By Tara Kent, Ph.D., CUNY-Brooklyn College
We are all too familiar with the financial rollercoaster ride facing higher education—low enrollment here, a sprinkle of budget mismanagement there. So, let’s paint a picture. Imagine you’re holding an ice cream cone on a blazing hot summer day. Since this is your imagination, you get to decide where you’re standing—beach, boardwalk, mountains, wherever your happy place is.
Now, because we work in higher ed, that cone isn’t just a cone. It represents the foundation of a college or university. The sturdy structure. The brick and mortar. Facilities and grounds crews. Students. Faculty. Admissions. Financial aid. And of course, we dare not forget the registrar or the bursar. Add in administrators and executives from every program and every department—everyone who keeps the place standing upright.
So, what flavor are we putting on top of this solid structure? Chocolate? Butter pecan? Go wild—it’s your cone. But as we start piling on scoop after scoop, that cone gets heavier. Those scoops? They’re financial hardships. Declining enrollment and retention. Layoffs. Budget cuts. Employees stuck in place, frustrated because promotions never came. Each scoop adds weight.
And that cherry on top? That’s our mental and physical health—the part that suffers quietly under the pressure of all those chaotic scoops stacked sky-high. Then it happens. The cherry slides off. The ice cream starts to melt. And before you can grab a napkin, the whole thing collapses under the weight. Suddenly, that sturdy little cone doesn’t feel so sturdy anymore. Now you’re probably thinking, where is she going with this? Honestly? I’m still mapping it out—but stay with me.
If you keep carrying the full weight of everything straining higher education right now—like that overloaded ice cream cone—eventually you’re going to melt. And when that happens, what’s left behind isn’t just a mess on the sidewalk. It’s psychological and physical distress born from burnout. Now you’re probably wondering, how does she know this? Because I’ve eaten a lot of ice cream.
Understanding Workplace Trauma in Higher Education
In higher education, workplace trauma is rarely discussed openly, yet it quietly shapes the experiences of faculty, staff, and administrators across campuses. As defined by the Work Peace Institute, it is not limited to dramatic or singular events; rather, it often develops through prolonged exposure to institutional instability, unrealistic expectations, chronic understaffing, restructuring, enrollment pressures, and the emotional labor required to support students in crisis. Over time, these cumulative stressors can create an environment where psychological and even physical harm becomes normalized.
The impact reaches far beyond individual discomfort. Institutions may experience declining morale, disengagement, absenteeism, and increased turnover, while employees endure sustained stress, anxiety, emotional exhaustion, and stress-related health concerns. In this context, workplace trauma is not simply about interpersonal conflict—it is embedded in organizational culture. When strain becomes the standard operating condition, burnout is no longer an exception; it becomes predictable.
Psychological Distress: The Invisible Weight
Desmond Tutu once said, “Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” The problem is, not everyone operates with that mindset. When disrespect, disregard, or cruelty are baked into an organization’s culture, it can leave a person feeling sad, worthless, isolated, and anxious—and to top it off, add budget cuts, layoffs, restructuring, and constant uncertainty.
Picture this: you’ve spent the week buried in enrollment numbers, FTEs, and compliance deadlines. By Friday, you’re running on empty—emotionally drained, physically spent, barely holding it together. You finally think you’ve reached the finish line, and then your phone rings. It’s your boss. They’re yelling, so loud it could make the speakers at Yankee Stadium feel like a whisper. But this isn’t just personal—their frustration is the echo of a system stretched to its limits, an overloaded structure threatening to crumble.
Stress slams into you from every angle, and suddenly it’s clear: the weight of it all is too heavy to carry unprotected. This is the moment to remember your worth, reinforce your boundaries, and take care of yourself—so you can keep doing the quality work you know you’re capable of. If you don’t, you risk melting under the pressure, and no amount of talent or effort will keep the structure standing.
Physical Distress: When the Body Keeps the Score
If it’s not psychological distress, your body will eventually feel it. I remember back in the early 2000s, working for a small recruitment firm. If you’ve been in admissions, you’ll probably relate to the grind of recruiting: spending endless days reaching out to people, not just gauging interest, but also making sure they meet all the requirements to boost your institution’s acceptance rate and ultimately maximize yield before the semester begins.
My job was very similar. I contacted professionals looking for career changes, assessed whether their skills matched client needs, and then passed them along, hoping they would get hired—or, in admissions terms, admitted, accepted, and finally enrolled. It’s not easy. It’s stressful. And much like today’s colleges and universities navigating tight budgets, our small business was on the verge of closing.
I remember one particularly stressful day when I began having heart palpitations—I genuinely thought I might be having a heart attack. Thankfully, I wasn’t. But that’s the thing—you need to hear this: if you don’t take care of yourself, your body will start sending messages you can’t ignore. Stress doesn’t just live in your mind; it lives in your heart, your muscles, your sleep. And eventually, it will make you stop, whether you’re ready or not. The lesson? Your well-being isn’t just a nice-to-have. It’s what keeps you showing up, day after day, doing the work you love.
Don’t Melt with the Cone
All of this comes back to one essential truth: the stress, the chaos, the overload isn’t a reflection of your worth or your abilities—it’s the weight of a system that is stretched beyond its limits. The ice cream cone, the screaming boss, the endless spreadsheets—they are all reminders that higher education institutions can strain under their own structural pressures. But you are not the cone. You are the person holding it, and you have the power to protect yourself.
Taking care of your mental and physical health isn’t optional—it’s essential if you want to keep contributing your talent and energy at full force. Boundaries, self-compassion, and knowing when to step back are not signs of weakness—they are acts of strength. By preserving yourself, you not only survive the chaos, but you also maintain the ability to do the quality work that matters, for yourself and for those you serve.
In a culture that too often expects you to carry more than is sustainable, remember: your worth is not measured by how much weight you bear. You can hold your head high, protect your health, and keep moving forward without melting under the pressure.
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