Debt: $80,000+
Source: College
Estimated years until debt-free: Unknown
Like many of my friends, I remember the evening I told my parents I wanted to go to college. We all have different stories about the moment we took control of our lives. But what we share is this: by signing on a dotted line to incomprehensible terms, we risked everything. We chose education, no matter the cost. In some cases, we alienated ourselves from our families and communities.
By spending money we didn’t have to attend schools we couldn’t afford, we joined an elite class we’d never truly fit into. We are, in a way, without community. As a result of pursuing higher education, I am highly educated and deeply in debt. If you don’t have a similar story of adversity – and you’re not in debt – you’re probably not my friend.
I grew up in a working-class neighborhood outside Cleveland, Ohio, where I was taught that if only I followed the rules, I could succeed. I was so good a student that a guidance counselor suggested Antioch College, a prestigious yet expensive liberal arts school. My mom made it her mission that I attend. She saw that I entered every high school essay contest and applied for every merit-based scholarship that I could. That same year, my father had skipped out on us; I was now 18, and he was legally absolved of all financial responsibility.
With my mother’s help, I paid for my entire first year with scholarships and other merit-based aid. Then, I began living off a credit card.
Horace Mann, the founder of my alma mater, called education “the great equalizer”. In some ways, it’s true. For the poor and working-class student who finds themselves let into a wealthy institution, every part of being there can be an education that helps level the field. At the same time, I felt markedly different than my peers in ways I couldn’t articulate. Before I came to Antioch – where it seemed like half the campus was either vegetarian or vegan – I’d never met anyone who offered political reasons to refuse food.
By the end of my first year, I knew better than to think that people got ahead just by following the rules. My elite peers had something I didn’t, something I might never have, something that was no result of hard work. In high school I’d worked minimum wage jobs just so I could afford to dress like everyone else, scouring discount stores for deals on the latest fashions. At Antioch, people wore “thrift store finds” and lived in intentional squalor, swearing off hygienic and other consumer products that I didn’t have the money to buy.
I was bitter, envious. I felt entitled to what they had – no more, but no less. I was tired of working two or three jobs at a time while going to school and still not having enough. When my second year of college came and the scholarships stopped, I started working as a stripper. As a sex worker I was rolling in cash, but still lacking in financial literacy.
Poor people make choices that wealthier people wouldn’t. We are in debt for reasons those who aren’t can’t comprehend. Rather than explain myself, I gravitate toward those with similar experiences.
After college, I lost my job as a public school teacher when it was revealed that I had worked in the sex industry. The fact that I was a competent teacher made no difference to my critics. It took years to re-establish myself in a new career as a writer. In the meantime, I hemorrhaged debt.
Now, five or so years later, I’ve paid off most my credit cards, but I don’t expect I’ll ever pay off my student loans. With three degrees, and after years of deferment, the amount due hovers somewhere around $80,000. Some people don’t get why. They ask: why did you go to a college you couldn’t afford? Why did you pursue a second and then a third degree if you couldn’t pay off the first one? Why did you pursue degrees in fields that will never pay off? I used to feel ashamed. Then I learned to tell my story, and surrounded myself with people who understood.
People in debt are some of the brightest, most resilient people there are. Today I have no regrets. Coming from little made me the woman I am.