience in this role. These pressures required difficult decisions, including program restructures, staffing reductions, and the discontinuation of certain academic and co-curricular programming. Such actions are not abstract; they affect people’s identities, livelihoods, and sense of belonging. Research on institutional sustainability suggests that leaders who delay difficult decisions often compound harm, facing steeper cuts and fewer options later (Martin et al., 2020). At the same time, research also cautions that how decisions are made and communicated significantly influences morale, trust, and organizational resilience (Maslach & Leiter, 2016).

In my role, responding to these pressures meant holding two truths simultaneously: financial realities could not be ignored, and people could not be treated as collateral damage. I learned that values-based leadership is not about preserving all existing structures, but about making choices that protect the institution’s long-term ability to serve students while attending to the human impact of change. This required clarity of purpose, transparent communication, and an explicit commitment to supporting those affected by difficult decisions.

Sustaining Mission Amid Change

One of the most important lessons from this period was recognizing that  mission is not self-sustaining. During times of restructuring and constraint, institutional mission can easily become overshadowed by urgency, compliance, and crisis management. Sustaining the institutional mission requires deliberate attention and repeated articulation. For university leaders, this means consistently framing decisions and priorities in terms of student learning, belonging, and success. Research consistently demonstrates that institutions that maintain a clear focus on student-centered outcomes are better positioned to navigate periods of constraint without eroding trust or engagement (Kuh et al., 2015).

In practice, sustaining institutional mission required aligning daily decisions with core commitments, even when resources were limited. It meant asking not only what was financially feasible, but what was educationally responsible. It also meant ensuring that student support remained visible, accessible, and prioritized, particularly for students most vulnerable to disruption during periods of institutional change.

Attending to Staff Morale as Leadership Work

Perhaps the most enduring leadership challenge I encountered was supporting staff through prolonged uncertainty. Years of enrollment and retention decline, budget reductions, organizational restructuring, and leadership transitions created conditions ripe for fatigue, anxiety, and disengagement, patterns well documented in research on burnout and organizational stress (Maslach & Leiter, 2016). Leading in this environment required intentional attention to morale as a core leadership responsibility, not a secondary concern. I found that sustaining morale depended less on offering certainty and more on demonstrating respect, honesty, and care. Staff wanted to know that their work mattered, that their voices were heard, and that leaders recognized the emotional labor required to continue serving students during instability.

Adaptive leadership theory emphasizes the importance of helping people make meaning of loss while remaining engaged with change (Heifetz et al., 2009). In practice, this meant creating space for reflection, acknowledging grief and frustration, and modeling steadiness without minimizing the challenges staff faced. These practices did not eliminate stress, but they fostered resilience and trust.

Collaboration as a Leadership Practice

The pressures described here heavily revealed the limits of siloed leadership. Enrollment decline, financial sustainability, and student success are deeply interconnected, and decisions made in one area reverberate across the institution. Scholarship underscores that cross-divisional collaboration is essential for institutional resilience, particularly during periods of constraint (Kezar & Holcombe, 2017). In my experience, sustained collaboration among student affairs, academic affairs, enrollment management, advancement, finance and human resources was critical to maintaining coherence. Alignment reduces confusion, strengthens communication, and enables more holistic decision-making. Collaboration also distributes leadership responsibility, reducing isolation for leaders and creating shared ownership of institutional challenges.

This approach reinforces that leadership in contemporary higher education is rarely individual. It is collective, relational, and iterative, shaped through ongoing dialogue rather than singular decisions.

Supporting Students Through Uncertainty

While much leadership attention focused on budget and structure, students experienced institutional change in immediate and personal ways. Uncertainty about programs, services, and campus identity influences enrollment decisions, persistence, and sense of belonging. Research indicates that students are more likely to persist when they perceive institutional commitment to their success and well-being, particularly during times of disruption (Kuh et al., 2015).

As a student affairs leader, my responsibility during this time and always is to ensure that student support remains a priority, not an afterthought. This meant advocating for advising, basic needs support, and engagement opportunities even amid budget realities and institutional restructuring. It also meant communicating clearly with students about what would remain stable, what would change, and how they would be supported through transitions. These efforts reinforced a central lesson: sustaining student support during uncertainty is not only a moral obligation, it is a strategic imperative for institutional resilience.

Reflection on Leadership Growth

As I reflect on my first two years as an associate vice president, I recognize how profoundly these experiences shaped my leadership. Leading during prolonged uncertainty has enhanced my approach to relationship building, sharpened my ability to make informed decisions without complete information, to communicate with care, and to remain grounded in values amid pressure.

I’ve learned that leadership is less about controlling outcomes and more about creating conditions in which people can continue to do meaningful work. It is about sustaining purpose when clarity is elusive and demonstrating commitment to mission, staff, and students even when resources are constrained. These lessons are not unique to my institution. They reflect broader realities facing higher education leaders across the country. By centering reflection on lived experience, I hope to contribute to a growing body of practice-informed scholarship that supports leaders navigating similar challenges.

 Looking Ahead

Contemporary higher education leadership demands resilience, reflection, and relational skill. As institutions face enrollment decline, budgetary pressure, and organizational change, leaders are called to respond in ways that preserve their institutional mission, sustain staff morale, and support students through uncertainty.

Discussion Questions

1. How can higher education leaders sustain institutional mission during prolonged periods of uncertainty?
2. What practices help maintain staff morale when stability cannot be promised?
3. How can student affairs leaders advocate effectively for student support amid competing fiscal priorities?
4. How can graduate students and new professionals cultivate a sense of leadership purpose when stability and certainty are not guaranteed?

My experience as an associate vice president for student affairs during a period of significant transition has reinforced that while leaders cannot control external pressures, they retain agency in how they lead people through them. By grounding decisions in values, prioritizing collaboration, and attending intentionally to morale and student support, leaders can navigate uncertainty with integrity and purpose.

This reflection is offered as an invitation for continued dialogue among higher education leaders committed to sustaining the human core of our institutions even as conditions around us continue to evolve.

About the Author

Sarah Ellison, Ed.D. (she, her, hers) is an associate vice president for student affairs at Sonoma State University, where she provides executive leadership across student support and success initiatives. With experience spanning student affairs, academic affairs, enrollment and retention, and cross-divisional collaboration, her work focuses on sustaining student-centered practice amid organizational change, fiscal constraint, and enrollment volatility. Dr. Ellison’s professional interests include leadership development, institutional resilience, governance and decision-making in higher education, and the integration of mission, care, and accountability during periods of uncertainty. They are committed to reflective, practice-informed leadership that centers student success and staff well-being.

References

Bolden, R., Petrov, G., & Gosling, J. (2015). Distributed leadership in higher education: Rhetoric and reality. Educational Management Administration & Leadership, 43(2), 195–214.

Grawe, N. D. (2018). Demographics and the demand for higher education. Johns Hopkins University Press.

Heifetz, R., Grashow, A., & Linsky, M. (2009). The practice of adaptive leadership. Harvard Business Press.

Hillman, N. W. (2020). Why performance-based college funding doesn’t work. Education Policy Analysis Archives, 28(174).

Kezar, A., & Holcombe, E. (2017). Shared leadership in higher education. American Council on Education.

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In the midst of challenging times, finding a healthy job that fits within the needs of our lives is an additional hurdle. Combine that hurdle with unhealthy assumptions and career myths and newer student affairs professionals can feel trapped in their first jobs out of graduate school. The narrative was once that you took a job and stayed with that company or organization your entire career. While that is no longer the case, another story – “You have to stay in your first job for at least three years” – persists. What happens when we disrupt existing myths and challenge others’ generational assumptions in pursuit of our own well-being by making work fit our needs instead of compromising our needs to keep a specific job?

A recent LinkedIn article explored the role of generational identity and employment. Search (2025) wrote that Baby Boomers (whom Search refers to as “Long-Term Employees) value longevity in the workplace and stay in their jobs for 10 to 15 years or more while Gen X staff (“The Balanced Workers”) stay in their roles for five to 10 years, and Millennials (“The Career Changers”) three to five years. Then we have Gen Z. Search shares that this group stays at a job for one to three years. Her name for this group is “The Job Hoppers” – a term historically seen as a negative descriptor for an employee.

Think about your own work situation. You spend 40+ hours of your week in the office collaborating with coworkers and connecting with students. What do you do if those hours consume not only your time in the office, but your wellness and ability (in and out of the workplace) and your ability to make an impact in the field? What do you do if you no longer feel safe within your work area and role? We wanted to share our stories to give another perspective on how to navigate your first job and the decision to move to a second job. You do not have to stay in a first job for two or three years. Our stories exemplify that there are other ways to start and navigate a student affairs career.

 The Search

The first job search can feel scary and daunting for anyone graduating from  college, especially for those who pursued a graduate degree right after undergrad. For David, navigating the process for the first time felt like a competition against countless other candidates. He knew he had to stand out by showcasing his strengths and proving that he was qualified for the roles he sought. At the time, he applied for entry-level housing positions such as hall director, area coordinator, and community director. To manage the search, David relied on a variety of tools to stay organized, including spreadsheets that tracked application materials and important details such as proximity to family, D1/R1 status, salary, and professional development opportunities. These factors became his key priorities as he considered his first role.

While he received support from many people during the process, it sometimes felt overwhelming to balance so many opinions. Narrowing down his support network allowed him to be more intentional and focused on his search. Ultimately, he accepted his first position in Virginia, which marked the beginning of what he described as “the chaos.”

Hannah also struggled during her first job search. Due to some family health concerns, Hannah hoped to move back to North Carolina within a few hours of her hometown. This was her only non-negotiable. This made her open her mind to many functional areas – whether she felt fully interested in them or not. She applied to over 20 jobs in North Carolina. After many “We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates” emails, Hannah began to feel emotionally overwhelmed, knowing that it would be a significant financial hardship to not have a job upon graduating. Given the expiration date on her graduate assistantship, her timeline was pressing.

Finally, she received an offer from the only on-campus second round interview she received, and she accepted the offer. Hannah had to lean on her family and her faith throughout the process. She knew that moving back to North Carolina was the goal, and she tried everything she could to make it happen. She was able to accept a job that fit her geographical priority.

Second Thoughts

Hannah was in her first role for two months when the energy in her workplace began to shift. She had felt this shift before and attributed it to the slow months of the summer, when some higher education professionals’ calendars tend to stay empty. The moment she realized something was wrong was while planning a one-day event for one of the program’s cohorts. Though she was in the role for a few months, she had never seen her budget. After many requests to see a budget for the signature send-off program, she felt the impact of not having a full-time director to advocate for her needs. For the seven months Hannah was in the role, she never saw the budget to do programming.

For David, the moment he realized the role was not meant for him came when he had to manage the fallout of an armed robbery within his own community. When David began to show signs of exhaustion and frustration following the incident, he was encouraged to take a day or two off to rest. Around that same time, he received recognition through the department’s weekly “prize chest,” a lighthearted initiative meant to acknowledge staff members who had worked hard that week. Instead of boosting David’s morale, the initiative felt disconnected from what he truly needed at the time—meaningful support and acknowledgment of the challenges he was navigating.  support offered to students was intentional and robust, the support for professional staff was minimal. This moment made David question whether the department’s values aligned with his own.

From his very first semester, David had shared with his supervisor that he did not feel welcomed at the institution and struggled to find his place within the team. In response, his supervisor admitted that she, too, occasionally looked for other opportunities. While honest, this response did little to reassure him as an entry-level professional seeking guidance and stability. Despite his concerns, David maintained strong work performance, motivated largely by a fear of retaliation. Although the institution never gave him any explicit reason to feel this way, he believed that, as a new professional, it was safest to keep his head down and avoid drawing negative attention. He was especially cautious given that his position also provided his housing, which made job security feel even more critical. Additionally, he recognized that his student staff team was counting on him to lead them through the year. He dedicated himself fully to supporting his team from start to finish.

“Round 2”

As a woman of color in a new role and the pressures that come with those identities, Hannah felt the need to step up. As an example, she was compelled to complete director-level tasks because her interim director was out of the office. Some of the tasks Hannah took on  included working ahead on programming (without a budget, as previously mentioned) and designing and printing the Annual Report for the non-profit. As a new higher education professional within her 90-day review window, the last thing Hannah wanted to do was ruffle feathers. She knew this was unsustainable, and she began seriously applying to positions.

Hannah knew that she wanted to continue working in the same geographical area and remained open to jobs in any functional area. This second search felt different. There was no timeline or pressure to move on. Hannah wanted to be happy in the workplace and that happiness drove her search.  She opened the spreadsheet she used in graduate school titled “Job Search Era,” created a second tab, and named it “Round 2.” Hannah did not share with her supervisor that she was searching, worried that she may be convinced to stay in her current position.

After a few applications, she gained more confidence in her abilities and became less concerned about being labeled a “job-hopper.” She might be searching for a new position only five months after graduating from her master’s program, but it was the right move for her. In the midst of job searching, Hannah’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. Hannah was struggling in and out of the workplace. It was during this time that Hannah’s supervisor noticed

During a one-on-one meeting, Hannah’s supervisor brought up Hannah’s mother’s situation, along with some of the programs Hannah was working with. After a while, the supervisor felt the tension in the room and said, “I would not be surprised if you were job-searching right now. I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” This opened the door for Hannah to discuss her thoughts, feelings, and process. She felt appreciated in this moment and as though her hard work had been noticed. Though in the moment it was fulfilling, it was too late in the experience to stop Hannah’s search.

David’s second job search was drastically different from his first. He had learned that safety and support were critical for his professional success and personal well-being. While he knew he was qualified for the roles he pursued, he prioritized finding a department that would provide genuine support and a campus environment that prioritized his safety. In this new search  the questions he asked at the end of each interview focused on his  new priorities. This approach reflected his growth and self-awareness, showing that he now understood the importance of aligning a role with both professional qualifications and personal needs.

Questions David asked:

• Could you highlight a particular departmental strength, and conversely, identify an area you aspire to improve or change?
• How does the support structure for your team typically operate during busy periods like move-in, move-out, conferences, etc.?
• In times of crisis, what kind of support mechanisms are in place for your team?

Conclusion

It is important to find your place and your people in higher education. Who is that person or group of people who will be both caring and honest about your situation?  Hannah was in her head as she navigated her transition, thinking the red flags in her workplace were “normal.” Once she reached out to Tony Cawthon, a faculty member at Clemson University, for guidance, she got the affirmation she needed to begin her search. Dr. Cawthon reminded Hannah that she had to be an advocate for herself. Though this was feedback she received from her graduate intern supervisor, Dr. Cawthon encouraged Hannah to act on that feedback.

For anyone in a situation like Hannah’s, the wisest words she would share are to know what hills you are willing to die on, both professionally and personally. At what point is it healthier for your professional career to analyze your situation and reflect on if you deserve better? Know what you bring to the table. Know that your skills are valuable and you expect to be affirmed in your role.

David relied heavily on his mentor, Michelle Boettcher. Although he never formally asked her to take on that role, she was consistently in his corner providing support. The other connections he built in the field through ACUHO-I, NEACUHO, and SEAHO also helped him feel more grounded and validated his feelings and experiences. His family and friends played an equally important role, as he often carried his emotions home and leaned on his community there for support.

For anyone in a situation similar to David’s, the biggest lesson is to prioritize both personal well-being and professional support when choosing a role. It is important to trust your instincts if something feels off and seek out mentors or colleagues who can provide guidance and encouragement. Equally important is knowing what you want in a position and clearly understanding the difference between your non-negotiables and aspects of a role you can manage or adapt to. This self-awareness allows you to advocate for yourself and stand firm, ensuring that your skills, contributions, and needs are recognized and respected while avoiding situations that could compromise your well-being or professional growth.

Reflection Questions for Staff

• What are your non-negotiables when it comes to work? How, if at all, have they changed since starting your first professional role?
• In what ways have you seen your wellness impacted in your current role?
• Who are your mentors in the field that you know will support you, give you honest guidance, and fill your cup?

 Reflection Questions for Supervisors

• What is your onboarding plan for new staff? In what ways does it attend to new staff holistically?
• How do you respond when someone voices concerns about belonging, fit, or safety within the department?
• In what ways do you recognize and affirm the work of your staff so that it feels genuine and meaningful?
• How do you model openness and vulnerability in a way that encourages transparency from your team? 

Author Bios 

Hannah Starling (she/her) currently serves as the Undergraduate Recruiter in the College of Education at North Carolina State University. She helps students explore education majors, guides them through the admissions process, and plans events to welcome new students to campus. Hannah is passionate about helping students and families in transition periods of their lives, helping them find their path to success in college.

David Maldonado Jr. (he/him) currently serves as a Hall Director at the University of Rhode Island. Since joining the institution, David has enjoyed opportunities that have allowed him to strengthen his skills and grow in confidence as a student affairs professional. In his new role, he has continued to expand his involvement with ACUHO-I, particularly in the development of his position within the organization, while also contributing to recruitment and selection efforts at his institution.

Reference

Search, S. (2025, February 19). The average length of a job by generation: A look at workforce trends. LinkedIn. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/average-length-job-generation-look-workforce-trends-sudina-search-r4wqf/

Ultimately the synopsis—across decades—is that most HESA professionals were either an undergraduate student who had a meaningful experience and wants to recreate it for others, an undergraduate student who had a challenging experience and wants to establish smoother, more equitable pathways for others, or both (Hunter, 1992; Taub & McEwen, 2006; Moore et al., 2023). We know, though, that tropes don’t tell the full story. While there are certainly empirically researched themes in why individuals become HESA professionals, aggregating the data can flatten it in a way that loses important nuance.

Further, HESA, like many other career pathways, has a reputation of being a “churn and burn” environment where a significant number of employees depart the field after the first five years (Marshall et al., 2016). There is longitudinal data to support this reputation and show that attrition of early-carer HESA professionals is a pervasive and persistent issue (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). Yet some HESA professionals stay and construct strategic and sustainable careers in the field (Ardoin, 2026; Sallee, 2021). There is limited research on why people stay and how their HESA careers develop and shift over time (Wilson et al., 2016). 

A Master’s Cohort 20 Years Later

Acknowledging that more scholarship addresses why people leave rather than why they stay, 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, is celebrating 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 an adjacent one—17 out of the 29 individuals (59%)—to offer their insights, and 15 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 first 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.

Krumboltz’s (2009) Happenstance Learning Theory 

Happenstance learning theory rejects that someone’s career choice is a fixed decision. Krumboltz (2009) “explains that the career destiny of each individual cannot be predicted in advance but is a function of countless planned and unplanned learning experiences beginning at birth” (p. 152). He contends a person’s genetics, learning opportunities, and environmental context (e.g., economics, family, peer groups) influences their career aspirations and actions. Happenstance learning theory embraces continuous exploration of career possibilities and views unexpected events as opportunities for piquing interests, testing beliefs, applying knowledge, practicing skills, and taking action. Krumboltz’s (2009) theory is a useful framework for exploring why individuals pursue HESA careers and how their motivations may alter over time due to a multitude of internal and external factors. In particular, the conditions have to be present for someone to not only “find” HESA as a career option (e.g., attending college; meeting a mentor who directs them to the field) but also elect to remain in the field 20 years after completing their master’s degrees.

Cohort Contemplations on Motivation

Grounding our initial questions in Krumboltz’s (2009) happenstance learning theory, we first asked our cohortmates to reflect upon their motivations and purpose: what motivated them to pursue a HESA career pathway, how (if at all) had their purpose shifted over time, and why they choose to stay. Our cohort’s initial motivations reflect the existing research. We pursued the HESA profession because we were highly involved undergraduates, had mentors who guided us toward the field, and desired to contribute to meaningful, supportive collegiate experiences for others (Hunter, 1992, Taub & McEwen, 2006, Moore et al., 2023). Over the years, we’ve maintained our initial commitment to serving students and creating learning experiences, though many of the contexts in which we serve students or the scale at which we serve them has shifted. Rather than focusing on one-on-one interactions, many cohort members are prioritizing HESA systems and structures. Overwhelmingly, our cohortmates choose to stay in the HESA field because they value supporting students, enjoy the work environment, and believe they are making an impact, in individual and collective ways (Wilson et al., 2016). A few people also mentioned lifestyle alignment as part of their rationale to remain. Illustrating these themes further, we offer snippets from our stories in a “conference panel” format.

Initial Motivations

Scott: College was a very positive developmental experience for me. I finally felt like I had a place where I belonged and was appreciated. I wanted to create that environment for other people as well. What motivated each of you to pursue a HESA career?

Jackie: I honestly did not set out to work in higher education. A mentor saw something in me and asked if I had ever considered it as a career. At the time, I had really enjoyed my experience as a student leader. I liked being involved, building community, and supporting other students. That question planted a seed and helped me realize that the work I enjoyed doing as a student could actually be a profession. From there, it just made sense.

Sonja: [My story is similar.] I was highly involved on campus (which I loved!) and met an administrator, Dr. KC White—a Florida State alum, who introduced me to the idea of shifting from secondary education to higher education. Ultimately, I pursued higher education as a career because it allowed me to engage in teaching and learning and help others as an educator without having to deal with middle schoolers!

Mary: [I can relate.] During my undergraduate experience, I was deeply involved in student affairs through roles such as mentor, orientation leader, resident assistant, and active member of several student organizations. Through these experiences and by working closely with graduate assistants and administrators [on my campus], I gained a clearer understanding of the student affairs profession and the broader field of higher education. I was drawn to the meaningful impact these professionals had on students during such a formative time in their lives.

Ann: [I connect to that.] I was a very engaged undergraduate student. One of my mentors told me that I could make a career out of my leadership experience. He introduced me to the Graduate Director of the Higher Ed Program and I applied.

Meg: It’s [really] a tale as old as time for many HESA professionals…When I was an undergraduate I was involved in so many aspects of campus and student life… and loved every minute of getting connected throughout campus. I was mentored by incredible student affairs professionals. This sounds so cliche, but in a moment of panic discussing my intended vocation of pursuing law school and becoming a litigator, a mentor I had known since my first year in college, asked what I thought about her job at the university. I reflected it was clear that she had so much fun, always was so joyful, and loved her work. And she responded, “Well, you know you can go to graduate school to do what I do, right?” I had no idea. I took the GRE one month later, researched which schools I would apply to, and ultimately chose Florida State University. The rest is history!

Purpose Over Time

Sonja: There are many similarities in our initial motivations stories, so I’m wondering how, if at all, have our purposes shifted over time?

Khadish: My purpose is the same, but my sense of where I can make the greatest impact has changed. Working in industry at a company that has higher education and change at their core has allowed me to do greater good than any role I had on a campus or in government.

Jackie: [I agree on the greater good.] Early on, my motivation was very focused on working directly with students and supporting them one-on-one. Over time, that shifted. I became more interested in the systems of higher education and how they either create access or create barriers for students. My purpose evolved from helping individual students to learning how higher education works at a larger level and how it can be used as a tool for access, opportunity, and upward mobility. The focus is still students, but now the work is more about shaping structures that impact many students at once.

Jesse: [Yes, same!] I think my motivation was the direct student interaction and impact early in my career.  Now I’m motivated to increase student success more broadly by changing systems, removing barriers, thinking strategically about scale, and leading and guiding the next generation of career coaches.

Andrew: [For me, it’s a contextual change]. I still greatly enjoy working with and supporting students, though my why or my worldview has shifted to a much more behind the scenes role in technology. My motivations and desire to support students hasn’t changed, only the landscape of my day-to-day work.

Rebekah: [I concur.] I still really enjoy working with individuals who are starting this new phase of life, and as I have grown personally and professionally—and as my life has changed—my perspective of how I can contribute to our field is less restrictive to what I originally thought a career in higher ed would be. I contribute to so many students’ lives, even in my role in higher ed information technology (IT).

Sara: If anything, my purpose has become more defined to supporting the student experience through alumni engagement and philanthropy.

Enduring Commitment

Scott: Recognizing that we find meaning in shaping students, systems, or both, let’s talk about why you have chosen to stay committed to the HESA field or a closely related one. Personally, I love higher education; the environment and the people are great. Also all my experience is here, and I’m not sure that work conditions would be better anywhere else.

Mary: Higher education is a field with both significant challenges and meaningful rewards. Having worked at a variety of institutions, I have experienced multiple reorganizations and leadership transitions… these periods of change can create uncertainty, strain teams, and increase stress. Despite these challenges, I have chosen to remain in higher education because the work continues to feel meaningful. I often reflect on my own undergraduate experience and the impact that supportive programs and professionals had on my development. Being able to contribute, even indirectly, to the experiences of current students is deeply rewarding. That sense of purpose is what has kept me committed to the field.

Brandon: [I echo Mary’s sentiments.] I enjoy working with the students, I don’t mind the challenges, and I still feel like I can make a difference.

Lucas: My answer changes depending on when you ask me. Some days it’s because it’s what I know and what I’m trained to do. Other days it’s because of the interactions I have with students or the progress I’m able to see made at my institution(s).

Jackie: [It’s both for me.] I have spent the last 12 years working at a community college, and it feels very grassroots to me. I feel connected to the community and the students we serve, and I can see the impact of the work in real ways. Community colleges do important, mission driven work, and that matters to me. I also value the flexibility of the field and the ability to do meaningful work while still being present for my family. That balance has been important to me over time.

Sonja: [I echo Jackie.] For me, a higher education career offers meaningful opportunities to contribute to others’ journeys and the flexibility and autonomy (as a faculty member) to live a holistic life (most of the time at least). I have also experienced higher education has a stable career pathway, which I know is not the case for everyone, and I value that stability.

Nancy: [I relate to that.] I have loved working at a college and teaching college students. I also appreciate the lifestyle benefits this career offers.

Khadish: [I can sum it up for us.] I believe deeply in the role that education has in changing people’s lives and helping society to evolve.  

Thoughts and Action Items for Early-Career Professionals

Our 2006 Florida State master’s cohortmates’ initial motivations, continuing purposes, and staunch commitments to HESA or related fields highlight our belief that it is possible to construct strategic and sustainable HESA careers (Ardoin, 2026; Sallee, 2021). Accordingly, we want to offer some thoughts and action items for early-career HESA professionals that complement Krumboltz’s (2009) happenstance learning theory. Caution though: This is coming from Millennials (ha!), we recognize the world is very different in 2026 than it was in 2006.

Reflect on Your Rationale

 Know what energizes you about working in HESA. What specifically makes you excited to go to work? This core will help you persevere when times get hard. Things are probably going to be more difficult than you initially anticipate, so you will need to keep pushing for what you want despite the challenges you will inevitably experience.

Our work, and work places, are always political, and you need this self-knowledge about your purpose to be effective. This will help you identify when you want to keep your head down so that you can get to the place you aspire and enact the change you desire, or when you need to stand up and fight for your beliefs and values. This self-knowledge will also help you identify when change is necessary and help you transition to doing something else within higher education like we have, or to pursuing a new pathway adjacent to or out of the field.

Finding purpose in the impact you have on students, colleagues, or institutions makes the challenges more manageable and maintaining your career motivations helps you stay humble during success.

Ponder all the Possibilities

Stay open to the many different possibilities a career in HESA can contain. There are more ways to stay connected to your values and have the impact that you desire than you realize at the beginning of your career. If you focus only on achieving a specific title, or only working in a specific functional area, you are going to miss important opportunities for self-discovery and advancement.

Be curious and flexible enough to try new things: roles, functional areas, divisions, and higher education-adjacent work. The more you know about the entire HESA field the better you will be at navigating systems and supporting the holistic student experience. Let yourself discover where your motivations, interest, and strengths best align, and know that it is okay to grow and want new experiences. You might find your most engaging and rewarding work in a job or place you never expected (and like it!).

Align Your Aspirations, both Professional AND Personal

Don’t focus only on your work. You can support students, advance in your career, and grow in your personal life. Know that your attention to particular aspirations will ebb and flow, sometimes you will be grinding professionally (e.g., application season, training, homecoming, advising season) and other times you will preference your personal life (e.g., loved ones, hobbies).

Trying to seek “balance” on the daily is illusive, so we suggest striving for an equilibrium over time, within a week, a year, and over a career. We suggest you consider decision-making with both short-term and longer-term perspectives, recognizing that sometimes you may choose professional over personal and others you might choose personal over professional. You have to determine which combination of professional and personal aims makes the most sense for you, and that likely will shift over time. Remember work is one part of who you are, not the entirety of who you are. Don’t let your motivation make you a martyr and avoid environments that expect that.

Examine an open position’s salary and benefits and the location’s cost of living to ensure it is realistic for the life you hope to have. You should explore whether job responsibilities will support or hinder your involvement with people or in things you need to sustain yourself. You may need to take turns prioritizing different aspects of your life if you are not able to find opportunities that allow you to do everything you want simultaneously.

Script Your Own Story 

Finally, release the pressure to have your entire HESA career figured out right away. We didn’t. Krumboltz’s (2009) happenstance learning theory says you can’t. And you likely won’t. Accordingly, refrain from comparing your career path with others. It’s neither a race, nor a competition. You will get where you are going once you determine where that is, and where that is may shift over time. We are prime examples of that, and we’ll share more in our next Developments article about how our career choices and trajectories have led to different, and fulfilling, HESA career stories.

References

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

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.

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

Hunter, D. E. (1992). How student affairs professionals choose their careers. NASPA Journal, 29(3), 181–188. https://doi-org.libproxy.clemson.edu/10.1080/00220973.1992.11072264.

Krumboltz, J. D. (2009). The happenstance learning theory. Journal of Career Assessment, 17(2), 135–154. https://doi.org/10.1177/1069072708328861.

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

Moore, L. L., Grabsch, D. K., & Mazzolini, A. (2023). Pathways into the profession: Student affairs professionals tell all. Journal of Student Affairs Inquiry, 6(1). https://doi.org/10.18060/27928.

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.

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.

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

Taub, D. J., & McEwen, M. K. (2006). Decision to Enter the Profession of Student Affairs. Journal of College Student Development 47(2), 206-216. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/csd.2006.0027.

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, M. E., Liddell, D. L., Hirschy, A. S., & Pasquesi, K. (2016). Professional identity, career commitment, and career entrenchment of midlevel student affairs professionals. Journal of College Student Development 57(5), 557-572. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/csd.2016.0059.

Author Bios

Sonja Ardoin, Ph.D. (she/her) is an associate 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. (he/him) 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.

Introduction

Navigating graduate school is rarely a linear path, and for international students, the journey often requires balancing the demands of academic rigor with the realities of cultural adaptation, like acculturation stress. When these challenges are combined with the responsibilities of a graduate assistantship, the experience becomes both a proving ground and a catalyst for personal growth and transformation. In this article, I reflect on my transition from Ghana to the United States and the lessons learned while serving as a graduate assistant in Student Accessibility Services. Through moments of uncertainty, growth, and resilience, I offer insights into how optimism, adaptability, and intentional relationship-building can help new paraprofessionals thrive in unfamiliar environments. My goal is to spark conversations about how student affairs practitioners and graduate preparation programs can better support emerging professionals, especially those navigating multiple cultural, academic, and professional transitions simultaneously.

First Impressions and Reality Checks

My passion for student support began with my desire to become a teacher, someone who would always be there to help students get the very best out of their educational experience, just as many committed educators had done for me. This passion deepened when I served as a Teaching Assistant at the University of Cape Coast after completing my undergraduate degree in education. In that role, I had the privilege of mentoring students, supporting them through academic challenges, and experiencing firsthand the impact of being present for those I served.

When I began planning to study abroad, the United States quickly became my top destination because of how well its student affairs programs are structured. I was drawn to the opportunities for growth through internships, conferences, and graduate assistantships that bridge theory and practice. Canisius University stood out to me, not only for its strong academic foundation but also because of the supportive faculty and staff I encountered throughout the application process. They responded to my emails with care, offered guidance, and provided detailed information that made my journey as an international student much easier. The testimonials of friends who had begun their studies at Canisius praising the close-knit and welcoming community further affirmed my choice. That reassurance gave me confidence that I would find the support I needed when I moved to the U.S. to pursue my graduate studies, and I can confidently say I never regretted choosing Canisius University. The experience shaped me both personally and professionally, laying the foundation for my continued commitment to equity and belonging in higher education.

Moving from Ghana to the United States on a bright Thursday afternoon, I arrived with high hopes and the warm wishes of family, friends, and mentors. Studying abroad had been a dream, and I imagined life in America as smooth and glamorous, like in the movies. Yet, beneath the excitement lingered one question: How would I manage the demands of graduate coursework while excelling as a graduate assistant? The reality hit me quickly. The unfamiliar weather in Buffalo, New York, the academic system, and cultural differences caught me off guard. Balancing assistantship responsibilities with life in a new country proved challenging.

Learning to Proactively Ask for Help

In my role at Student Accessibility Services, I received thorough training from supportive supervisors. Alongside these were general graduate assistantship training, where I usually sat in the front, taking notes and ensuring I did not miss a single detail. However, once the semester began and my role was in full gear, with students coming in for intake meetings, mentorship sessions, and test scheduling, I quickly realized that formal preparation alone was not enough.

Early on, I learned the value of proactively seeking guidance. Initially, I saw asking for help as a weakness, but I later realized it was a strength that enhanced my effectiveness. When I struggled to navigate early interactions with students and faculty, I reached out to my supervisors, who walked me through the office’s procedures again. This support accelerated my learning and boosted my confidence, equipping me with the knowledge I needed to succeed in my role.

I recall that one of my primary responsibilities as a graduate assistant was assisting students in scheduling their tests and exams to be proctored in the Testing Center, which fell under the purview of the Student Accessibility Services office. At times, I struggled to hear students clearly- as native English Language speakers, some spoke very fast, which was challenging for me to follow. At other times, my own African accent made it difficult for students to fully understand me. These communication barriers occasionally impeded my work.

To address this challenge, my supervisors advised me to always politely ask students to repeat themselves when needed. In situations where I had difficulty typing students’ names correctly for scheduling, I learned a simple but effective strategy: requesting their student ID cards. This approach made the process much easier and reduced miscommunication, allowing me to support students more effectively while building my confidence in communication.

Building Relationships, Confidence, and Resilience

Student affairs thrives on collaboration, and my growth underscored this interdependence. As a graduate assistant in Student Accessibility Services, I built meaningful relationships with supervisors, peers, and campus stakeholders. Small acts of professional courtesy, such as remembering names and titles, fostered trust and camaraderie. I engaged professors who visited the office to drop off or pick up exams in conversations that helped me connect with them better. Networking beyond my immediate office through LinkedIn and professional conferences expanded my perspective and support system.

Despite making connections, challenges persisted. Buffalo winters were harsh, my workload became intense, and acculturation stress tested my resolve. At times, I was tempted to quit. Resilience became my anchor. Research by Friborg et al. (2003) and Ungar (2008) found that resilience is not merely enduring hardship but accessing and using psychological, social, cultural, and physical resources to enhance well-being. This scholarship aligns with my own experience. I reminded myself that my assistantship was not just a job; it was preparation for the career I envisioned.

Adopting a growth mindset, I learned to view challenges as opportunities.  At the start of my graduate assistantship, I quickly recognized that my understanding of disability-related issues was limited. I wanted to move beyond simply facilitating accommodations and truly understand the diverse experiences of students with disabilities. Taking initiative, I immersed myself in learning about the barriers these students face and the strategies that can foster their success.

As part of this work, I gained practical experience with assistive technologies such as Glean.

Glean, now rebranded as Genio, is a note-taking software that helps students and users effectively organize information. It offers several useful features, including audio recording, audio transcription, and the ability to import presentations and documents. The feature I liked most and often encouraged students to explore was the “Quiz Me” feature, which allows for self-assessment of organized content. This proved especially helpful for students when preparing for tests and examinations.  I held regular meetings with students who used the software, offering technical support to ensure they could maximize its features effectively. This commitment eventually shaped my master’s thesis, where I explored how disability support services can foster a sense of belonging among college students with disabilities. My thesis findings highlighted how tools like Glean, when paired with intentional support from accessibility offices, can significantly enhance students’ ability to take notes during instruction, organize information in alternative formats, and ultimately feel more supported in their academic journey.

What began as an area where I had little knowledge has now become a central scholarly pursuit. My deepened interest in disability and higher education became a strong research focus in my doctoral applications and ultimately contributed to my acceptance into the Ph.D. program in Higher Education at the University of Arizona. What started as a gap in understanding has grown into a lifelong commitment to advancing equity and belonging for students with disabilities in higher education.

Professional Networking

I have undoubtedly valued the importance of building and maintaining professional networks in the field, as the success stories of others both inspire and provide solid ground rules for emerging professionals. I have transitioned my networks beyond simple introductions, such as expressing interest in what experienced professionals are doing, taking pictures, or posting on social media. Instead, I have sought to develop these connections into intentional, working and mentoring relationships that are nurtured for growth and effectiveness, benefiting both mentors and mentees. I have found such mentorship opportunities in my own institution or beyond my specific campus.

I strategically sought opportunities for growth beyond my institution. Within my first year, I attended the Ignatian Family Teach-In for Justice 2024 National Convention in Washington, D.C., as one of four fully funded student representatives from Canisius University. It was an incredible opportunity to meet professionals passionate about social justice and equity, areas that I deeply care about. I also enjoyed visiting iconic places like the White House and other historic sites.

Later, I attended the College Student Personnel Association (CSPA)-New York Conference in Saratoga Springs, New York. This experience exposed me to various functional areas in the field. Listening to professionals share their stories of breakthroughs and setbacks was inspiring. I intentionally built relationships with some of them, who have since become lifelong mentors and colleagues who have shaped many facets of my personal and professional journey.

In my second year, I attended the 2025 National Association of Student Personnel Administrators (NASPA) Conference in New Orleans, Louisiana, where I met a mentor who continues to support me through monthly one-on-one meetings. These conversations gave me valuable insights, encouragement, and a sense of community. A fun fact about the conference is that I volunteered as Keynote Seating and Directional Assistance, which was a cool experience that allowed me to connect with other professionals.

My 2024 summer internship with Brown University’s Pre-College Program was another transformative experience. There, I developed my confidence, knowledge, and skills in supporting students in the area of housing and residential life. I served as a Housing Operations Coordinator, which was new to me, while building relationships with outstanding mentors and supervisors. Brown University became a second home, with a community that was both supportive and inspiring. By the end of my summer internship, my confidence had grown exponentially. I realized that support from training, supervisors, and mentors was crucial, but equally important was believing in myself. Others could only trust me if I first trusted myself.

The Role of Self-Care

Seeking help from my growing network, supervisors, and peers remained one of my most effective resilience strategies, but self-care also became non-negotiable. Without boundaries, even the most passionate professionals risk burnout. Prioritizing rest and balance allowed me to return to work energized and better equipped to support others. I made sleep a priority and allowed myself to let go of daily frustrations. I engaged in fun activities with friends, such as watching movies or series (though I often fell asleep before the first episode ended). I visited friends, went shopping, and found ways to destress. These practices sustained my well-being and restored my ability to contribute meaningfully to my role.

Strategies for Growth and Resilience

From these experiences, I developed practical strategies for personal growth and resilience:

1. Approach challenges with optimism. I always see obstacles as opportunities to learn rather than threats to success. I never let challenges break me. I approach challenges with my calm demeanor and infectious smile, which help me navigate them effectively and are instrumental in my success as a graduate assistant.
2. Maintain flexibility and adaptability. I am very open to change and ready to adjust strategies as circumstances evolve. I consistently ask questions to supervisors, colleagues, and friends about processes, procedures, food, culture, and practices that are completely new to me. I am always ready to respect the identity of people, including students, colleagues, supervisors, and others I encounter. I also educate people about my identity and what makes me unique as an international student.
3. Prioritize “life-work” balance. I have always taken a twist on the term “work-life balance.” I believe that one’s life matters first, within which one goes about their work. Hence, it is important to rethink the concept of “work-life balance” as “life-work balance.” Prioritizing life and well-being first allows you to be effective in your role as a graduate assistant. In sum, protect time for rest and personal activities to sustain long-term effectiveness.
4. Seek support proactively. Many people are available to help prepare and support you for success. Supervisors, colleagues, and other staff in and out of your office are always ready to help. Tap into the knowledge and experience of supervisors, mentors, and peers to navigate challenges proactively, and you will stay on top of your role as a graduate assistant.
5. Build strong professional relationships. Intentionally build connections from conferences. In other words, don’t just connect with professionals on LinkedIn and leave it at that. Reach out and continue to find ways to stay connected. On campus, don’t go to an office without letting people know your interests and aspirations. These individuals will support you with advice, resources, and encouragement. Cultivate networks that provide guidance, shared learning, and a sense of community.

Conclusion

My journey from Ghana to the United States as a graduate assistant has been one of constant learning about my field, others, and myself. Resilience is not a fixed trait but a skill strengthened through practice, reflection, and community. By embracing challenges with optimism, adapting to shifting demands, seeking guidance when necessary, and prioritizing self-care, I found ways to thrive in an unfamiliar environment. These strategies shaped me into a more confident and capable professional. As graduate assistants, we are not merely fulfilling job descriptions; we are laying the foundation for our future roles as leaders, mentors, and advocates in higher education. I hope these reflections inspire others, especially those navigating new cultural and professional landscapes, to view each challenge as an invitation to grow and to persist, knowing they are not alone in the journey.

Questions for Discussion

1. In what ways can supervisors create spaces that normalize seeking help as a sign of professional strength rather than weakness?
2. How does resilience manifest differently across cultural contexts, and how can student affairs professionals leverage this diversity in campus support structures?
3. What strategies can ensure self-care and work-life balance are not overlooked in high-demand graduate assistantship roles?

Author Biography

Enock Atta-Sah Nimfour (he/him/his) recently earned his M.S.Ed. in Higher Education Leadership and Administration from Canisius University in Buffalo, New York, where he served as a graduate assistant in Student Accessibility Services. Currently at the University of Arizona, he is pursuing a PhD in Higher Education.  His research focuses on fostering a sense of belonging for underrepresented students, particularly those with disabilities, students of color, and international students. He is passionate about advancing equity-centered practices that promote the success of all learners.

References

Friborg, O., Hjemdal, O., Rosenvinge, J. H., & Martinussen, M. (2003). A new rating scale for adult resilience: What are the central protective resources behind healthy adjustment?

International Journal of Methods in Psychiatric Research, 12(2), 65–76.

Ungar, M. (2008). Resilience across cultures. British Journal of Social Work, 38(2), 218–235.

My great-grandmother Goldie, who earned her GED later in life, won the Marshall County Commission Volunteer of the Year for her work tutoring adults seeking their GED in the 1980s.

When I speak, you immediately know where I’m from. You can gather a lot about me from my speech. You can tell about my culture, my experiences, and the different identities I hold. My voice reveals a lot if you just listen a little bit. I haven’t always liked how I sound though. I was told from a young age that “Ain’t ain’t a word,” and that I “wasn’t fixing to do nothing.” Phrases that were handed down to me by my family elders weren’t standard practices of English although I knew exactly what they meant. “Isn’t” and “about to” were proper and should always replace “ain’t” and “fixing to”, especially in formal school settings.

I was told later by a professor when completing my teacher education program that I should move out of the south for a few years to lose my accent and that I would never be taken seriously in academia if I didn’t speak standard English. I was prompted to change my speech so that I would sound “more intelligent” and be able to get into rooms I otherwise wouldn’t have been allowed entry. If I didn’t mold my voice into a key, doors of accomplishment and actualization were slated to remain shut and locked tight.

I started to think even more about language when I graduated and started teaching elementary school in an urban district. I was asked by an administrator how I could expect to teach reading and writing and language arts with proficiency if I couldn’t even speak proper English. I was left a little embarrassed and more intentional in both my pronunciation and enunciation, acknowledging to myself that rejoindering was not worthwhile.

Despite this, I began to teach, first at a school in the city and later at the school I attended as a child. I taught and listened to students read every day. I listened not only to every sentence and word, but every sound in every word. Every sound they uttered sounded just like mine and the words of my family and friends and those of my community. It was the sound of the people I loved most. When I listened to them read and speak and express their thoughts and ideas about the world, I started to think about how hard it must have been for my daddy’s grandmother Goldie to learn to read when she was only able to go to school until the sixth grade.

How many teachers spent the time listening to her read? How many teachers sat and appreciated every vowel and consonant she spoke? Unanswered nonetheless, everything pales in comparison to the pure fact that my daddy had sure admired her sound when he would spend the night with her in her little block house and she would tell him stories of their beloved family.

How hard would it have been to have to quit school to support your family? How different would my own life have been if my mama and daddy hadn’t had the means to prioritize my education above all other things in life and what would it have meant to my generations past if the generations before would have had the means? Goldie’s husband, Pa Thorton, never having attended school, had taught himself to read from the family Bible at night after working the farm.

What an immense privilege it was to have my parents sit with me and read to me and let me learn from them. Even if my speech was considered imperfect and flawed, there was good intent in the teachers, professor, and administrator that appraised my sound. Although I am seated that language expression is never a moral failing, I understand the worry that my sound might limit the chances in life that I would get.

I am one to believe that the critiques I received are not reflective of the character of my fellow educators and they deserve no condemnation simply because they were working to protect my future opportunities. But I can’t help to think about how different it would be for those children I was with, attending the same school that generations of my family were too poor to either attend or finish, to have their sounds appreciated and affirmed. Much like all my admonishers, I desperately want those children to finish school and be able to wholeheartedly pursue education and have a better life than their generations before them, just as I am.

I am now thinking about how I can use how far I have come to do some advocating for these children and all those of my community. Because of this, I don’t dislike my sound anymore. I’m proud of my sound. My sound and my voice have become one. Every time I speak now, I get to hear the sounds of those people that I love so much and am reminded how much they sacrificed so that I am able to pursue my dreams. I get to hear the voices of students that need my voice, that need my sound, which is comprised of the voices of so many others, to speak for their futures and believe in them to better themselves and their families and their communities.

When you meet me, you might not be able to hear all that in my sound. You can’t determine what my purpose is from just my speech, but you can hear it loud in my voice. You have to listen to what I have to say; my voice reveals a lot if you just listen a little bit. I have always had my sound, but I haven’t always had the voice to articulate what was in my heart and how deeply I felt about change for my family and my community.

Further pursuing my education is how a lot of that has come about for me. My graduate program at Clemson University and the dear colleagues and friends I have made here have helped me develop my voice in ways I never imagined possible. While studying higher education now, I get to hear the voices of so many other people who dream of the same world. We may not sound the same, but I know our hearts, purposes and values align without any of us having to utter a sound. I will get to bring back the voices of my program and of this learning to my community, and my community will be better because of that. I am better because of Clemson. My voice is clearer and stronger because of the people that are here.

With my voice, I will end with some words of Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. The Reverend King said, “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, What are you doing for others?” When you hear my voice, I pray that you not only hear the sounds and needs of my people, but the righteous embrace of all our collective lived experiences. I ask you to consider how your own voice can amplify this.

 

Author Biography

Jayme Snider (she/her) is an K-20 educator, research-practitioner, leader, and lifelong learner with a passion for improving interdisciplinary curriculum design, experiential and contextual learning approaches, and rural education from North Alabama. Jayme is currently pursuing a Master of Education in Counseling with a concentration in Student Affairs at Clemson University.

“Fraternity”

Funny,
how the word means brotherhood.
But also
expectation.
Limitation.
Translation:
“Be like us or be alone.”

And somehow,
I wasn’t either.
Not quite like them.
Not quite alone.
Just
present.

Queer.

Muslim.
Watching.
Learning.
Laughing.
High-fiving.
Grieving.
Challenging.
Becoming.

And maybe,
just maybe,
rewriting what
“brotherhood”
can mean.

“A gay Muslim walks into a fraternity house…” It sounds like a setup for a joke, doesn’t it? But instead of a punchline, I got three years of life lessons, existential crises, and more stories than I ever wanted to tell my therapist. I lived with 64 men in a fraternity house as their House Director for three years, which became a cultural experiment as much as a survival reality TV show, and an intense personal transformation. I experienced a house of entitled, hyper-masculine, and sometimes charming young men who embodied everything I used to despise as an undergraduate and everything I had come to fear as a queer person. It wasn’t the life I had envisioned when I received my master’s degree in student affairs. I imagined I was ready for it all: late-night crises, homesick freshmen, sobbing breakups in the student center, but graduate school did not prepare me for fraternity life. It was a whirlwind of keg stands and parties, fist bumps and microaggressions, locker-room humor, and raw moments of vulnerability. There were the days when I was an anthropologist writing about a strange culture, and those when I was the outsider fighting to become a part of it.

The poems I share here are a reflection of those years, as captured in journal entries scribbled in frustration, laughter exchanged when walls came tumbling down, and the turning points that changed the way I think about masculinity, education, and myself. They are an effort to understand a self, constructed in contradiction, and to present that self as a lens through which others might examine their own. My goal is for these stories to provoke critical reflection on fraternity culture, queer belonging, and the performative aspects of everyday life.

Frat House Gospels

A Scandal of Sober Sex

By the time I packed my bags from that frat house life,
I’d heard enough stories to fill a keg
testosterone tales wrapped in locker room myths.

They called ’em meatheads –
buffed bodies, booming laughs,
desire was the currency,
and “sexiness” the ticket in.

They ranked each other like draft picks.
Who’s hot? Who’s not?
Bids based on biceps and body count.
And the house was holy ground
for the religion of drunken sex.

But then
scandal.
A whisper turned wildfire,
A bro…
had sober sex.

Sober.
Like Chipotle and eye contact.
Like no vodka veil or beer-blurred lines.
Just him.
And her.
And nothing to numb it.

And suddenly,
that was taboo.

they said he’d caught feelings,
Cause sober sex meant he might actually care.
Like the lack of liquor made it real,
and real was dangerous.

Because sober means present.
It means you showed up,
in your skin,

Sober means you saw her.
And she saw you.
And you didn’t flinch.
Didn’t hide behind a Solo cup.

But he wasn’t ready.
He had demons

Distorted body in the mirror.
Dad’s whiskey rage echoing down the hall.
The slow, quiet fall of every hair on his head
like a countdown clock
to being unloved.

He carried shame in six packs.
Laughed louder than his loneliness.
Flexed harder than his fear.

They knew about consent.
They took the trainings.
Sat through the slides.
Nodded at the definitions.
But consent gets murky
when your soul is sedated,
when your hands move faster than your healing.
Booze was their invisibility cloak.
Their ticket out of tenderness.

Sober sex?
That was the real scandal.
Not because of what happened in bed
but because of what it meant.

Sober meant you chose to feel.
Sober meant you didn’t run.
Sober meant
you might actually want to be known.

And for them?
That was terrifying.

I looked at him,
and all I could feel was
grief.
Not for the act.
Not for the girl.
But for the prison they made for themselves
and called manhood.

And the worst part?
I didn’t know how to fix it.
You can’t seminar your way out of silence.
You can’t workshop your way to worth it

I left that house
with a head full of questions
and a heart heavy with hurt,
wondering how many more bros
would have to drink
just to feel
less alone.

Nights are for the Boys, Mornings are for Mourning

The house was loud.
Always loud.
laughter bouncing off beer cans,
bass lines from Bluetooth speakers,
egos echoing in every hallway.

But the mornings?
The mornings were mine.
Silence seeping through the cracks like sunbeams,
Stillness
before the house put its mask back on.

That morning,
it wasn’t silence I found
but sorrow.

Country music,
low and aching,
like the kind that haunts the last call
after everyone’s gone home
but you.

I cracked the door open,
half-annoyed, half-pulled by something
that felt holy.

Bro
Slumped on the couch
like grief had weight
and his spine finally gave in.

Three bros sat with him
not talking.
Just being.

And I stayed in the shadows,
a quiet witness
to a moment not meant for me.

His best friend gone.
Cancer.
Twenty-something
should never rhyme with death

His voice cracked like glass
under a boot.
Sniffles, curses,
half-formed thoughts
that didn’t need finishing.

And the others?
They didn’t flinch.
Didn’t crack a joke.
Didn’t hand him a drink.
They just sat.
Still.
Present.

And in that silence,
I saw love.
Not the lustful kind.
Not animal house loyalty
or drunken shouts.
But real,
tender,
gut-punched
love.

And damn
it wrecked me.

Because this house?
By day it’s a coliseum.
A stage for war cries,
bench presses,
and battles over who got what girl
and how fast.

Vulnerability?
Nah.
That’s a foreign tongue
spoken only in dreams
or early mornings
when the party’s paused
and the mask slips.

By noon,
everything was back in place.
The walls high

The music loud.
He was laughing again,
as if his grief had an expiration date.

But I remembered.
I remembered the way they held space
without saying a word.
How masculinity-real masculinity-
showed its face
in a whisper,
not a roar.

And I wondered
how many moments like this
live behind closed doors,
hushed and holy,
never making the group chat?

What if the house
was more than a stage?
What if, under the protein powder,
there was sanctuary?
Brotherhood not built on body counts,
but on bearing each other’s burdens
when no one else is watching?

What if this is what they’re really protecting
these raw, rare,
fleeting flickers of being seen—
before they armor back up
with booze,
and bravado,
and the weight of what men are told not to feel?

The Second Coming (Out)

I never planned to be out
to the brothers.
Not right away.

Fresh from a breakup,
heart hurt
soul sore,
not in the mood
for romance
or rainbows.

I moved in
with no flag.
No stickered identity.
No Safe Zone sign
I told myself:
Reinvention.
New chapter.
New me.
But maybe…
maybe it was a retreat.
Back into the closet
for some self-reflection.
Just me
and the hangers.

Did they know?
I’ll never know.
They never said
Maybe it was the way I walked.
Or didn’t.
Maybe it was the silence
of not saying anything at all.

Then came
The Incident.
Camouflage-themed party.
Them, in war paint and tank tops.
Me, leaving the house
with someone
not dressed for war
but for a date.

A whistle.
A “Oooooh, Musbah!”
A smirk.
I shouted back
“Shut up.”

That was it.
My second coming out.
Casual.
Like slipping a secret
into a joke
and hoping it lands softly.

They were supportive
in their… unique dialect.
One guy, half-drunk and whole-hearted,
slurred:
“If he ever hurts you,
I’ll fuck him up.”
Which roughly translates to:
“I care about you”
And weirdly,
it landed.

I started to understand their love language:
Threats.
Shoulder punches.
Chug-offs.
Masculinity,
with a sprinkle of sentimentality
drowned beneath
Red Bull and rum.

I felt
safe.

Yeah
safe.
In a frat house.

What irony.

But then,
the relationship died,
and casual dating began.
And the questions came
clumsy, curious,
like, “Who’s the woman, bro?”

One night,
I walked a friend out.
A real friend.
Just books.
Just vibes.

I collapsed on the couch,
melodramatic as ever.
A bro looked up
“You get some ass tonight?”

And I…
I don’t know who possessed me,
but I grinned and said,
“Fuck yeah, I did!”
High five.

Laughter.
Cheers.
Unity.
Validation.

And then
me,
alone,
behind a closed door,
in the quiet
that always follows pretending.

“Is this what I’m becoming?”

Was I the awkward gay kid
in his mom’s heels?
Or this parody
of hypersexual pride?

Did I create a character
to survive?
To be accepted?
To be one of the boys?

Was I playing a part
or finding one?
Was I proud?
Or just drunk
on the fraternity’s strange affection?

The house became home.
But at what cost?

What’s the line between blending in
and blurring out?
Between adapting
and disappearing?

I still don’t know.
But that night,
I felt like
a character I hadn’t cast,
saying lines I never wrote.

And maybe that’s the danger
when coming out
becomes
becoming someone else.

 The (Other) F Word

It started with yelling.
Not your regular frat house noise.
Not the thuds of beer cans or chest bumps over pong wins.
No
this was war.

Somebody decided
3AM was a good time
to pick a fight
with the neighboring fraternity.
And when I asked why later,
they said,
“They started it!”

Sure.
Okay.
But it wasn’t the war cry that woke me.
It was the word.

“Faggots!”
Launched across the alley
ugly, familiar,
and oh-so-casual.

Not the first time I’d heard it
Not even the fifth.
But this time
it was loud enough to shake something loose in me.

I could’ve stayed in bed.
Pulled the covers up over my queerness
like I used to.

But not tonight.

I threw on my robe
no shirt,
no pants,
just rage.

Grabbed the baseball bat under my bed
part self-defense,
part decorative flair.
Either way,
it felt right in my hands.

I stormed up the stairs,
into the chaos,
into the circle jerk
and I roared:

“WHO’S SAYING FAGGOT?”

Silence.

One guy,
eyes wide,
steps forward.
I lock eyes.
“Say it again,” I tell him.
“To my face.”

He freezes.
I step closer.
“You wanna scream ‘faggot’? Scream it at me.”

His mouth fumbles.
“I… I won’t do that. I don’t see you that way.”

“You know I’m gay, right?”

He nods.
“Yes, but I don’t see you like that.”

And right there
I didn’t know whether to
laugh,
cry,
or swing.

I didn’t.
Swing, I mean.
But I wonder.
What was I really gonna do with that bat?
Make a point?
Make a mess?
Make them hear me
in the only language they seem to understand?

I’ve been trained better.
I know de-escalation.
I know safer ways.
But in that moment,
hypermasculinity crept into my chest
like a virus I thought I’d outgrown.

Maybe I fought fire with fire.
Maybe I became what I feared.
Maybe I needed to.

Because you know what?

That word?
Never uttered again
in my presence.

Was it a victory?
I don’t know.
But I’ll take it.

Because sometimes,
you don’t win the war
by rising above.
Sometimes,
you let yourself be dragged

down into the battlefield
just long enough
to say:

“If you’re gonna call someone a faggot
say it to their face.”

Analysis, Reflection, and Scholarly Context

I never intended to write about my experience in the fraternity house. I was there because it was a great gig: I got paid and lived in a lovely house in the campus area for free. The guys would joke about me “studying them,” but I wasn’t. Not intentionally, at least. It was not until I left the university that it occurred to me that what I observed was a uniquely intimate experience of getting to know these young men and, in the process, getting to know myself. I had to share the stories. Because something strange happened in the midst of the chaos: I saw masculinity — our masculinity, my masculinity, and all its contradictions — more clearly. I saw young men wrestling with the disconnect between performing hegemonic masculinity and being authentic. I saw my own wrestling with fitting in as I held on to the parts of myself that made me stand out. And I didn’t see masculinity as just dominance and swagger, but as connection, care, and the subtle ways we all struggle to become ourselves.

So, what is masculinity? Connell (2014) defined masculinity as “the pattern of configuration of social practices linked to the position of men in the gender order and socially distinguished from practices linked to the position of women” (p. 40). Scholars understand masculinity in opposition to femininity, a relationship that was abundant during my time at the fraternity. But this relationship seemed complicated when queerness was involved, especially with the normalization of queer relationships in mainstream society. My interest in men did not push me out of the brothers’ perception of masculinity, nor did the perception of having sex with men, provided that I was queer in a manly way.

The Second Coming (Out) really highlights this idea: the men celebrated my perceived sexual exploits because they fit into their script of manliness, regardless of the gender of the person. Conversely, it amazed me how some of the men who were shouting “faggot” in The (Other) F Word did not make the connection between me, as a gay person, and the violence implied and perpetuated by the term. They said, “I do not see you that way.” They thought of me as gay (which was okay) but not a faggot (which is not okay).

In A Scandal of Sober Sex, masculinity operated in two interrelated ways. First, masculine ideals seem to necessitate a preoccupation with sexual exploits and a subjectification of women’s bodies. However, the narrative is not that the person in question uses alcohol to exploit women (although that may indeed be the outcome), but as a mechanism to overcome the insecurity that comes with intimacy. This notion then complicates the dynamics of personal responsibility toward one’s sexual partner and introduces the tension between intention and impact. Even when someone breaks away from the norm of drunk sex and crosses into sober sex, the men around him restrict the extent to which he can engage in such intimacy.

The danger of masculinity here is not just the preoccupation with sex, but the use of masculinity to numb one’s capacity to be vulnerable with others. The story highlights the fraternity men as not only perpetuators of hegemonic masculinity, but also its very victims. I find myself living with the guilt of saying nothing, of not educating, while realizing that whatever I say would not have healed the deep-seated insecurity that robs these young men of experiencing raw human emotions.

On the other hand, Nights are for the Boys, Mornings are for Mourning highlights another type of masculinity: caring masculinity. Elliott (2016) framed caring masculinity as the antithesis of hegemonic masculinities. Instead, this masculinity is based on the rejection of domination and integration of values of care, such as positive emotion, interdependence, and relationality, into masculine identities.

Although the men in the story may not have perceived the interaction as an act of caring, sitting with a friend through a difficult time and making space for their grief turns masculinity on its head. I suspect that the presence of alcohol helped facilitate the breakdown of barriers. Nonetheless, there was no doubt that what I saw was a more positive manifestation of the brotherhood that the fraternity allegedly intends to provide. Similarly, one young man’s vow to beat up my boyfriend if he ever hurt me was, in a way, an act of caring, albeit intermingled with the expected aggressiveness that accompanies hegemonic masculinity. Importantly, I experienced the interaction as caring: Is that enough for it to be a positive expression of masculinity?

This question leads me to reflect on my positionality as a man in this setting. As a man, I reap the benefits of masculinity and can be complicit in perpetuating masculine norms, as was obvious in the high fives about my sexual life and trying to address a crisis with violence. I concede that my approach in The (Other) F Word was not the best and could have been disastrous, but it seemed to deescalate the situation, interrupt the use of the slur in the moment, and communicate to the young men that the word they use to put down others has an emotional impact on gay men like me.

Did I perpetuate hegemonic masculinity, or did I use an approach that the guys would understand? I am unsure and grappling with my guilt as I reflect on the incident. That said, queer men often seem to have a complicated relationship with masculinity. My interest in men should, by default and social expectation, put me outside of dominant frameworks of masculinity. But it did not – at least not in that fraternity house. I often wonder what the men would think if I were more effeminate. As long as they did not perceive me as a “faggot”, I was able to belong.

Finally, one of the biggest takeaways I gained from observing masculinity in the fraternity space is that masculinity, as a social performance, can be contagious. Perhaps contagious masculinity is a form of toxic masculinity. Kupers (2005) defined toxic masculinity as “the constellation of socially regressive male traits that serve to foster domination, the devaluation of women, homophobia, and wanton violence” (p. 714). Toxic masculinity is often associated with harmful behaviors and norms associated with hegemonic masculinity, such as aggression, dominance, emotional suppression, homophobia, and misogyny. Toxic masculinity reifies that masculinity itself is not inherently toxic or harmful. Rather, the term critiques certain masculine behaviors as having a negative impact on the person and/or their surroundings.

In The Second Coming (Out), I found myself practicing the type of masculinity that was valued in that space, even though it did not reflect my reality. I lied to fit in, and it felt good (at least at first). I am not sure if, in this scenario, I was the one being toxic or if the fraternity environment was toxic and rubbed off on me. In the end, I am sitting with the uneasy realization that I became someone I barely recognized, not because I wanted to cause harm, but because I wanted to belong. Perhaps discussing masculinity necessitates a discussion of belonging as a fundamental human need.

My journey as a queer house director for a fraternity has shed light on the complex interplay between masculinity, vulnerability, and identity. While I witnessed the often-toxic manifestations of hegemonic masculinity, I also encountered moments of profound connection, care, and authenticity among the young men I lived with. This reflection serves as a call to critically examine the structures of masculinity that shape our interactions and identities, encouraging a reimagining of brotherhood that embraces vulnerability, empathy, and the richness of diverse experiences. Ultimately, the stories shared here challenge us to rethink what it means to belong and to be seen, urging a shift towards a more inclusive and compassionate understanding of masculinity.

Author Biography

Musbah Shaheen (he/him) is an Assistant Professor of Higher Education at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. He researches the impact of college on identities, attitudes, and student success. He can be reached at shaheen@umass.edu

References

Connell, R. (2014). The study of masculinities. Qualitative Research Journal, 14(1), Article 1. https://doi.org/10.1108/QRJ-03-2014-0006

Elliott, K. (2016). Caring masculinities: Theorizing an emerging concept. Men and Masculinities, 19(3), Article 3. https://doi.org/10.1177/1097184X15576203

Kupers, T. A. (2005). Toxic masculinity as a barrier to mental health treatment in prison. Journal of Clinical Psychology, 61(6), Article 6. https://doi.org/10.1002/jclp.20105

As many of you prepare to gather in Baltimore, we are excited to share the most current issue of Developments. This issue includes words from President Jonathan McElderry who has shared his insights with readers as he has led the organization this past year. There is also an article from the ACPA Ethics Task Force about a recent survey and highlighting opportunities to engage in conversation at the upcoming convention about topics related to ethics in our work.

In addition, we have a number of other great pieces for your consideration.

• Musbah Shaheen shares poetry about his experiences in “Frat House Gospels: Confessions of a Fraternity House Dad”
• Jamie Snider reflects on the role of language and voice and family in ” Authentic Voice: My Sound of the South”
• Enock Atta-Sah Nimfour discusses his experience in graduate school in “Navigating New Territory: Building Growth and Resilience as a Graduate Assistant”
• Sonja Ardoin and Scott Radimer share reflections from the course of their cohorts’ careers in “Why We Stay: Reflections from a HESA Master’s Cohort, 20 Years Later”
• Hannah Starling and David Maldonado discuss moving from a position in the first year out of graduate school in ” A Full Plate But an Empty Cup: Changing Jobs in Year One”
• Sarah Ellison shares insights about leading through change in “Leading with Purpose in Prolonged Uncertainty: Reflections on Sustaining Mission, People, and Students in Contemporary Higher Education”
• Sonja Ardoin writes about attending to ourselves in the context of work in “Sharing in Service without Sacrificing Ourselves”
• Wanda Johnson shares insights from her research in the first of a three-part series, “Still, I Rise: Insights from Research on Black Women at Historically White Institutions”
• Osei Akomeah shares his insights about needs of international students in “Culture, Strength, and Stigma: Roadblocks to Counseling for Ghanian Students”

As you can see from the titles alone, this set of articles represents information from across higher education from graduate student experiences to established professionals and their insights. As always, we are grateful to the authors for their work. We hope you will consider submitting articles related to practice, personal essays, creative work, and other reflections to the ACPA community. Enjoy Baltimore and have a great spring.

Developments Editorial Team

From its beginnings in the 1980s, ACPA’s Statement of Ethical Principles and Standards has centered four elements: professional responsibility and competence, student learning and development, responsibility to the institution, and responsibility to society. As we sit in the midst of tremendous transition and change in higher education and the larger community, we are compelled to engage in a reflection on the ethical practice of student affairs. This work is led by ACPA’s Ethics Task Force but is dependent on the input of members as we craft ethical standards to effectively address the issues we are currently navigating and situate student affairs professionals for an ethical future beyond the moment. We also seek to position student affairs professionals for an ethical future beyond the current moment, emerging issues and changes. Developments is hosting a series of articles by members of the Ethics Task Force to inform and engage members in the process.

An Overview of the Ethics Task Force

In August of 2023 a set of Ethics Task Force recommendations were developed to guide ethical practice across student affairs and higher education. These recommendations included:

• Creating a long-term, sustainable structure for the task force, taking into consideration changing demographics in student affairs and higher education
• Clarifying the task force’s role using a grounded theory approach to its development
• Developing a communication plan related to ACPA ethical guidelines
• Providing ethics education for the association, including an ethics toolkit consisting of a report of ethics inquiries and ethical case studies that connect to ACPA values
• Reviewing and approving revisions to the ACPA Statement of Ethical Principles and Standards
• Clarifying connections to other associations, organizations, agencies and groups as they relate to ethical considerations

Within a year, a new ACPA Ethics Task Force was established with a charge to continually update the Statement of Ethical Principles and Standards document and to promote the statement to ACPA members and across the profession. Since that time, the Task Force has met regularly to explore the current version of the Statement and to solicit feedback on the document, and we are now positioned to discuss the feedback gathered and to look ahead to future work and revisions related to the ACPA Ethics Code/Guidelines.

The purpose of the Ethics Task Force is to maintain ACPA ethical standards and guidelines. Members of the task force meet every other month to review and discuss ethical standards. We plan for the future of the Statement and how to engage ACPA members in ethics-related dialogue. The current work of the task force has focused on soliciting input from members via a survey, focus groups and dialogues, and upcoming ACPA conference sessions to gain additional perspectives on the ethics of our work in practice as well as the Statement itself.

Survey Information

On September 11, 2025, a survey on ethics in student affairs practice was launched for ACPA members. 74 respondents shared their thoughts about ACPA’s Ethics Code/Guidelines though responses varied across questions. Highlights from that feedback included:

• A need to redesign the document to increase accessibility and readability, including the use of more student-centered language
• Clarification of the document as a guide not a rulebook to function with other resources  and frameworks
• Alignment of the code with the Strategic Imperative for Racial Justice and Decolonization
• Acknowledgement of diversity of roles, institutional types, and international perspectives within the context of ethical considerations
• Creation and distribution of supplemental resources such as case studies or ethical dilemmas for ACPA members

Some limitations to this feedback are that we can neither regulate the field of student affairs nor solve the profession’s burnout, precarity, or labor crisis. Across both the survey data and the open dialogues/focus groups, participants largely agreed that the ACPA Code of Ethics meets expectations in values and intent but expressed consistent concern that its application is unclear and difficult to navigate, particularly within increasingly regulated and politicized institutional environments. While members affirmed commitments to social justice, decolonization, and ethical accountability, they emphasized the need for greater contextual guidance, improved readability, and practical tools that acknowledge unequal agency across institutional types and career stages. In addition, this survey was delimited by the fact that ACPA is not the sole or final authority on ethics in higher education, we cannot design ethical standards to fit every functional area, institutional type, or philosophical tradition, and we are revising this particular code not replacing the profession. 

Focused Dialogues, Fall 2025

The ACPA Ethics Task Force hosted four focused dialogues to discuss the ACPA Ethics Code/Guidelines, the current social, political, and cultural context of our work, and to look ahead to the needs of our members. Dialogues in October, November, and December surfaced a number of issues. A total of 13 ACPA and community members participated in the focus groups. While distinct, each focus group shared the following themes:

1. Compliance and Ethical Dilemmas in an Era of Regulation
2. Readability, Access and Practical Support
3. Perspectives of Varied Professional Levels

The main topic and point of contention was the first theme, relating to how one can develop an ethical voice while facing institutional, state and federal compliance. Similar to the survey data, this theme conveyed not only ethical burnout in the workplace, but also complexity and contradictions on how to successfully navigate and/or de-escalate unethical practices. Rather than focusing on a theoretical approach, there is a current shift to understanding and centering practicality in the pressure of resolving ethical issues when time, leadership and/or capacity are limited. Further recommendations included incorporating learning tools, visuals, and scorecards for individuals to scaffold and set goals while tracking progress in applying ethical principles and standards. This was a recommendation from many members including newer, mid- and senior-level professionals who partook in the group. This theme is central as the ACPA Ethics Code/Guidelines is encouraged to be utilized throughout all points and levels of one’s education and career, and not only when intervention is needed. Despite a diverse range of experiences and roles, the aim of the ACPA Ethics Code/Guidelines is to help develop and continue growing an ethical voice to affirm higher education practitioners in the service of students and communities.

A limitation of the focus group dialogues is the reality that many of us are living in a time of fear and anxiety. Whether it be at home, work or the state of U.S. and international politics, the impact of the current administration permeates every space. It became apparent during the focus groups that while many higher education practitioners and/or faculty value ACPA’s Ethics Code/Guidelines, that does not remove the scrutiny or legal concerns faced in participating in these conversations.

ACPA Convention Opportunities

As we prepare to gather in Baltimore, we have the opportunity to continue to engage in other ways about the state of ethics in ACPA and across the profession. At this year’s convention we invite members to participate in the following conference sessions: 1) “Everyday Ethics: Justice, Power, and Purpose in Student Affairs” on Tuesday, March 31, 9:45-10:45 am in Baltimore Convention Center room 314, and 2) Ethics Task Force business meeting on Tuesday, March 31, 1:15-2:15 pm in Baltimore Convention Center room 318. Your input is essential to meeting the various needs of members, institutions, and the students, colleagues, and collaborators with whom we meet. At a time when there is so much change and often a lack of clarity about the requirements and expectations of higher education work, our ability to establish ethical standards to which we can anchor our work has perhaps never been more important. While federal guidelines are changing on an almost daily basis and the role of state legislatures informs our work in ways we have not experienced in recent memory, our dedication to issues of responsibility and competence, student learning and development, and our institutional and societal responsibilities are as important as ever.

ACPA Ethics Task Force Members

Jonathan O’Brien, Task Force Chair
Michelle L. Boettcher
Dan Cantiller
Anne Hornak
Otis Johnson
Sean Robinson
Esther Rosbrook
Sean Watson
Tricia Fechter Gates
Cecelia Lopez