I will never forget the moment that I?opened an?acceptance letter from a?top American university. Raised by?my disabled mother in?inner-city Baltimore and reliant on?government assistance, I’d been told by?my family that I?would achieve nothing in?life without a?good education. Now my?dream of?attending college was coming true.
Another arrived a few days later, and soon it?seemed like a?new acceptance letter was dropping on the doormat every day. I?took the letters to?school to?show my?teachers because I?just wanted to?see the look on?their faces. But they weren’t surprised: I?was in?the top 5?per cent of?my year and it?would only make sense that I?was accepted into all 13 colleges?to which I?applied.
So why did I come so close to dropping out? There are many reasons. Like many first-generation students, no one told me how difficult it would be to adjust to a higher level of study or living away from the family home. Taking on paid work was also essential: I started my job in the same week as my first tutorial.
Those pressures started to add up, but it was the sense of being an impostor, experienced by many first-generation students, that really began to weigh heavily.
After a few weeks in college, I began having trouble in my classes. When I asked professors for help and I would sometimes be met with what I saw as condescending remarks: it seemed as if they were talking down to me, or I should already understand the rigours of a college education. I did not and I started to feel inferior.
Whether deliberately or not, those professors spoke as if I lacked intelligence and seemed to question every aspect of my work. The implication was, it seemed to me, that I was lucky to be on campus.
Other, wealthier students will also face these moments of self-doubt, but this is more acute for first-generation students; they are seen by their families and communities as role models, the ones who “made it out”, so seeking help can be seen as showing weakness. Students often seek to remain “invisible” to their tutors for as long as possible given the crushing fear of failure. At this point, a crisis cannot be avoided.
Impostor syndrome is a real problem for first-generation students, even if it is most often referenced in relation to scholars’ own feelings of inadequacy.
To deal with it, many first-generation students turn to self-destructive behaviour; excessive use of drugs or alcohol, or even casual sex, can have horrible effects on student well-being. The latter is frequent on many college campuses thanks to apps such as Grindr, Tinder, Jack’d and Bumble. No one bothers with old-fashioned dating, and few will ask too many questions about someone’s relationship status. I have been guilty of using these methods to cope with stress and now understand the damage these things have caused. However, in those moments you don’t think; you just want to feel better, which I now realise was a symptom of depression.
The emotional weight of going to college when you come from an impoverished background can be overwhelming. You want to better yourself, you want to help your family, and you want to explore what seem like unlimited opportunities. But there is also a feeling of “”, the sense that you are turning your back on your family and upbringing. You do not feel entirely at home on campus but when you return home, your friends look at you differently. And, if you’re a minority, your family accuses you of “talking white.” Some will want you to fail, to see you crash and burn.
Moreover, if you are struggling at college, your family might not want to hear about your problems. When I called home, sometimes on the verge of tears, my family did not know how to help; in their eyes, I was the one who was messing up or creating the problem. I once called home because I was failing a class, and the first thing out of my mom’s mouth was “I told you so”. At that moment I just hung up the phone and cried.
In?these moments, you feel totally alone. But universities can help in fairly simple ways.
Professors should understand that not everyone learns the same way. Non-traditional students want to learn, but they need to do it in a non-conventional way. We need flexibility, empathy, and patience. Remember the educational system your students come from may not have prepared them for college, and admissions advisers may not have mentioned the difficulties students are likely to face in their first few weeks.
Students will want to take advantage of your office hours, but they may be hesitant to ask out of embarrassment. Be more explicit about the help that is available. And if you were a first-generation student, share that experience with them. It may help ease some of their anxiety. Describing how you learned to navigate campus, or how you were able to utilise resources effectively will prove useful.
Some professors will also wait until the end of a semester to contact student services with their concerns about a particular undergraduate. This may be too late. If you have noticed that a student has missed several classes raise the alarm immediately with advisers, counsellors, administrators or even residence life, who can check on the student.
Some universities require first-gen students to take “College 101” courses when they first arrive. These courses might include “how to” skills such as study habits and time management, how to access campus services and offices or recognise and overcome impostor syndrome and breakaway guilt. Sometimes the position a person holds can make them oblivious to their surroundings, or it can even make them detached. These initiatives might even be run by older students; a first-generation students club under the student engagement office, and it would be a haven for students to meet others who?have been in their shoes.
These club meetings do not need to be frequent and could also be a great opportunity for admissions teams to work with future first-generation students, perhaps by arranging visits to local high schools. When I was an orientation assistant, I made myself available to my students as a mentor or provide advice when they seemed to be overwhelmed. I didn’t want to leave them alone to survive after that week knowing they needed more support, and that I had more information to share based on my experiences.
We should celebrate that more first-generation students are entering higher education each year but we should not fool ourselves about this challenge. Acknowledging the complex emotional needs of these students is an important first step in helping them achieve their full educational potential.
Malik Johnson recently graduated with a master’s in higher education policy, research and administration from Goucher College, a private liberal arts college in Maryland, having taken his undergraduate degree in business administration at Hood College, in Maryland. He is currently a higher education professional at Johns Hopkins University, in Baltimore, where he focuses on student well-being.
