The Spaces in Between: Creating Community Resilience Through Small Changes

I recently saw an instagram post from my campus, celebrating the achievements of a soon-to-be graduate. In their quote, this first-generation and Latinx student recounted the difficulty of being the first in her family to navigate college, as well as expressed their renewed dedication to lifting up others within their community to achieve the same. As a first-generation college student myself, this post struck a chord. Not only did it touch upon my experiences, but it reinforced the need for institutions to be in constant pursuit to do better by our students. Through the lens of resilience-based student success frameworks, I aim to illustrate how small-scale individual actions, such as early outreach and student advocacy work, can bolster student outcomes and surround them with a community of support.

“As a first-generation college student myself, this post struck a chord. Not only did it touch upon my experiences, but also did it reinforced the need for institutions to be in constant pursuit to do better by our students.”

My Experience

College, for me, always seemed like a natural next step out of high school. No one explicitly told me I had to go but it felt like the right thing to do to ensure a happy, gainful, and satisfying future. What I had not anticipated was that I was woefully unprepared for the influx of obstacles I’d have to overcome to even reach the campus entrance. No one in my family had ever earned a college degree, so they were equally ill-equipped to guide me on this journey.

I learned about the Free Application for Federal Student Aid (FAFSA) through a casual chat with friends before my second-period economics class started one morning. By all accounts, I just needed to fill out the application online and the government, as well as my selected institution, would happily throw heaps of money my way, and that would be the end. When I was awarded a measly $2,650 for what would eventually add up to a bill of over $12,000, I assumed I’d figure it out later. Later came when my first-semester bill arrived at my doorstep on August 1st, which also happened to be due five days later. I handed the bill to my mom, half confused, half excited. She looked at me, also half confused but more piteously than I would have hoped, and asked me what I expected her to do about it.

“What I had not anticipated was that I was woefully unprepared for the influx of obstacles I’d have to overcome to even reach the campus entrance.”

It had never once occurred to me that college might not happen for me. The transition seemed to flow so effortlessly for everyone else—why was it so difficult for me? In that moment, it felt like the air had left my lungs and the rug had been pulled out from under me. How would I explain my absence to my friends? To my best friend, whom I’d just signed a housing contract with just a few months before? More importantly, what would I do? After all, I had chosen an affordable state institution for the fact that it was supposed to be—wait for it … affordable! As I stood in my garage, hyperventilating in the smell of freshly cut grass and lawnmower fumes, I was struck by the reality that things don’t always “work out” for people. What were my options now? Did I even have a future? Several hours of crying, begging, and pleading later, as well as a conversation with a very nice woman at our local bank, my mother agreed to borrow a $10,000 Federal Parent PLUS Loan, and all was well with the universe. Without realizing it at the time, it was resilience, coupled with the generosity of my mother, that pushed me over that initial hurdle.

“It had never once occurred to me that college might not happen for me. The transition seemed to flow so effortlessly for everyone else—why was it so difficult for me?”

The Same Old Story

As a first-generation college student, my story is not unique, nor is it special. In fact, it happens all too often, especially when you factor in low-income and underrepresented students. On a much smaller scale, I knew the weight of drowning in the process, while everyone else seemed to float on by. They knew the people to talk to, and the questions to ask—had the parents who showed up to the meetings and advocated by their side and on their behalf, while I was very much alone. This is also not new information for higher education professionals. Decades of research surrounding student drop-offs exist. These studies examined the barriers to student success in these populations, as well as established best practices and interventions to bolster recruitment, retention, and persistence to degree completion, yet what has really changed? According to Green and Wright (2017), of the 17.5 million students who enroll in colleges and universities annually, approximately 50% of them will persist to graduation within six years. Of those degree earners, 69% of them will be white. Furthermore, this issue becomes more pronounced when factoring in low-income and first-generation college students, where approximately only 11% of these students will earn a bachelor's degree within six years (American Academy of Arts & Sciences, 2016).

As a financial aid professional, I have seen parallels between my own story in countless students. I have seen it in the incoming first-year student crying at my desk on the first day of classes because they don’t know how they’ll afford their tuition for the school they’ve dreamed about attending even before they themselves were in school. I have listened to the story of the sophomore who lost their aid and is considering quitting school altogether because they were struggling with mental health issues but were too afraid to talk to anyone or seek help. Too many times I have discussed choices with the senior who is one semester away from graduation but has run out of funding options. These students aren’t lacking in drive, tenacity, or resourcefulness. What they’re lacking is a combination of adequate support, as well as a lack of awareness regarding how to effectively engage those support systems already in place.

“When the very structure of higher education rewards, centers, and privileges those with the social and cultural capital necessary to succeed, it can become the very weight that holds one down, while simultaneously lifting others up.”

“In the context of higher education, Cotton et al. (2017) define resilience as the ability of students to navigate new or novel events, setbacks, or hardships toward their continued academic and social success.”

Traditional Versus Resilience Frameworks

Traditional student success frameworks have centered around a deficit mindset. In these frameworks, it is common to approach these students as less than, in need of remediation and assimilation to the monoculture of higher education (Green & Wright, 2017). These frameworks sought to center perceived deficiencies, further perpetuating the myths of gaps in academic preparedness and academic readiness as opposed to providing adequate support and understanding of the lived experiences of those outside the context of upper-middle-class whiteness (Kim & Hargrove, 2013; Cotton et al., 2017). When the very structure of higher education rewards, centers, and privileges those with the social and cultural capital necessary to succeed, it can become the very weight that holds one down, while simultaneously lifting others up.

More recently, strengths-based approaches, such as resilience frameworks, have emerged as a method of capitalizing on the intrinsic strengths students already possess, which can facilitate improved retention and persistence metrics, increased engagement, and a greater sense of institutional belonging (Lopez et al., 2020; Green & Wright, 2017). Resilience frameworks emerged in the mid-2000s, basing their principles around concepts prevalent in mental health counseling. In the context of higher education, Cotton et al. (2017) define resilience as the ability of students to navigate new or novel events, setbacks, or hardships toward their continued academic and social success. By implementing programming that centers around building community through faculty and staff interaction, the use of cohorts, peer mentoring, and the availability of identity-based clubs and organizations, students can learn in a controlled environment how to build a support system and more effectively navigate the demands of college life (Cotton et al., 2017). While resilience frameworks help to offer a strengths-based approach to bolster the success of marginalized groups, I contend that they are not a far-off departure from deficit-based methodologies at face value and require a more in-depth examination of the structures and systems that enhance the protective factors our students already possess.

Reframing the view of marginalized students as “less than” is certainly a step in the right direction, but this approach is still largely based on individual efforts, placing the responsibility for change on the individual. Similar to deficit approaches, resilience frameworks approach problems faced by marginalized students as a personal issue that needs to be solved alone. As a result, resilience framework-based solutions can reinforce otherness, simply throwing a life preserver into the proverbial sea of barriers that exist in the American college system. Kim and Hargrove (2013) examined the resilience factors that promoted success for black male achievers within predominantly white institutions, as well as historically black colleges. While participants identified several common themes, they all traced back to the same undercurrent of motivation to succeed despite these systems and a desire to “prove them wrong.” While these students may have been succeeding academically, what cost does this resilience building have on the long-term emotional and mental well-being of our students? At what point do we as staff, administrators, and faculty—the main players and creators of policy and practice turn the mirror back on ourselves and examine what we can do as the people in power? How can we break down these systems of oppression to create better outcomes for all students?

“…resilience framework-based solutions can reinforce otherness, simply throwing a life preserver into the proverbial sea of barriers that exist in the American college system.”

“That looks like spending our scholarship dollars strategically and prioritizing supporting a high-need, diverse student body.”

Community Resilience in Action

That may seem like a tall order. After all, higher education is slow-moving, and steeped in policies, and procedures—many of which are out of our individual control. When faced with these limitations, it is easy to stand down and walk away from the problem. So realistically, what can this look like? Like any good administrator, I would recommend starting in two areas. Number one, what does your data tell you? Number two, and most importantly, what are your students telling you? If your institution has been extremely successful at recruiting underrepresented students, but those students are not being retained or reaching degree completion, what things can you do within your sphere of influence, regardless of how large or small, to support those initiatives? Within my own office, that can take many forms. To me, that looks like early intervention and outreach to ensure students are completing verification paperwork during the spring and summer and includes reaching out one-on-one to students not meeting Satisfactory Academic Progress (SAP) and helping them with the SAP appeal application. That looks like utilizing our retention software, so advisors can flag students they are identifying are on the fringes of failing or looking to drop classes, so they can talk to us before they make a decision. That looks like spending our scholarship dollars strategically and prioritizing supporting a high-need, diverse student body. That looks like promoting our student emergency fund far and wide, so students know there is a small financial safety net in case a sudden financial hardship seeks to knock them off of their path.

I know I do not have the power or ability to change federal regulations about the financial aid application process, or the percentage of students selected for income verification, or what paperwork hoops they have to jump through to receive what funds they have been awarded, but I can change the minute aspects of the process I am in control of. Looking beyond your individual roles, departments, or campuses, advocacy work is also an important and often overlooked responsibility we have for our students. Fighting for funding, increased access, affordability, and any number of issues is one major way to help contribute toward promoting social justice initiatives. I was fortunate to complete a student advocacy credentialing program prior to the start of the pandemic, which entailed meeting with a local state representative. The process felt intimidating, but the experience was extremely positive. So much so that I continued to participate in advocacy days in Washington D.C., within my local area, as well as numerous letter-writing campaigns. Thinking more broadly in my approach helped reinforce my desire to work in higher education and has renewed my commitment to fighting for better outcomes for our students, even when the issues seem insurmountable.

Conclusion

Our students can only be as resilient as we allow them to be, as resilient as the communities we create around them, and as resilient as we ourselves are. Until we can take a look back at ourselves and figure out the small and radical ways we can dismantle these systems, the status quo will remain intact. Where true creativity and leadership prevail is in the spaces in between. The tiny spheres of influence within our individual microcosms, when combined with others doing this social justice work, create not only a more equitable campus space, but can redefine what belonging looks like at an institutional level. Building this community of support is what true socially justice-minded, and transformative resilience looks like to me; not at the expense of our students, but to their benefit. Flipping that narrative to “I was able to succeed because of,” not “in spite of.”