Higher Ed Just Broke Up with Me

Some relationships need to end.

The call came Thursday afternoon. I could tell by Michelle’s voice that she was nervous.

“The outgoing provost decided not to renew your contract for next year.”

Immediate panic bitch-slapped me. How would I get health insurance? How will I access all those great research databases? Can I still check out books from the library this summer?

Notice here, that my initial reaction didn’t have anything to do with needing to earn a living. I didn’t mourn for my coveted position as Visiting Professor. After all, I had taken a 20 percent pay cut to move back north four years ago because my parents are sick. I remained in higher ed for the wrong reasons.

Sure, 17 years ago when I first got my Ph.D., I was eager to work in higher education. I loved to see the eager faces tackle new problems. My heart would leap when a struggling student had a eureka moment.

But the honeymoon ended after a few years. I would soon compete with Facebook and smartphones for students’ attention. Some students only came to college to escape their parents and head to Miami every weekend. I would get calls from the administration asking me to “reconsider” a star athlete’s grade in my class, even though he had someone else write his final paper for him.

I didn’t have the courage to break up with higher ed.

I would spend weekends learning new technologies and equipment so that I could prepare my students for the workforce. I spent my summers tweaking previous classes so that they would reflect the changing nature of the media industry. I attended workshops to improve my teaching. I spent hours on various committees to try to improve student life and the academic curriculum.

None of it mattered because I didn’t engage in research. I got passed over for promotion to Associate Professor apparently because I wasn’t presenting at research conferences. It was a huge blow, and it should have been my first clue to break up with higher education.

I was also totally confused — how does research inform my teaching video editing? Even when I mentioned research in class, students just dove back into their phones. So I realized that it was the students, not the tenure committee, that I would see every day. Despite my promotion denial, I would serve the students.

However, I noticed a gradual change in the students over the past 22 years. Some would come to class so stressed out that they couldn’t concentrate. I’ve had several male students in my office break down in tears because the pressure was so severe. More and more, I realized I was no longer their professor — I was their ersatz therapist and parent.

It wasn’t my research on media effects that would help them. It wasn’t even my knowledge of Adobe Creative Suite. Instead, my interest in psychology, spirituality, and self-improvement practices would help them. You can’t put that on your academic vita, but more and more, it’s critical in addressing the current college student.

America’s culture of hyperachievement is not wasted on college campuses. More than 40 percent of college students report symptoms of anxiety and depression. Students would bring this heaviness to class each day, and I could feel it deep in my bones.

But what was I to do? I couldn’t fix their problems. I couldn’t tell them everything was going to be all right. The best I could do was soften their pain for a brief moment and send them to the counseling center.

Each August, I would experience the heaviness. The thought of walking into a classroom with a thick cloud of anxiety and depression bit into my shoulders. When COVID slashed higher education budgets in 2020, a part of me prayed that my contract wouldn’t get renewed.

I still didn’t have the courage to break up with higher ed. I wanted it to break up with me. Even with a 5 percent cut in salary, I donned a mask and suffered another year. Then another.

So now, I guess my prayer was answered a few years later. I feel liberated. When a relationship no longer serves you, you are happy to move on without bitterness.

I don’t regret all the lessons I’ve learned and the skills I’ve acquired. I also don’t regret spending so much time reading and writing about spirituality at the expense of getting a promotion.

I do regret staying in a relationship longer than what was healthy. I know higher education needs to change, but I can’t change it from the inside without sacrificing my own mental health.

I don’t know what professional adventure I have ahead, but I know that when August hits, I won’t suffer the August Heaviness.

Sure, I’ll miss being called “professor,” but I won’t miss the cost of being one.