The Emotional Labor of Being a Student Today: Choosing Responsibility

The emotional labor of being a student today extends far beyond attending classes and completing assignments. Students are expected to perform academically while also managing financial pressures, maintaining social connections, managing mental health, and appearing resilient and capable at all times. For some of us, education is not just a personal pursuit, it is the discovery of a passion and the foundation of a future career. The responsibility we carry alongside our studies can include employment, caregiving, and the emotional weight of supporting others. As a student and a mother, I have experienced first-hand how the expectations placed on students can conflict with the realities of life, forcing difficult decisions that are often invisible to institutions but deeply felt by those living them.

I am a mother of two children, ages 2 and 4, which means my responsibilities extend far beyond the classroom. One of the most challenging aspects of returning to school while breastfeeding was the lack of a designated, private space to pump. With my first child, upon asking for a place to pump at school, I was told they could place a chair in a restroom for me. After explaining that a restroom is not a sanitary space, nor allowed as an option under Title IX, I was offered the faculty breakroom for privacy, but told there was no place other than a restroom to clean my pump parts, and I would have to find someone to let me in each day. The process was not only physically demanding, but emotionally exhausting. I found myself anxious about maintaining my milk supply while also trying to keep up academically, constantly worrying about falling behind, and unwanted attention from being late to my next class after pumping. After that semester, I began advocating for change for breastfeeding and pumping students. The process took time, persistence, and vulnerability, but it taught me advocacy is not easy, and that sometimes you must be willing to speak up for yourself and others. Through continued advocacy, the school created four additional pumping rooms on campus.

I have also experienced firsthand how higher education systems overlook the needs of student parents. When I graduated from my associate’s program, my son was six months old and exclusively breastfed. I reached out in advance to ask whether a private space would be available where I could feed him and was told someone would assist me in leaving the floor during the four-hour ceremony. I wasn’t accommodated. As a result, I wore him throughout the event, balancing one of the most meaningful academic milestones of my life with the immediate needs of my child.

The following semester was my first full-time semester at a university. Here I revisited the lack of a designated space for pumping at school. The room that was available to me was also available to any student that wanted a private space. The Title IX coordinator told me it was a first come, first serve basis, and I could not reserve the room for my pumping times. After multiple conversations with other students sleeping in, and using the room for business calls and meetings, one of my professors created a sign-up sheet on the door with my pumping times unavailable because the stress was so bad. Stress is a known factor for reducing milk supply, and my baby needed me.

That same semester I faced a similar challenge when my program required an architectural field trip, touring New York City. My son was nine months old and still exclusively breastfed, a bottle refuser. Rather than miss out on the opportunity, I spoke to my professor and the Dean, and he accompanied me on the trip. Traveling with an infant on an airplane, walking six miles a day, navigating the subway systems with my class while baby wearing required planning, determination, and resilience. It was physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding. It was hard, but I did it, and the pride that followed, the commitment to my education and motherhood was beyond rewarding. Those experiences showed me that being a student and a mother are not competing identities. They are roles that can coexist, even when the path requires extra effort.

I am committed to my education and proud to be back in school, however, motherhood introduced new responsibilities that also required my full attention – late nights caring for my child, physical recovery, pumping at school, and the constant balancing act of meeting my family’s needs while trying to maintain academic performance. Eventually, I made the difficult decision to step down to part-time enrollment so that I could better care for my family and protect my health during this demanding season of life.

This decision had an immediate consequence: I lost my transfer scholarship. While I understand the policy, the experience revealed a gap in how higher education systems support students with caregiving responsibilities. The emotional impact was significant. I felt disappointment, frustration, and fear about my financial future, but I knew I had made the responsible choice. That moment forced me to redefine success-not as maintaining full-time status at any cost, but as making decisions rooted in responsibility, love and stability for my family.

This experience was important because it reshaped my understanding of resilience. Resilience is often portrayed as pushing through a hardship without slowing down, but I learned it sometimes means adjusting your path to protect what matters most. It also made me aware of the invisible burdens so many students carry. Student parents comprise one in five undergraduates in the U.S., and according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, 77% of part-time college students and 39% of full-time college students are employed. Student parents, caregivers, and working adults must navigate a college system designed for individuals without these responsibilities. Our commitment to education is not diminished by these roles, it is strengthened by them. In my experience, becoming a part-time student has allowed me to maintain my current GPA of 3.69.

For humanity to progress and evolve, higher education institutions must recognize and support the diverse realities of today’s students. Policies that automatically remove financial aid or scholarships when students reduce their course load can unintentionally penalize responsible decision-making. Institutions should consider more flexible scholarship structures, expand childcare support, and enact policies that acknowledge caregiving as a legitimate and valuable responsibility. Supporting student parents is not only an act of compassion, but also an investment in families, communities and future generations.

I hope to inspire change by sharing openly and advocating for students whose voices are overlooked or are afraid to vocalize themselves. My experience has taught me perseverance, time management, compassion, and the ability to prioritize long-term goals. These qualities strengthen both academic communities and society as a whole. By continuing my education despite obstacles, I am modeling determination for my children and demonstrating that progress is possible even when the path is not linear.

Others can learn from my experience that success is not defined by uninterrupted achievement, but by the courage to make responsible choices during difficult moments. My voice represents many students who quietly balance school with caregiving, employment, and personal challenges. By sharing our stories, we can help institutions see the full reality of student life and encourage systems that support, not punish, responsibility and resilience. In doing so, we move closer to a more humane and equitable vision of education for all.