Why I’ll Always Remember This Advice: “Never Be Loyal to the Institution”

I was in graduate school when I first heard a lesson that has stuck with me throughout my career in student affairs and higher education leadership.

Our Dean of Students at the time came to speak to one of our classes. He had been one of my undergraduate history professors, so I already had a sense of his style: sharp, direct, and unafraid to challenge how we think. But nothing prepared me for the words that would stay with me for the next two decades.

He looked at us and said, without hesitation:

The room went quiet. You could see people shift in their seats. It was not what we expected from someone in his role. But he meant every word.

At the time, many of us were just starting out in student affairs. We were optimistic. We believed in helping students succeed, improving campus systems, and making universities more supportive and inclusive. And whether we admitted it or not, we believed that if we worked hard and proved ourselves, the institution would take care of us in return.

He explained that institutions, even those with strong mission statements and well-intentioned leadership, will always do what is best for the institution. It does not matter how much time you give, how late you stay, or how much you care. When budgets shrink, priorities shift, or leadership changes, decisions are made to protect the institution’s interests not the individual employee, not the team that gave up nights and weekends, and not the department that consistently overdelivered. Loyalty, at least the way we tend to think of it, does not guarantee anything in return. That lesson has stayed with me ever since.

Now, years into my career, I have seen it play out more times than I can count. I have watched dedicated professionals people who built programs from scratch, mentored hundreds of students, or managed crises without hesitation laid off, reorganized out of a job, or quietly pushed aside. I have seen people whose entire identities are tied to the institution they work for, and when that job ends, they are left wondering who they are without it.

I have also seen how this culture encourages overwork. There is still an unspoken expectation in some corners of higher education that 40 hours is just a starting point. The people who come in early and stay late get praised, while those who set boundaries are often seen as less committed.

Let me be clear: that is not sustainable. And it is not leadership. That is why that one sentence continues to shape how I approach my work and how I supervise.

I make it a point to talk about boundaries with my team, especially with the graduate students who work in our office. I emphasize it with them because I know how easy it is to internalize the message that your value is tied to how much you give. If no one tells you otherwise early on, it becomes the norm.

My advice to them is this: protect your time. Learn to say no. This field will take more than you can give if you let it.

Unless we have a program or a required meeting, I do not expect anyone to be in the office past 5 PM. And even then, I question why a meeting needs to start at 7 PM. Can it be done earlier? Can it be done more efficiently? Does it even need to happen? The work will still be there tomorrow.

I do my best to model what I ask of others. I have three young children. I plan around school pickups, bedtime routines, and weekend soccer games. I flex my time when needed and am transparent about it not because I want special treatment, but because I want others to see that it is okay to prioritize life outside of work.

This is not about doing the bare minimum. It is about staying in this profession long enough to make a meaningful impact and still have something left for yourself, your family, and your community.

Here is what I have come to believe:

Because when the role ends, when the institution moves on, you are the one who carries the relationships, the experiences, and the impact. Not the job title. Not the department.

This does not mean I am cynical. I still believe in the work we do. I care about the students we serve. I care about the staff I lead and the programs we build together. But I have let go of the idea that institutions will return that care in kind. And that shift has made me a better leader.

We do not talk about this enough with graduate students and early-career professionals. Most graduate programs cover student development theory, assessment, and supervision, but rarely the reality that institutions are systems. And systems are not sentimental. They make decisions based on liability, politics, optics, and budgets. That is not necessarily evil. It is simply how institutions operate.

So if you are new to the field, or somewhere in the middle and feeling stuck, here is what I wish someone had told me more directly:

Because one day, the job will end. Maybe by your choice. Maybe not. Either way, you will leave with whatever you invested in yourself: your skills, your network, your reputation, your values.

Have you had a moment in your student affairs career when this lesson became real? Drop a comment or share this with someone who needs the reminder.