The Unwritten Rules of College

Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in higher education’s embrace of “grit” narratives. Angela Duckworth’s popularization of grit as a predictor of success met with initial agreement across college campuses, where administrators and faculty bought into its message of overcoming obstacles through determination.^[ii] On the surface, this seemed like  great advice. Why not encourage students to work hard and be “resilient”? But the grit narrative carried a darker payload. By focusing on individual psychological traits, it systematically diverts attention from the structural barriers that make persistence necessary in the first place. When one celebrates learners who “grit their way” through poverty, discrimination, or inadequate preparation, it’s essentially applauding their ability to overcome systemic roadblocks without complaint. The implicit message is that if you can’t succeed despite hostile conditions, the problem lies with your character, not the conditions themselves.

This framework proves particularly harmful for learners from historically minoritized backgrounds, who find themselves caught in an impossible double bind. If they struggle academically, their difficulties get attributed to insufficient effort. If they succeed, their achievements get credited to exceptional grit.  Either way, the focus is diverted from institutional reform. It’s worth mentioning that this individualistic lens conveniently absolves institutions of responsibility for creating more equitable learning environments. The psychological toll of constantly navigating these hidden barriers extends far beyond academic performance. For many learners, whether they’re first in their families to attend college, neurodivergent, students of color, LGBTQ+, or members of other historically excluded groups, many describe feeling like perpetual outsiders in spaces that weren’t designed with them in mind.^[iii]  This sense of not belonging isn’t just uncomfortable.  It can be educationally devastating. When learners feel unwelcome or unsafe, their cognitive resources get diverted from learning to survival. They spend mental energy monitoring their environment for threats, managing their emotional responses to microaggressions, and constantly questioning whether their struggles reflect personal inadequacy or systemic hostility. This hypervigilance is exhausting, creating health risks caused by chronic stress.^[iv]

Universities have become particularly skilled at avoiding these issues. Rather than examining how their policies, practices, and cultural norms might contribute to student difficulties, they invest in stress management workshops, mindfulness programs, and resilience training. The underlying message suggests that learners need to develop better coping mechanisms rather than institutions needing to create more supportive environments. This approach effectively privatizes what should be understood as public problems, turning systemic issues into individual responsibilities. The classroom dynamics that emerge from these broader patterns reveal themselves in subtle but powerful ways. Sara Ahmed’s work on “affective economies” has helped foreground how emotions circulate through educational spaces, sticking to certain bodies and creating invisible boundaries between learners and faculty.^[v]  In predominantly white institutions, for example, students of color often report feeling hyper-visible when discussions turn to race or diversity, suddenly expected to speak for their entire demographic group or defend perspectives they may not personally hold. These affective dynamics shape how learners listen, respond, and engage with course material in ways that go far beyond those immediately affected. When discussions about racism, sexism, or other forms of systemic oppression arise, white learners frequently exhibit reaction formations of denial or deflection of the kind so politicized in recent years.^[vi]   This too is its own form a student resistance.

This “affective attunement” to classroom spaces creates uneven learning opportunities that reproduce rather than challenge existing hierarchies. Learners who feel comfortable and welcome can take intellectual risks, ask questions, and engage in the kind of vulnerable exploration that deep learning requires. Students who feel unwelcome or under surveillance learn to minimize their presence, avoid controversial topics, and protect themselves from additional exposure to harm. The resulting educational experiences differ dramatically, even when learners sit in the same classroom and ostensibly receive the same instruction. Faculty often remain oblivious to these dynamics, particularly when their own educational histories align with institutional norms. They may interpret learner silence as disengagement, student criticality as disrespect, or inclusive measures as special treatment. This misreading of learner needs can create feedback loops that intensify rather than interrupt problematic patterns.

Added together these collective dynamics can generate an atmosphere of intimidation operating below the surface of overt action or speech. They manifest in conditions learners feel before they can articulate, especially since many arrive at college with expectations of a positive experience. Michel  Foucault explored many of these often hidden dynamics in his critiques of institutional authority.  Foucault formulation of the disciplinary mechanism he termed “biopower” applies well to the forces within higher education that shape not just what students learn but how they experience themselves as learners.^[vii]  More than a mere fixture of hidden curriculum, this can be seen in the emerging use of data surveillance systems collecting learning analytics that track learner online behavior to early warning systems that flag “at-risk” students based on algorithmic assessments, which monitor and categorize learner performance in increasingly granular ways.

Often originating as well-meaning learner support mechanisms, these systems paradoxically can increase rather than reduce learner anxiety. When students know their every click, attendance record, and assignment submission is being tracked and analyzed, they can feel like subjects of institutional observation rather than partners in educational endeavors. The constant data collection creates a “surveillance pedagogy” transforming learning spaces into sites of perpetual evaluation and control.^[viii] Learner resistance in the context constitutes a form of counter-conduct to reclaim self-worth in response an institution reducing them to statistics and potential problems.^[ix]  Here again, what administrators interpret as boredom, anxiety, silence, or avoidance may actually represent strategic responses to   oppressive or dehumanizing environments.

The neoliberal demand that individuals “manage” their emotions and adapt to hostile conditions without structural support complicates this picture further. Students who struggle with anxiety, depression, or other conditions find themselves caught between institutional expectations for emotional self-regulation and lived experiences of systemic stress. When universities respond to learner mental health crises by expanding counseling services while maintaining the very policies and practices that generate distress, they effectively medicalize social problems and individualize collective struggles. This medicalization process proves particularly harmful for learners whose difficulties stem from navigating systemic oppression rather than intrinsic psychological pathology. A First-Gen learner overwhelmed by unfamiliar expectations doesn’t primarily need therapy. They need institutional support for developing the cultural capital their peers inherited. A student experiencing racial microaggressions doesn’t need medication, but rather a campus environment that actively challenges rather than tolerating discriminatory behavior.

Campuses typically don’t scramble for answers until significant numbers of learners begin to struggle, drop out, or fail to thrive. When they do respond, quick fixes like additional screening mechanisms, remedial programs, or support services often backfire by further stigmatizing difference rather than addressing underlying causes. These well-intentioned interventions can inadvertently create what sociologists term “deficit frameworks” that locate problems within students rather than examining systemic issues.^[x]  Breaking free from these patterns requires more than good intentions or diversity programming. It takes a comprehensive examination of how everyday institutional practices reproduce failure. This means scrutinizing everything from curriculum design and assessment methods to residence hall policies and campus traditions that may unfairly disadvantage certain learners. It also means recognizing that learner resistance often contains valuable information about institutional shortcomings. When students report feeling unwelcome, unsafe, or unsupported, their experiences deserve serious consideration as evidence about campus climate. Addressing this  requires fundamental changes to institutional structures, policies, and practices. This work is neither simple nor comfortable, but it’s essential for creating educational environments where all learners can thrive. Most importantly, it means understanding that hidden barriers aren’t accidental byproducts of institutional operation but systematic features that serve particular interests.