When I first became a parent, I thought I had a good handle on chaotic schedules, emotional outbursts, and sleep deprivation. After all, I work in residence life! I’d managed crisis situations at 2 a.m., mediated roommate conflicts that could rival a soap opera, and helped launch countless student leaders. Parenting shares a lot of those challenges, right?
I was wrong, of course. But I was also more right than I realized.
Living in a residence hall while raising children is its own kind of adventure, equal parts exhaustion and magic. There’s something uniquely intense about the juxtaposition of trying to coax a toddler to sleep while your duty phone lights up about a noise complaint two floors up. Or carefully tiptoeing out of your kid’s bedroom after finally getting them to sleep, only for the fire alarm to go off ten minutes later because someone burned popcorn at midnight. Again.
The Challenges Are Real
Let’s start with the tough stuff. Being on-call while parenting is one of the most complex balancing acts I’ve ever attempted. There’s a deep internal conflict when you’re rocking your sick child to sleep and the duty phone rings because you know someone else needs care, too. Sometimes, I’ve taken calls in whispers from the hallway, silently praying my child wouldn’t wake up from the sudden jolt of the ringtone. When my second kid was a baby, I set up a whole duty command station in my kitchen, replete with a second pair of glasses, so I could dash out of the room. I’ll never forget that time I wrote my duty report with a baby strapped to my back.
Noise is another ever-present challenge. Students laughing in the lounge at 1 a.m., the communal washing machine spinning while I’m trying to do a load of toddler clothes (or that one time someone tried to dry their cleats in the laundry room right above my apartment and it sounded like an elephant dancing…), or weekend parties filtering through shared walls—it’s not exactly a peaceful oasis. And then there are the 6 a.m. fire drills, when I’ve stood outside in pajamas with a baby in one arm and a clipboard in the other, managing accountability and answering questions about evacuation routes while trying to protect tiny ears.
But Then, There’s the Joy
Yet despite the struggles, I wouldn’t trade this experience. Watching my children grow up in a community full of energetic, compassionate, and thoughtful young adults has been one of the greatest gifts of my career.
Resident Assistants have become honorary aunts and uncles, happily entertaining my little ones while I set up a program or navigate a facilities issue. Residents come to events not just for snacks or community credit—but to see my child, who they know by name. I’ve watched students light up as my kid takes the mic at a program to announce something or waddles up to dance at a karaoke night. My children have been passed around at move-in, helped decorate bulletin boards, and received high-fives in the hallway like tiny campus celebrities.
And in return, those same students see me not just as a professional, but as a whole person. They witness the balancing act, the patience, the vulnerability. I’ve had residents confide in me because they saw how I comforted my child and felt safe doing the same. Being a parent in residence life has added depth to my relationships and authenticity to my leadership.
How It’s Changed Me
Being a res lifer made me a better parent. It taught me to listen carefully, even when I’m tired or frustrated. It helped me learn to give grace, to stay calm when someone (little or big) is falling apart, and to expect the unexpected at all times. I became a master of logistical flexibility, skilled in multitasking, and practiced in the art of showing up—even when I had nothing left to give.
And being a parent made me a better res lifer. I lead with more empathy now. I understand that everyone carries invisible burdens. I value rest and boundaries more than I used to, and I advocate for them in my team. I’ve softened, in the best ways. I approach problems not just with policies, but with compassion. I celebrate small wins more often. I’ve learned that the mess is part of the beauty.
The Blur Is Worth It
It’s not easy. There are nights I collapse on the couch, wondering if I’ve shortchanged both my residents and my kids. There are mornings when I walk into the dining hall wearing the same hoodie I slept in, clutching a coffee like a life raft. But there are also moments when I look around a program and see my child dancing with a group of residents, all of them laughing, and I think: this is what community looks like.
Parenting in residence life is a blur. A loud, chaotic, beautiful blur. And somehow, it’s made everything from parenting, student support, leadership, and life a little more human. A little more whole.
