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An Ambivalent Embrace

How Financially Distressed Students Make Sense of the Cost of College

With Resney Gugwor

College is expensive. As the following students indicate, many first-generation students are taking a leap of faith that the high cost of the opportunity to go to college will pay off. As one student put it, “I’m gonna continue to get loans because that’s the only way that anything will be possible for me. But besides that, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought it through, because there’s nothing that I can really do. I work now, but … I don’t have a significant amount of money saved up for me to get through the entire year, so I kinda just take it how it goes. Skate by, figure it out when I get there.”

Or this student: “[The first year] was a lot of uncertainty, I guess, ’cause I was still not sure how I was going to pay for it. Even the first semester I had to ask my dad to take out money from his retirement fund to pay for my first semester so I could continue to go to school my second semester. That was very troubling, with the uncertainty of all that.”

These two students are representative of those who arrived at college in financial distress, students who believed they had to go to college to obtain the future they desired but unsure of how they would pay the cost. Given the debt that many historically marginalized students assume, it is incumbent on their institutions to not add additional social identity–based barriers to success.

In this chapter, we discuss how financial distress itself can become an identity challenge; one’s relative financial position plays an outsize role in students’ identity construction.¹ Counterspaces for economically marginalized students can help to alleviate this identity challenge. Counterspaces that bring students together around financial issues can reduce the negative identity effects of financial distress by changing their narrative from an individual to a structural framing. Specifically, these spaces can transform the question from “Why don’t I have the resources to attend college like more affluent students do?” to “Why is it that despite the societal benefits of having college-educated citizens, I’m asked to mortgage my future for the chance to educate myself into the middle class?”

“College for All,” but at What Cost, and on Whose Dime?

Students from lower-income families are less likely to consider college as a space for personal exploration and development and more likely to see college as a way to prevent an undesired future and, for some, to escape an undesired present. This makes “college a tool or instrumental pathway to a better job or career future than what your social origins would dictate.”² These sentiments dominated the reasons that the first-generation students in our study gave for why they enrolled in college. However, this is not to say that the students do not also value the learning that happens in college. It is simply that they do not have the luxury of setting aside the fact that, for them, college is foremost about getting the degree.

These students are simply reflecting the pragmatic side of the “college for all” expectation—that all can, should, and need to get a college degree. For lower-income students, this expectation has coincided with dramatic increases in the cost of college, and shifts in who bears those costs.³ When large land grant universities were first created in 1862, the belief was that states should bear much of the costs of college because the economy and society would benefit from an increasingly well-educated public.⁴ However, in recent decades, as the financial benefits of degree attainment continue to increase, there has been a shift to emphasizing the individual benefits, and consequently more now believe that the individual should bear the costs of college.

Today, the absolute amount of federal, state, and institutional grant aid has never been higher (totaling more than $238 million annually). However, with more than 10.5 million students enrolled in four-year institutions, and with tuition increasing faster than grant aid, the average student is paying more than ever before.⁵ Because Black and Latinx students have a higher likelihood of coming from low-wealth or low-income families, they are particularly susceptible to how financial distress can structure one’s college experiences.⁶

We found that one-third of the 533 students in our larger survey were under tremendous financial pressure.⁷ These students started college in financial distress. What we focus on in this chapter, however, is the added psychological burden of managing the internal conflict of investing in a degree that they doubted would be worth the cost. As one political science and history major put it, “My biggest fear is that while I’m bending over backwards to pay off my tuition, I won’t be as successful as I plan to be in the future.” Even those seeking profitable majors were worried; as one economics and marketing major put it, “Sometimes I wonder if college is worth it, because even with a degree, nothing is guaranteed in the current state of the economy. Sometimes I feel like maybe I am just wasting my time, especially when I could instead be learning a useful trade or skill that a college degree doesn’t provide.”

The high cost of college comes with negative psychological and emotional consequences when one’s family is not wealthy enough or when the student is not among the precious few who obtain a full-ride scholarship.⁸ The relief of knowing that things are paid for is an obvious benefit, as is the sense of belonging that comes from being able to pay for and participate in campus social activities, as well as the confidence to invest fully in coursework without the fear of having to drop out for financial reasons.⁹ Through the first-year experiences of three first-generation students, we detail many of the psychological and emotional aspects of financial distress, including interjecting doubt about whether they are college material and uncertainty about whether college is worth the cost.

Jenni, a Black woman enrolled at Rural StateU, attempted to manage her financial distress by working in both on- and off-campus jobs and by applying for scholarships. Her financial distress was anticipatory; she was concerned with a debt-burdened future, a debt she would never be able to pay off. She applied for as many scholarships as possible to ensure that she would graduate mostly debt free. Too many loans, she knew, might mean dropping out. Her worry was likely fueled by the numerous high-profile news stories with headlines like “For Millions of Millennials: Some College, No Degree, Lots of Debt”; or “College Students’ Nightmare: Loan Debt and No Degree.”¹⁰

Dave’s financial distress was even more immediate than Jenni’s. In his first semester, Dave, a Latinx man enrolled at Suburban StateU, doubted his ability to return to school for the second semester despite loans and working two jobs. He was able to stay because he got “lucky” and had an academic adviser who found a university scholarship for him. Until then, his plan was to rely on contributions from already financially strapped family members and, reluctantly, on loans.

Tanya, a Black woman enrolled at Suburban StateU, learned how important insider cultural information is to success. She realized that many available institutional supports are not simply offered—one must ask for, and, if necessary, demand them to gain access. By the end of the first term of her first year, college costs were threatening to derail Tanya’s future. The university advised her to “take a break” and get her finances in order. But she refused. Instead she asked nearly everyone she knew for financial assistance. Her refusal to fail, coupled with her willingness to ask for help, is what kept her in college. This persistence led to interactions with institutional agents who said yes when others had already said no. In addition to the tangible financial support, her experiences taught her what students from higher-income families know—that rules are negotiable.

The (Nonmonetary) Value of Education

For first-generation college students, a college degree itself can be a source of family honor, one that positions them as role models. Dave epitomizes the student whose college motivations are rooted in the desire to make his family proud.

Tanya’s college motivations were also rooted in her family experiences.

While believing that obtaining a degree would bring honor to their lives and to their family, for Dave and Tanya the college degree also took on an additional element of necessity—to make their families proud for the sacrifices made for them to have the opportunity to go to college. Their family’s support and encouragement became a source of motivation for them.

The Necessary Credential and the Promise of Desired Future Selves

The “college for all” push has been a fraught debate in the United States.¹¹ Challengers typically point out that some of the fastest-growing sectors of the economy need specialized vocational training.¹² Nevertheless, for most, a college degree is necessary for a financially stable adulthood. Researchers Jennie Brand and Yu Xie found that the occupational and income benefits of college were most pronounced for students who were among those least likely to go to college, typically low-income and minority students.¹³ As they state, “a principal reason for a relatively large economic return experienced by low propensity college-educated workers is that their social position, coming from disadvantaged socioeconomic origins, is marked by substantial disadvantage.” In other words, being born into families that have the least, they have the most to gain.

In the absence of a college degree, youth from lower-income families have limited mainstream human, cultural, and social capital they can tap for job leads and career advancement. For students like Jenni, the college degree is a necessary credential. From an early age, she had her eyes set on a degree. “It was just always something that I knew I wanted to do and had to do… . It’s like nowadays you need a college degree in order to do, like, mostly anything. So I feel like you have to go to college if you want a decent career at least… . If I was to graduate [high school] and then just stay [home], I couldn’t really think of what I would be doing. So I figured that going to college would be a good alternative.”

Tanya had a similar perspective, and the careers to which she aspired all required a college degree. Though Tanya’s aspirations were high, she lacked the guidance necessary to chart a smooth course. “By the grace of God, really—like I said, I didn’t have any guidance for the most part. I took my classes last minute.” That lack of guidance and a clear path would come back to haunt her. She had begun, like many, not knowing what she wanted to do in life. But volunteering at her local park district, where she worked with children with special needs, made something click. “I had a wonderful time with them,” she said. She focused on becoming a special education teacher. “But with not having a correct guidance,” she said, “I didn’t realize, well, if you’re gonna do something like that, you have to have the grades and the persistence, and the patience, to do that… . I realized, recently, that obviously the way my coursework is right now I probably won’t be able to be in the special ed program, so I just recently switched to entry ed.” Her reliance on guidance from institutional agents left her academically adrift.

Unlike Jenni and Tanya, Dave did not enroll in college with any specific occupations in mind. All he had was a vague sense that college was necessary for future success. “My main reasons were just the talks about what college can do for someone later on in life,” he said.

Loans Are an Anxiety-Filled Solution

The very American notion of limitless possibilities is one reason that the college years are embraced as an important part of the transition to adulthood.¹⁴ The multitude of college courses, resources, and options allows students to imagine any number of futures and explore many different fields.¹⁵ However, the ability to explore, try things out, and find the right fit is not free. And the loans required to do that exploring are a major source of anxiety.

For many students, as in Jenni’s case, the constraining effects of some costs occur long before entering college. “At my school we had to apply to ten colleges… . [For] some of ’em I got a fee waiver. But then I think it was maybe a few of ’em that I had to just pay for… . But it was pretty expensive.” Mesmin Destin and Daphna Oyserman show that preadolescents’ perceptions about the cost of college can have academic consequences by harming the level of effort that they put into schoolwork. Some secondary school students conclude that “if college seems too expensive, what is the point of homework? Doing homework, studying, staying after school for extra help, and going to the library for extra reading make little sense if all of these are focused on a future that is blocked.”¹⁶

Jenni’s financial package covered all of Rural StateU’s costs, but a substantial portion of it was loan “aid.” So although the costs were covered, Jenni still worried about her financial future. “I’m worried about after I graduate, with the loans and everything… . I didn’t really want to leave college being in debt. But now that I have loans, it’s no way around it, I guess.”

To reduce her anticipated future financial distress repaying loans, she fretted over applying for more scholarships during the summer after her first year. She also worked two part-time jobs during the academic year. While the jobs eased some of her financial distress, they introduced other challenges.

Jenni was stuck: Work more and keep her financial distress to a minimum, or take out more loans and accept the financial anxiety so she could have more time for school and a social life? Jenni’s way of thinking is common, and lower-income students are particularly susceptible to the negative psychological effects of student loan debt. Student loan debt beyond $10,000 increases the likelihood of leaving college.¹⁷ In contrast, every $1,000 increase in the amount of aid from a Pell Grant is associated with a 10 percent decrease in the likelihood of leaving college.¹⁸

Resolving the constraints caused by the rising costs of college will require more thoughtful solutions than simply increasing student access to debt. As Jenni’s actions illustrate, even when students technically don’t have to work to pay for college because they can obtain enough loan aid to cover their costs, they often want to work because of the anxieties created by mounting debt.

Paying the Cost to Retain (versus Recruit a Replacement)

In an October 2016 Insider Higher Ed op-ed, I argued that universities would do well to embrace the understanding that retention is as important, or even more important, than recruitment. A high retention rate is itself a competitive recruitment tool. Furthermore, it is more cost-effective to retain those already enrolled than to invest in recruiting replacements for those who have dropped out. Joe Cuseo, for example, found that retention initiatives are estimated to be three to five times more cost-effective than recruitment initiatives.¹⁹

Dave is one of those students who comes to mind when you think about how much better it would be if universities put as much effort into retention as they do into recruitment. His financial distress was apparent in our discussions, so much so that he “seriously did not think I was going to return for the second semester.” Dave also believed that the university could offer more help if he could just figure out how to ask. The financial aid office, he said, was “sometimes tricky to get around. And they’re really tricky to communicate with, because it’s really a matter of fact it has to go their way or no way.”

Dave ended up taking out an unsubsidized loan and a direct subsidized loan, and his family paid another $5,000 for the first semester. “That was crazy,” he said, because “at the time, my mom, she was unemployed, and she didn’t have medical insurance.” His sisters, brothers, and even his brother-in-law pitched in to help him stay in school. But it was his college counselor in his second semester who “came through for me by my doing my part, getting good grades, and her part, helping me out getting a scholarship mid-semester. She would just tell me, like, if I get good grades … she would be able to really stick her neck out for me.” With an additional $2,200 from the university, he made it through the second semester, though he still took out approximately $7,000 in loans.

Dave felt that most of the institutional support offered was informational only.

While both the financial and informational support were helpful, it was not enough to meaningfully reduce his financial distress.

There are only so many hours in a day, and because part-time pay is low, students are either working more than ever before or acquiring more loans than ever before. As recently as two decades ago, students could work one part-time job during school plus a full-time job over the summer and cover most of their college costs. That strategy no longer works.²⁰ Jenni, Tanya, and Dave were each working two part-time jobs during the academic year, and all three still experienced financial distress.

Self-Certainty in the Face of Uncertainty

Like Dave, Tanya attended Suburban StateU, was financially distressed, and came to the same conclusion—the university hid financial resources and could be more helpful if one could figure out how to gain access. Thanks to her gregarious personality, history of self-advocacy, and dogged determination, she learned how to demand financial resources to keep her aspirations alive.

Tanya is someone who can handle much more than the rest of us and still keep a positive outlook on life.

Tanya was also working two jobs during that first year. Just imagine how much better her academic performance would have been if she attended as a “traditional” student.

Tanya’s plan for paying for college was common among the first-generation and lower-income students in our study. They enrolled with the belief that financial aid would cover all expenses, and that after signing the aid forms all they would have to worry about was keeping up with the academic demands of college. Tanya learned otherwise:

Despite working two jobs, by winter break Tanya had no more money to continue into her second semester. This is where her personality came in, along with her lack of shame about her financial resources, a perspective that could have benefited all the lower-income students interviewed.

Many of the other students who experienced financial distress tried to get help through official requests, and when that failed retreated into themselves because of shame. These students used passive coping and simply waited as long as they could, hoping that something would come through. Tanya’s history of self- advocacy and her lack of a backup plan pushed all feelings of shame aside.

For Tanya, a no from an institutional agent just meant she had not yet spoken to the right person.

She also learned to not “come off as a complete psycho, crazy madwoman. But let them know, hey, I’m not playing. I need this money. Give it to me, because you have no other option but to give it to me. I will work for it. I will prove you wrong if you think that I don’t deserve it.” By the end of her first year, she had a deep understanding of just how costly college is for students, especially for students who, like her, are without any family financial means to pay for it.

Access to financial support should not be a psychologically and emotionally draining survival-of-the-fittest competition that distracts from students’ ability to engage in learning.

Counterspaces for Financially Distressed Students

Students’ feelings of helplessness about their financial distress exist in the midst of an abundance of financial aid information. A simple Google search for “financial aid” produces a myriad of web links. However, because much of the information does not easily translate into actionable steps, guidance from a knowledgeable institutional agent remains essential. As Alicia Dowd states,

Given students’ stories about the reticence of institutional agents, one viable alternative would be to turn to counterspaces for financially marginalized students. In such spaces, students would be able to connect with and gain valuable insider information from others like Tanya who have figured out how the system works and are willing to share their insights. We infer that no such counterspaces existed on any of the universities in our study because support from peers who were also trying to make ends meet was never mentioned.

Deborah Wornock and Allison Hurst’s examination of a failed attempt at student organizing based on social class helps explain why there was no mention of counterspaces in our students’ discussions of their financial distress.²² Wornock and Hurst found that collective organizing was difficult because of lower-income students’ invisibility on campus. They are invisible because there are few visible markers of class differences that would enable them to readily identify each other. In addition, lower-income students are often off campus when not in class because they are more likely to live and work off campus. Consequently, even if one found a way to identify the other “poor kids” on campus, time to meet, network, and build the trust needed to start a student organization and provide mutual support is in short supply.

The other barriers to collective organizing center largely on the difficulties of claiming poverty as an identity for one’s self. Students struggled with the fact that one’s class status is largely seen by others as an individual failure rather than a collective or structural issue. Low-income students’ class status is also something that they are actively trying to change or reject by going to college, so it is not an aspect of themselves that they want to claim as part of their personal identity.

Wornock and Hurst conclude that “because of the absurdity” of celebrating one’s poverty in the ways one might celebrate one’s blackness, colleges must recognize that “organizing around social class identity is fundamentally different from organizing around other identities, such as race or sexual orientation.”²³ This means that creating counterspaces for lower-income students requires more thoughtful action than simply adding it to the list of needs met through the diversity or multicultural student affairs office.