Why I Left Higher Education

July 16, 2021 was my last official day as a higher education professional. I’ve worked for three public universities, two private colleges, and one community college – first in public relations, then in grant administration, and most recently in student services.

In my cover letters for new positions within higher education, I’d call myself an idealist and underline how meaningful and life-changing pursuit and attainment of an undergraduate – or graduate – degree can be for students, particularly first-gen and traditionally marginalized populations. I still fiercely subscribe to that sentiment, but I’ve chosen to take the exit ramp for five reasons.

Money

Both of my children are undergrads at a public university that I adore. Even with the tuition benefit for dependents (50% of in-state tuition at the school my kids attend), I’m still doing better financially in a full-time role for a private company than I would have in a staff position at that university. And after a year in my current role, I’ll be eligible for equity in the company. My current company offers a monthly technology stipend for me to use to secure high-speed internet (in addition to supplying me with a laptop). Of course, I recognize that working for a government entity involves a pay sacrifice. For me, the gap was too glaring (especially as I ironically pay for my kids' educational expenses).

Power

Faculty hold a power stronghold on higher education, and that entrenched system is depriving it of life-sustaining energy. Faculty determine admissions standards, curriculum updates, grading policies, and cut-offs for dismissal from the institution. They even self-govern their peers in the deeply antiquated system of tenure. Staff sit alongside faculty on some committees, although in my experience, our position at the table is typically for optics or for taking notes – it’s not for offering substantive input that's integrated into policy.

The COVID-19 pandemic brought a truth to light for me and many students and families: the experience of obtaining an undergraduate degree is greater than the sum of its parts. It’s held together by the glue of staff services in an alchemistic move that is massively undervalued. The students that I supported in my career services role can find the content of their coursework on FutureLearn, EdX, Coursera or – let’s face it – YouTube, but they cannot replicate the organic nature of connection among their peers, with potential employers, with deeply devoted staff members who advise, counsel, publicize, and redirect. And yes, the connections with faculty are vital, too. Faculty help stitch together rips in the fabric of students’ understanding, mentor and steward students in both life and subject matters, and scaffold them to higher levels of production.

What’s important to note is that faculty no longer do all of that standing atop the mountain of scarce, difficult-to-attain knowledge, with staff members as extensions who attend to paperwork and cumbersome tasks that faculty have relegated to the discard bin.

I’m not bashing faculty. I recognize what an impossible job they have between their undervalued teaching contributions, their need to chase research dollars, and the pitiful support they have for their massive community outreach efforts. I honor the caring people who run tirelessly on the academic treadmill. The system isn’t working for them either.

What I’m saying is that the system needs to be rebuilt, and respect, credit, dignity, power, and money must be distributed more equitably.

Autonomy

My new job is 100% remote, and I am fully location independent as long as I work within the US. I set my own hours within particular specifications (a minimum of 24 client hours each week, for example).

When the pandemic forced everyone at my university to work fully remotely, I loved the convenience of no commute and yoga pants. At the same time, I recognized so many advantages to the students I met with – they didn’t have to travel to campus and find parking to meet with me, they could see my screen clearly without crowding in next to me in my office to view changes to their resumes and features on LinkedIn, and I could coach them on their lighting and their background for virtual interviews.

Throughout the pandemic, both in the tumultuous first weeks and months and recently as we began to approach the fall, the emphasis was on what had always been done to deliver support for students rather than what fit the circumstance and accounted for BOTH the students we served and us as staff members. Ultimately, decisions were made for optics over safety, our input was gathered but not addressed, and tone-deaf missives were released via email with a clear "this is how it'll be going forward" message. The essence was clear: you’re easily replaced, so march in step.

Social Justice

In the last weeks of my university role in the summer of 2021, I met with a rock star student to wrap-up our work together. This student’s description of the microaggressions and flat-out disrespect that she endured during her time in her program was crushing to me. This student served on DEI committees at the university and offered her voice within the official infrastructure of addressing systemic inequities, yet she felt silenced, judged, and demoralized as she closed out her studies.

That student’s experience is representative of many students’ experiences I witnessed. Often, I failed them by not recognizing the oppression that I actively participated in, and for those offenses, I feel shame and ire. For me and many of my colleagues who seek to be allies to traditionally marginalized students, there’s little latitude within higher education. In some ways, the lip service made it harder to make requests and name injustices. By serving on DEI committees, participating in trainings, and immersing myself in my own self-study, I thought I was helping to support positive change, but the very infrastructure of the collected input (hierarchical leadership that set an agenda for us to walk through as committee members) is a key part of the many problems around equity.

Is it any better in the startup where I now work? That remains to be seen, but the truth is, I’m surrounded by fewer aging white men parked in seats of power. I’ve participated in more difficult – and seemingly more productive – conversations in the short time I’ve been with this company than I had in all of the years I was in higher education. My input is not just invited, it is integrated.

Entrenched Bureaucracy

One of my colleagues served on a university search committee several years ago, and a question that the committee asked all of the candidates was, “If you were a kitchen appliance, what would you be?” One of the respondents said, “I’d be a microwave because I like to do things quick, quick, quick!” The recognition of that candidate’s misfit for higher ed was immediately apparent in the eye contact the committee members made around the table after the candidate’s response. That’s NOT how higher education works.

Much of my time in all of my higher ed roles was spent hounding people to push protocols through bottlenecks, pleading for legal approval of vendor contracts, and apologizing to students, parents, community members, and others who were caught in the entanglement of university bureaucracy. I recognize and believe in the sacredness of ethics and due diligence, and there’s simply no need for basic business transactions to take so long. The categorization of people and processes inhibits easy transactions, blocks movement, and chokes innovation.

Closing Thoughts

I’ve asked myself why I’ve taken the time to write this article. Yes, I want to vent and engage in self-justification. It’s a risk for me to make this big shift in my career, and I’m scared. In many ways, I’ve left home, and in doing so, I leave behind people who are family, who have walked beside me for years. The grass won’t be greener on all counts in this new realm, that’s for sure. The shadows and darkness have yet to be revealed to me.

Beyond my righteousness, the reason I’ve gone on this tirade is to lean into my own anger. I’m mad. Unequivocally and loudly. I’ve made it something of a personal project to collect compelling examples of angry women who project their voices and make waves, and I’d like to do that now for myself and for other women (and people of all gender expressions) who are angry to legitimize anger when it’s warranted. It’s been my experience that women – in general – are culturally conditioned to suppress anger, and I’m actively teaching myself to go against the grain on this lesson.

I’ve dedicated a massive amount of my energy to higher education, and I wanted to have an impact. I certainly had meaningful interactions with individuals, but higher education as an institution with all of its inequities and inefficiencies remains sadly intact. Far from letting it be just the way it is, I’d like to voice my objections and wish for much-needed disruption – not at the expense of the people who continue to serve but to validate their (and my!) efforts and their worth. May change come swiftly and with integrity.

Addendum

I'm consistently receiving two questions after people read this article, so I'm including the questions and the responses below:

• Are you closing your private practice?
  Absolutely not! I've maintained my private practice alongside a full-time job for several years, and I'll continue to do so.

• Where is your new job?
  It's with Lyra Health, a mental health provider for high tech. I started out as a contractor in an Emotional Wellness Coach role, and I'm seguing into a full-time role as Telehealth Therapist.