You Have Student Loans

The question itself wasn’t unusual. The tone was what caught me off guard: “You have student loans?”

We were on break during a payments summit, gathered in a small group. A colleague I’d sat next to had inquired about my role and educational background. That led to another colleague sharing that she had just finished paying off her own student loan debt a few years earlier. We laughed together about how some borrowers received student loan forgiveness that we ourselves would have graciously accepted if only we’d qualified.

It was a moment of connection, an exchange that felt both lighthearted and affirming with two White female colleagues.

And then, mid-conversation, another colleague—an Asian female from their team—joined the circle. She turned directly to me: “You have student loans?”

Caught slightly off-guard, I paused. The question was simple, but the way it was asked carried layers. Almost as if having student loan debt was unexpected or something to be frowned upon.

I found myself explaining.

“Yes,” I said. “I have student loans. Like many of the people I know. I have three degrees and a professional license. Fortunately, I was able to self-fund my PhD.”

The break ended soon after, but the question lingered. Not because I was embarrassed, but because it revealed how differently we carry and perceive debt, depending on our backgrounds, families, and communities.

And in that moment, my identity as a Black woman, a first-generation high school graduate, and a corporate professional converged. It carried the weight of cultural assumptions, privilege, and stereotypes colliding in one exchange.

As I later reflected on the exchange, a few themes emerged:

• The paper ceiling rhetoric. Many of us were told that education is the way forward—that if we just earned a degree, doors would open. But those same degrees—once held up as the ticket to success—often came with student loan debt so heavy it reshaped the very opportunities we were chasing. And now, in some circles, even the value of the degree itself is being questioned or diminished.

• Working while studying. I was not a student who could simply “focus on school.” Like millions of Americans, I worked while I studied—juggling classes, assignments, full-time jobs, and family obligations. In doing so, I gained valuable skills too often omitted from the paper ceiling discourse.

• Family support and opportunity gaps. Some families can help with tuition, rent, or books. Mine could not. And that difference—between those who can start adulthood debt-free and those who cannot—isn’t just about money. It’s about generational positioning, opportunity, and advantage in building lasting wealth through education.

• Cultural differences and myths. In some communities, student loan debt is normalized. In others, it’s seen as shameful. Add in stereotypes like the “model minority” myth, and people make assumptions about who “should” or “shouldn’t” have loans—assumptions that miss the complexity of individual stories.

• Psychological safety, mental health, and belonging. In that brief conversation, I realized workplace safety isn’t only physical—it’s psychological. When you admit to debt, do you risk being judged? Will someone see you as less capable, or question your preparedness and belonging? These are silent calculations many of us make before speaking.

The truth is, student loan debt in America is a common burden. As of mid 2025, nearly 42.5 million Americans shoulder federal student loan debt—more than 9 million of them over the age of 50 (The Motley Fool; Kiplinger).

Even former President Barack Obama and former First Lady Michelle Obama— icons of success and achievement—have shared that they carried this burden. President Obama recalled that he and Michelle only finished paying off their student loans shortly before entering the White House. Their story underscores what I’ve long believed: debt is not a character flaw, but a reflection of the systems we’ve been asked to navigate.

For me, student loans are part of a bigger story:

• A grandmother who was a sharecropper but still became a nurse and a homeowner.

• Being the first in my immediate family to graduate from high school and continue on to college.

• Choosing to pursue education, again and again, knowing it came with both opportunity and cost.

  
  

From a Simple Question to Bigger Questions

As a professional, I could have let that moment pass. But as a policy scholar, I can’t help but see the threads it reveals—threads about equity, culture, and the promises and pitfalls of higher education finance.

And as a social network scholar, I also see the ties that bind and the gaps that divide us. In that short exchange, you could map the networks of debt and privilege, silence and disclosure, stigma and solidarity. Student loans are not just individual burdens; they are shared experiences that ripple through our workplaces, our families, and our society at large.

And I’m not alone. Almost everyone carrying the student loan burden has a story worth hearing. Sharing those stories, openly and safely, is how we transform not only workplaces and communities, but also the way we as a nation understand education, debt, and dignity—and, ultimately, the futures we build together.

Reflection Questions

Who made your educational or career journey lighter — or heavier? How did family, friends, or networks shape your path? Have you ever held back from sharing your story at work because of fear of judgment — or concern that you wouldn’t fully belong?

With gratitude,

Dr. Melanie