This spring, UCSB’s Humanities and Fine Arts Division hosted a creativity contest to highlight the work of creative students across the UCSB campus. The following essay won third place in the prose category.
Confessions of Overworked UCSB Resident Assistants
By Courtney Poon
Names have been changed for privacy reasons.
More than 100 miles northwest of Los Angeles, nestled comfortably between the Pacific Ocean and the Santa Ynez Mountains, where crystal-clear waves disguise a murky underbelly, UC Santa Barbara sits atop rugged cliffs against a glimmering horizon. Raggedy seaweed smothers the coastline, providing the perfect nest for sand fleas to fester. Cozy-looking students in sweatpants and sandals meander towards the tarred shore in herds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the/a fiery ball plummeting into the golden horizon, painting the sky a lush lilac before vanishing into the starry night. Mesmerized by the view, they murmur in disbelief, “Can you believe we go to a school where the beach is our backyard?”
But there’s one person not caught in the sunset’s hypnotic gaze: Rose. After a tiring day of studying, going to classes and working her second job, Rose has a weekly resident assistant (RA) staff meeting, and afterwards she has a midterm to study for, except one of her residents asked to meet with her later, and afterwards Rose is on duty tonight —so will she even have time to plan another event or write that other paper or catch the sunset?
All of these thoughts swirl inside Rose’s head, a cyclone on the verge of swallowing her whole. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but according to Rose, sometimes that’s how it feels being an RA. Tasked with ensuring the safety and well-being of residents, RAs work at UCSB’s eight residence halls and five apartment complexes, and take on the roles of mentor, crisis counselor, peer leader, community builder, event programmer, and security guard. RAs receive a biweekly stipend of $40 or $90, depending on their housing assignment, and a weekly meal plan or a parking spot, also depending on their housing assignment, but -most importantly - they receive rent-free housing in their designated community. It’s the main reason Rose decided to apply to become a RA, and it’s the main reason why RA positions are so highly competitive among students. To a first-generation, low-income college student like Rose, rent-free housing is so much more than just a place to live - it’s security.
Beyond UCSB lies the neighboring college town Isla Vista, where an unprecedented housing crisis has students in precarious living situations with scummy leasing companies, cockroach infestations, and soaring rent prices. It’s almost impossible not to know someone in IV who hasn’t lived in their car, couch-surfed, moved to a hotel, or deferred a quarter because they couldn’t find reasonably priced housing. Even before IV’s housing crisis, financially-stricken college students have always been desperate for affordable housing, and the university is well-aware. The security of free housing draws eager RAs in until it’s too late to turn back.
It’s 4 a.m. The phone rings. Rose doesn’t know who or what is going to be on the other end of the line. She has to answer––her livelihood depends on it.
According to the university’s housing website, RAs are students who are “ready for a challenge” and willing to be “present and engaged in the community.” However, according to Rose, being “present and engaged in the community” when you feel unable to leave is, in her own words, “traumatizing.” It doesn’t matter if Rose is having an awful day or simply wants to be left alone; her residents’ needs come first.
When Rose is on campus, she knows that any of her 70 residents could stop her to vent about their latest fight with a roommate or their struggle to adjust to university life or their mental health concerns. While she cares deeply about her residents, Rose carries the burden of always needing to be present: emotionally, physically, and mentally. When she wants to party in Isla Vista on a Friday night, Rose knows that she can’t be “present and engaged in her community” if she returns tipsy and resorts to sneaking into her own home. Even when she’s in her room, there’s the underlying anxiety that any of her residents could knock at her door, demanding her attention. Even when she leaves her room to use the bathroom, there’s an uneasy feeling that she’s putting on a cheerful front for her residents, a facade that leaves her feeling hollow inside. When Rose tries to sleep at night, she’s restless. When she’s on-call, she can’t relax. She knows that her phone could ring at any hour, alerting her to any emergencies needing her immediate attention, from a locked-out resident to a report of sexual assault.
UCSB’s RA positions hold a stated requirement of 10-18 hours per week––but 24 hours a day, Rose can’t help but feel on.
Holly felt a massive weight off her shoulders when she found out she had been accepted to become an RA. She had been banking on getting the position; without it, she would have been houseless. She was even more relieved to hear that she would have her own rent-free studio apartment, which would have cost anywhere from $1000 to upwards of $2000 per month in the area.
But this security came at a cost that Holly wasn’t prepared for: she was solely responsible for supporting nearly 200 residents in her apartment complex. How was she supposed to take care of 200 other people when she had trouble just taking care of herself sometimes? “I was trying to juggle classes, personal life, RA duties…it got really overwhelming,” she said. “Since I lived where I worked, I couldn’t get peace. I was always anxious, even in my own home.”
Holly told herself she could handle it––she had to. If she couldn’t handle it, she’d lose her home.
In particular, Holly remembers when she was notified that one of her residents reportedly had a gun and was threatening to shoot others. She immediately told the resident who notified her to report the incident to the police. What else was she supposed to do about potential gun violence? Was she supposed to put herself in harm’s way? The police came and arrested the suspected resident, but Holly’s supervisors weren’t pleased. “I got in a ton of trouble because I didn’t follow the exact protocol,” she recalls. “[My supervisors] wanted me to confront him.” Apparently, Holly was supposed to put herself in harm’s way.
Throughout the school year, the residents’ demands began to pile up. “Someone was selling drugs from their apartment,” she continues. “And then a lot more residents had serious mental health issues, and I had to make sure they got the help they needed. You’re taking care of 10 different people who are dealing with something, all at once.”
Despite her best efforts, Holly felt pieces of herself begin to drift away. Her favorite activities didn’t interest her anymore. Bit by bit, her mental health started to decline, and Holly began to isolate herself from her friends. All she wanted to do was stay in bed; she couldn’t bring herself to go to class or finish her assignments. Holly slowly abandoned her duties as an RA, finding herself unable to complete the bare minimum. Towards the end of spring term, her depression reached a point where quitting seemed like the only option. How could she continue to take care of her residents when she couldn’t even bring herself to leave the apartment? At that point, her higher-ups didn’t care to fight for her to stay anyways.
After Holly announced on a Monday that she was leaving, her supervisors asked her how soon she could move out. She had a midterm on Wednesday, but she told them she could leave by Thursday, although she’d have to stay with friends for the remainder of the school year. Still, her supervisors asked her to leave on Thursday.
“I failed the fuck out of that midterm because I was so busy packing,” Holly remarks, the corners of her mouth curving into a weak grin. “Yeah, that was super shitty.”
RAs are so busy looking out for their residents, but who’s looking out for them? Some say that lead staff can be extremely supportive, going as far as to bend the rules to lessen the burdens of the job. “The higher-ups are just as overworked and are constantly being pushed in every way by this job,” fellow RA Brandon said. “Any support they can offer is limited to letting you talk out your feelings for an hour and then sending you back to the same situation.”
Yet, there is a silver lining. RAs often develop a strong bond with each other, the kind of bond that only emerges after being put through incredibly intense situations day in and out. “One of the main unifying forces in my team was how ill-prepared we felt to handle the job,” Brandon said. Rose shares that view. “The best support comes from my fellow RAs who look out for and uplift one another as we all struggle together,” she said.
Fields of pale clouds nonchalantly drift about in the impossibly blue sky with no certain destination in mind. Towering palm trees sway in a cool breeze, their leaves gently cascading down and kissing the sand beneath them. Contemplating the crashing waves, Rose lets her gaze linger upon a flock of seagulls gliding past a lone surfer. This is one of Rose’s few spare moments, when she is finally able to escape to the beach and drown her occupied mind in the ocean’s soothing sounds.
When Rose is able to take a step back, she can begin to appreciate all of the friendships and leadership and communication skills she’s developed as an RA. “It’s a grossly underpaid job, we’re contractually obligated to spend most of our nights in the buildings, we constantly have to be good role models so we rarely get opportunities to go out and have fun.” She pauses for a breath. “But I love the residents that I get to work with and find it to be very rewarding overall.”
To excel at being an RA is to sacrifice your sleep, time, and attention. However, neither Rose, Holly, nor Brandon were prepared for their mental health to be so devastated by these sacrifices. “I think students who are interested in becoming RAs deserve to know what it really takes for this role,” Rose declares, her voice steadily rising above the ocean waves. “They need to make sure they can handle it.”
Courtney Poon is a fourth-year UCSB student majoring in both Sociology and Communication and minoring in Professional Writing.