The shame and burden of student loan debt

Reflections from the other side of loan forgiveness

Photo by Dev Asangbam on Unsplash

I remember sobbing when I told Kate the amount of debt I had amassed in my eight years of graduate school. “I owe $91,000,” I muttered, overcome with worry and shame. I hadn’t fully realized that during my PhD program, my debt had risen to such extreme levels. The cold, hard reality that Kate and I could barely afford even the income-driven repayments only sank in when I started exploring my repayment options after earning my PhD.

It wasn’t that I was completely oblivious to the debt I had incurred, but like many others, I believed I would land a well-paying job post-graduation that would allow me to pay it off in a reasonable amount of time. What I hadn’t fully accounted for was the snowballing interest and the scarcity of decent-paying jobs in nonprofits and higher education, my chosen trades.

In America, we often perpetuate the myth that more education means more income, but we also know that this applies primarily to certain sectors, careers, and identities. Also, those figures don’t take into account how much we end up paying for student loans once interest accumulates over time.

While I still believe that education is a worthwhile investment, that does not imply that its benefits are monetary.

Working in higher education doesn’t bring in the $$

My first graduate program was a professional MA that did not offer teaching or research assistantships, and there were few scholarships. I focused primarily on my studies, avoiding extra jobs to have more time and energy for school work. In retrospect, I could have been more frugal, but I also wasn’t extravagant.

My two years in that program resulted in $50,000 in debt, with interest rates around 8.5%. This interest didn’t stop accruing when I entered my academic MA/PhD program a few years later.

Photo by Tim Gouw on Unsplash

I can only imagine what the numbers would have been if I had undergraduate debt. I had been fortunate to receive a good mix of scholarships, grants, and parental contributions for college.

My first job out of my professional MA program paid me $35,000 a year in 2008, and my second paid me $45,000 in 2010. Both were in higher education administration. I couldn’t see myself working outside of the nonprofit or higher education sectors.

I knew these career decisions would make it difficult to repay my high-interest loans in a timely manner, but I wanted to do work that mattered to me. I was determined to pursue a PhD and could not imagine a different career path for myself.

I had also heard about the Public Service Student Loan Forgiveness Program (PSLF) and thought I might eventually have these loans forgiven after 10 years of public service.

6 years in a PhD not paying high-interest loans

When I decided to pursue a PhD in 2011, I knew my loan interest would skyrocket because I would not be able to make payments for another 5-6 years and would not be required to pay while in school.

I devised a plan to help offset this by borrowing the maximum amount of subsidized loans—ones that wouldn’t accrue interest while I was in school. This allowed me to pay down some of my high-interest loans, cover the small amount of university fees I was responsible for, and fund conferences, workshops, and other professional development opportunities. I borrowed an additional $20,000 in loans during my MA/PhD, half of which went towards refinancing my other loans.

I’ve spoken before about the problems with the aspirational nature of PhD programs:

Critiquing the culture of unpaid and underpaid work in academia

Like many, I believed I needed additional training and a broader network to “make it” in academia, so I took out additional loans for conferences and writing courses. My department offered up to $750 a year for conferences, with other small funding pockets each year, but one conference could eat up that amount. I averaged about three conferences a year, seeing it as an investment in my career.

These investments helped me land my lecturer position at an excellent department in my field because I met one of the committee members at a conference, had a strong professional network, and was appealing because of my publication record. That lecturer job eventually turned into my tenure-track “dream job.”

The advice to attend conferences and invest in professional development is not entirely unfounded, but there is no guarantee that the investment will result in an academic job. I worked hard to become a hirable academic, but I also got lucky by being in the right place at the right time. Many of my brilliant peers haven’t been as fortunate, despite working just as hard. Successfully securing a job as an academic involves a combination of privilege and luck.

At the same time, my lecturer job out of graduate school paid me $50,000 a year, and I had amassed $90,000 in debt after interest snowballed. Even consolidating my loans meant my interest rate would be around 7% moving forward. I might have won the academic job lottery, but I had to pay high taxes just to play the game.

Dealing with my shame

The harsh truth hit me just before I confided in Kate about my feelings of shame and dread regarding my debt. If I wanted to stay in academia, that might mean paying a heavy monthly payment for more than 10 years. And if PSLF wasn’t improved, it might mean 20 years before forgiveness, because so few people were being granted forgiveness through PSLF at the time. (The program has been mismanaged for years.)

It’s only recently that I’ve worked through my feelings of shame around amassing such debt. I grew up in a frugal household, with my father frequently declaring his pride in being debt-free. He also liked to brag about how quickly he paid back the $1000 he borrowed as an undergrad, despite having no idea how much more unaffordable college is today. But I believed in the myth that education could only improve my financial prospects, assuming everything would work out eventually.

And when the debt came calling, I felt foolish, ignorant, and careless.

Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash

I also grew up in a cultural environment that perpetuated the idea that “government handouts” like loan forgiveness were giving something unearned—a logic never applied to businesses receiving tax breaks, bailouts, or loans. Despite shedding most of these beliefs, I still felt shame about potentially receiving loan forgiveness through PSLF and felt irresponsible for acquiring so much debt.

Once I consolidated my loans in 2017 and began repayment, the rules meant my clock on public service would start over and my years working in education prior to then wouldn’t count towards forgiveness. I would be eligible for forgiveness in 2027, but I constantly feared conservative politicians might cut the program, leading to further debt accumulation.

My loans continued to cause stress in the back of my mind.

COVID loan repayment relief

The pandemic brought an unexpected lifeline. Federal loan repayments paused, and the Biden administration’s PSLF reforms allowed my prior public service work in higher education before my PhD and consolidation to qualify for the 10 years required for forgiveness.

My loans were officially discharged under the PSLF program in March 2024.

The relief was immense. I no longer fear PSLF disappearing on a political whim, leaving me in debt into my 60s.

Additionally, entrepreneurship and living outside the U.S. would be impossible if I still had years on my PSLF clock, as entrepreneurship doesn’t qualify as public service, and we must serve U.S.-based organizations. As my dear readers know, I’ve started a business for scholarly writing and career coaching, and my partner and I are relocating abroad. Loan forgiveness has facilitated the recent changes in my career and personal life. I am immensely grateful for this reprieve, but I am also aware that the system has failed so many who equally deserve that relief.

Claiming my service

The shame I once carried has evaporated as I acknowledged the value of my years in public service, which far exceeded the required ten years with roles in the Peace Corps, higher education, and nonprofits.

Had I chosen a different career path, perhaps I could have made enough money to pay off the debt on my own. Many of my PhD cohort went on to earn much more than my tenure-track salary as UX researchers, but I chose to educate Texas' young people for a lower salary, not including the two years I earned significantly less as a lecturer.

Yes, different career choices could have led to faster debt repayment and less interest accrual, but my commitment to education and social impact outweighed financial gain.

I now see that the government paid only a fraction of what my years of service were worth. They got a great deal in exchange for paying for my education.

Closing thoughts

My story is far from unique. Countless individuals struggle under the weight of student loan debt, believing the myth that more education means more financial freedom instead of less.

Reflecting on my situation, I doubt I would have changed much. I would have been more frugal when possible, but that wouldn’t have saved me significantly in the end.

Loan forgiveness has given me the freedom to embrace new opportunities without the burden of debt and shame. I want the same freedom for everyone.

Education should always be considered an investment rather than a burden. Imagine the ways we could transform American society if we made that a reality.