Beyond the Acceptance Letter: The Hidden Challenges of First-Generation Students

Malik JohnsonOn move-in day, the elevator in my dorm felt like a small miracle. I had packed nearly everything I owned to move just an hour away from home, yet it felt as though I’d crossed state lines. I had fallen in love with the college just outside of Baltimore — a place I saw as an escape from the world I wanted to leave behind.

 Growing up, I couldn’t wait to get out of my city. Some days, just driving through it made me feel uneasy. College represented freedom — a chance to put distance between myself, family challenges, and the unease that came with them.

My family always emphasized education as the only path to success. “Without a degree, you won’t thrive,” they would say. I believed them. A quiet, agreeable child, I did everything I could to shape the future they envisioned for me. I applied to schools across the country, despite the fact that I’d never been farther than Delaware. Looking back, I laugh at my optimism — why apply to a college in California when I couldn’t even afford a plane ticket?

The admissions illusion

Like many first-generation students, I didn’t know what to expect from the college application process. I never spoke to admissions counselors before applying. Instead, I sifted through piles of glossy brochures that all promised the same things: beautiful campuses, vibrant student life, endless opportunity. When the acceptance letters and phone calls came, it all sounded like something out of a college movie.

But I was unprepared for the realities that weren’t mentioned on the calls or in the mailings. I didn’t know what questions to ask — about financial aid, student support, housing, or the cost of living. I struggled to complete the FAFSA, and my mother hesitated to share her financial information, afraid it would jeopardize the government assistance our family relied on. That fear is common among students from similar backgrounds, and it often prevents them from completing the financial aid process.

A simple fix, I’ve come to believe, would be more proactive communication. Financial aid and admissions offices could jointly host information sessions for students and families, explaining, in clear terms, how income affects eligibility and what sharing that information really means. Many first-generation students lose out on opportunities not because they’re unqualified, but because they lack guidance through systems designed for people who already know how they work.

Learning the hard way

When I finally convinced my mother to share her information, I was able to submit my forms and was accepted to 13 colleges, earning several scholarships. I was thrilled — but unprepared for what came next.

One of my first major adjustments was having a roommate. Over the summer, I received my assignment and began imagining what it would be like to live with someone new. The reality was far from the television ideal. Our cleaning habits, communication styles, and daily routines clashed. I tried contacting housing to request a change, but at the time, roommate reassignments weren’t permitted unless both parties had requested each other beforehand.

Complicating matters further, I was also working full-time to cover my remaining expenses. With no financial support from home, I spent my freshman year working late nights in a drive-thru, often missing campus events. I didn’t realize that on-campus jobs existed — ones designed to accommodate students’ schedules. My days began at 8 a.m. with class and ended at 3 a.m. after work. Unsurprisingly, my grades plummeted.

I finished my first semester with a 0.91 GPA and landed on academic probation. It felt devastating. My resident assistant checked in on me, and I was paired with a student success coordinator — a role I hadn’t even known existed. Through that process, I discovered that my chosen major wasn’t a good fit. Changing it felt like failure at first, but it turned out to be the turning point I needed.

A system that can do better

Looking back, I realize that my story is far from unique. Many first-generation students arrive on campus excited and hopeful, only to encounter hidden barriers — financial, cultural, and emotional — that make persistence difficult.

Colleges often treat admissions as the endpoint of their responsibility, when in reality, it should be the starting point for student support. Admissions offices are the first line of contact and have a unique opportunity to connect applicants with the resources they’ll need once they arrive. Partnerships with financial aid, housing, student success, and career services should be seamless, not soiled.

Even simple solutions could make a difference: a one-page guide explaining which offices handle which services, or opportunities for underrepresented and first-generation students to engage with campus staff before arriving.

Finding my own definition of success

I entered college thinking success meant getting in. I’ve learned that success means staying in — and growing through the process. Education isn’t just about grades or degrees; it’s about access, equity, and understanding the systems that too often leave first-generation students to figure things out on their own.

The elevator that carried me to my dorm on move-in day didn’t just lift me to my new home, it symbolized the climb I didn’t realize I was about to begin.

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Malik Johnson is the senior academic program coordinator (B.S & M.S.E) in the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering at Johns Hopkins University.