I wasn’t supposed to end up here.

Not in the career I love kind of way. More like the I-was-a-kid-who-failed-math-and-got-sent-to-the-principal’s-office-regularly kind of way.

I didn’t even think about college until the 11th grade. Before that, my academic performance could generously be described as “barely there.” I coasted through public school feeling mostly invisible, not particularly good at anything other than being loud and curious—two traits that, I’d later discover, are incredibly useful as a writer but not especially celebrated in a 9th grade algebra class.

By the time I reached senior year, something in me clicked. Maybe it was panic, maybe maturity, maybe just stubbornness. I spent the whole year making up for my past missteps, and I got into a small college. I didn’t know what I was doing or who I wanted to be. I felt like an impostor surrounded by people who seemed to belong.

Then one day, during my first year, a writing professor handed back an essay I’d written. There were red marks all over it — the classic, humbling sea of edits — but in the margin, he had scribbled a few words that cracked my world open:

“You’re an incredibly talented storyteller. You should stick with it.”

That sentence was a turning point. Someone in higher education saw something in me I couldn’t yet see in myself. I declared myself an English major not long after. I’ve been a full-time writer ever since. I’ll never know what would’ve happened without that moment of belief — but I’m pretty glad I didn’t have to find out.

That’s what higher education can do. Not just teach or train or credential, but transform.

And that’s why what’s happening right now — the budget cuts, the DEI rollbacks, the constant political attacks on faculty, students, and the mission of higher education — it all feels so heartbreaking. So personal. So urgent.

In the past year alone, we’ve watched lawmakers propose billions in cuts to student aid, slash DEI programs, and threaten the very foundation of research and belonging in academia. The NIH is now blocking funding for institutions with DEI offices that might violate vague anti-discrimination rules. Schools are being told to retreat from the work of equity and inclusion — or risk losing the support they depend on to survive.

Even Harvard — yes, Harvard — is under siege. From congressional hearings to federal threats to revoke tax-exempt status, it’s clear that no institution is safe from the political tug-of-war we’re living through. And yet, Harvard is fighting back. Faculty are pushing forward. Staff are showing up. Scholars are writing, researching, organizing, and refusing to back down.

Because here’s the thing: higher education was never meant to be easy. But it was always meant to matter.

I see so many of you — working long hours to build bridge programs, expand access, create inclusive curriculum, and serve your communities with everything you’ve got. I see faculty mentoring first-gen students, staff launching food pantries and peer networks, researchers studying the most critical issues of our time — from climate change to cancer to community violence.

I see you. And what you do matters.

Higher education isn’t perfect. We know that. But at its best, it is a window — into other worlds, other perspectives, new relationships, and a deeper understanding of who we are. In a culture that often seeks to divide us, this work can be where we find each other. Where we make space to say: You belong here. Your voice matters. We see you.

And right now? We need that more than ever.

I’ve been lucky to spend the past several years as a writer covering higher education. Every day, I get to learn from the thinkers and doers who are making it better. You remind me that even when the headlines are bleak, there is so much good still happening behind the scenes — and sometimes, even in the spotlight.

You’re making room for students who didn’t always think college was for them. You’re advancing research that could save lives. You’re fighting for justice, inclusion, and connection in a system that’s often asked too much and given too little.

I know the morale is low. I know the burnout is real. But if you’re looking for a reason to keep going, let me offer this:

You never know whose life you’re changing.

It might be the quiet kid in the back of the classroom. The one who hasn’t found their voice yet. The one who just needs one person to believe in them.

It might be the future writer, scientist, nurse, or social worker who doesn’t know yet that they’re brilliant.

You might be their red-ink-in-the-margin moment.

So here’s to all of you who keep showing up. Who keep doing the work. Who keep believing in the transformative power of education — and in each other.

Together, we will rise.
And I’ll be here, cheering you on, and telling your stories.

What’s keeping YOU going?

Now more than ever, we need to unite, encourage each other, and inspire each other to keep going.

So we want to know—what’s keeping you going right now?

• A student’s unexpected thank you?

• A powerful conversation with a colleague?

• A reminder that what you do still makes a difference?

Tell us what’s keeping you going. Submit anonymously here