The Summer Break That Isn’t

As summer has wound down, and I’ve prepared for fall semester for the 21st time at the community college where I teach, I’ve had a heightened frustration with the common misperception that faculty members have it easy because they have summers off. In fact, I have even heard the comment that faculty like me are paid to have summers off.

Those assumptions are false and harmful. Faculty members work most of the summer, and in my experience, that workload has increased over the past 20 years. Furthermore, we generally do not receive compensation unless we are teaching in the summer, in which case we receive prorated pay. Any compensation we do receive for work outside of teaching comes from whatever leftover pittance the administration can scrounge up from funds that will go unspent before the end of the fiscal year—which is hopefully more than the $3 per hour I calculated that I received one summer.

The false narratives and the disrespect for faculty’s time contribute to our overwork, anger and cynicism, all of which play a role in burnout. When faculty members are depleted at the end of the academic year, the solution isn’t to ask us to work for free. We need and deserve a break.

When I return to campus each fall, people undoubtedly ask, “Did you have a good summer?” I reply “yes” to this question with a smattering of details about this trip, that book I read, spending time with family—the positive spin. I omit any negative views. Don’t get me wrong. My summers are not miserable. They are the opposite, usually involving time with family and friends, traveling, reading and gardening. But in the midst of all of that, resentment festers within as I realize all over again the unstated expectation that I also work through summer for no pay.

What I really want someone to ask when I return for fall is “Did your summer leave you feeling rested and ready for the new academic year?” Maybe then I would reply more honestly. I envision myself boldly responding, “No. In fact, I feel underappreciated. My work is not valued. Summer made me realize how my time has been disrespected for many years. My tank is half-full because I have been volunteering my time to keep up with emails, policy changes, advising, meetings and grant work all summer. At this point, I hope I make it to winter break.”

This isn’t just my individual experience. My reality is widespread. I don’t claim to speak for all faculty members, but I know that from colleagues at other institutions, from the many books I’ve read, from the private online groups where I have lurked and from the many podcast episodes I have heard.

Here is the truth about how summer and the month leading up to it generally go for me and for many of the faculty members I know: In April of each academic year, I eagerly await the summer. The thought of a respite to come from the 50- and 60-hour workweeks fuels me through April and the first half of May. I know that a break awaits, so I can finish the marathon. Since January, I have been setting goals for all I hope to accomplish over the summer—to revise this course, write that article and so on.

But then mid-May arrives. When the tumult halts (or is supposed to—the email notifications continue, of course), I feel numb, unable to move, catatonic. I finally succumb to months of physical exhaustion and compassion fatigue. It takes me a week or two to get my bearings, for the pressure pulsing through my veins to gradually release, for the overload blur that descended over the last nine months to clear.

I then become consumed by the endless to-do list of the tasks that I neglected over the previous academic year: the home repairs, the medical appointments, the car service, the dog’s neutering. I realize how little attention I have paid to my family since the previous August, and I am disappointed in myself and aim to be more available, more nurturing, ready to give more of what little I have left.

Meanwhile, even though I am not receiving a paycheck, the meetings and side projects continue. The emails don’t stop. Students need advising. Faculty are encouraged to attend meetings in person and virtually. Administrators need replies to various requests. And if I don’t keep up, I could miss something—a policy change or new initiative—that might have a negative impact on my students or me. I worry about not attending a meeting where an announcement could be quietly dropped while faculty are not paying full attention. What might I be missing? This question looms over the summer.

As the end of July approaches, my heart pounds; my breath catches. My hopes for the respite of summer break start to disappear. I am drained by the summer in a different way than I am exhausted by the academic year. I don’t know how to relax, how to be. I just want to sit and exist, to know that my time and contributions are valuable, and to recover and feel rejuvenated for a new academic year. I realize that I deserved a break from work, and I have not yet received one.

This mindset is no way to start the academic year with hope, energy and enthusiasm.

A Time for Rejuvenation

Why does my summer experience and those of other faculty members matter? Why should administrators care about the details? It’s simple. When faculty members—or employees in any sector—are overworked, treated like machines instead of humans and not adequately compensated, they are more likely to leave.

It is time for higher education institutions to foster an environment that supports well-being rather than dismissing overwork and burnout as the responsibility of each individual faculty member to fix. When faculty raise concerns about overwork and burnout, the common advice is to set boundaries, to meditate for three minutes a day, to light a candle, to practice better self-care. I agree that wellness initiatives to support individuals are important, and I applaud those who care about the well-being of employees. In fact, I serve on my campus wellness committee and believe in its mission. But without an institutional culture that fosters wellness, tips and suggestions for achieving balance and eating well will only go so far.

Vicki L. Baker, chair of the economics and management department at Albion College, sums up the issue, noting that institutions must “ask themselves hard questions, such as: In what ways are our institutional infrastructures compounding the problem? What can we as institutional administrators do to ensure more equitable workloads for faculty and staff? What policies, practices and action steps must be created, implemented and assessed to establish boundary-setting and people’s well-being as core institutional values?”

A starting point would be to return summers to faculty members who choose to disconnect during those unpaid months. Here are some essential questions for administrators to consider to help make that happen.

• How can we minimize summer communications with the faculty?
• How can we plan so that new initiatives and policy changes that require faculty expertise and input are not undertaken in the summer when faculty are off contract?
• How can we assure faculty members that their performance evaluations are not in jeopardy if they disconnect for the summer?
• How can we ensure that faculty members receive all necessary updates when they return from summer?
• How can we set up contingencies to fill gaps in areas such as advising during the summer?
• How can we make any necessary requests of faculty during the summer with a thoughtful caveat that shows respect for their time and does not impose feelings of guilt for saying no?

Administrators who genuinely care about faculty well-being and wish to retain faculty members must learn how to give them their blessings to spend their summers rejuvenating, resting and pursuing meaningful professional development so they feel able to give their best for students when they return to the campus for the new academic year. If administrators reframe summer breaks as essential to the mission of higher education, that change will go a long way to communicating that they value faculty and recognize the physical and emotional lifts that their jobs require. It would be a small but worthy step in reducing overwork and burnout. Faculty cannot set boundaries if administrators keep overstepping them, and it is time for administrators to take the lead in changing the culture.