Praxis: A Writing Center Journal • Vol. 22, No. 1 (2024)
“We Need a Tissue Budget”: Trauma-Informed Practice in University Writing Centers
Kate Hargreaves
University of Windsor
hargreak@uwindsor.ca
Lindsey Jaber
University of Windsor
lindsey.jaber@uwindsor.ca
Abstract
Trauma is ubiquitous, including in post-secondary settings, meaning that trauma-affected individuals are present in every classroom or service setting. While research has investigated the engagement of post-secondary instructors with student trauma disclosures, this work has not extended to cover the unique role of post-secondary writing center staff. Writing tutors may encounter trauma narratives through written assignments or verbal disclosures and often labour under a degree of precarity and lack control over curricular and assignment design, giving them little preparation before encountering emotionally challenging material. As a “helping profession,” writing tutors may be at risk of secondary trauma, re-traumatization based on personal trauma histories, or unsustainable levels of emotional labour. Employing a critical disability lens and an equity-centered trauma-informed framework, this project engaged eight university-based writing center staff in Ontario, Canada in semi-structured interviews to explore how they perceive and narrate their engagement with student trauma and how this may relate to trauma-informed pedagogical practices. Based on a Reflexive Thematic Analysis, several themes are explored, including the relationship between writing center structure/labour conditions and trauma-informed practices, types of emotionally challenging interactions, strategies tutors employ to engage with students during trauma-adjacent sessions, and gaps in ability to provide trauma-informed service. These themes provide insight into tutors’ experience with student trauma and imply recommendations to improve staff and student well-being through engaging with trauma-informed practices in the writing center.
Introduction
Trauma is ubiquitous in higher education, affecting between 66 and 85% of students (Carello and Butler 157). In university writing centers (WCs), students may disclose past and present traumas, express intense emotions, and seek assistance with personal concerns unrelated to their writing. Janice Carello and Lisa Butler explain that trauma, even that which has not been diagnosed as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), can lead to mental health issues, substance use issues, and academic difficulties (157). Further, as Angela Carter explains, trauma is relational, and “the vast majority of potentially traumatizing experiences are rooted in systems of power and oppression” (7) with marginalized people more likely to be trauma-affected (Conley et al. 529). Given how common trauma is, educators must assume that there are trauma-affected students in every course and service setting regardless of disclosures, formal diagnoses, or outward symptoms (Blackburn 49). This aligns with Maxine Harris and Roger Fallot’s model of trauma-informed (TI) care, which presumes that trauma-affected people are present in any clinical setting, and establishes safety, trustworthiness, choice and control, and collaboration as pillars of TI practice (10). In “Practicing What We Teach,” Carello and Butler emphasize the necessity of TI care in teaching and learning—TI pedagogy— to remove barriers for trauma-affected students without requiring disclosure (10). TI pedagogies aim to “do no harm,” avoiding retraumatizing or causing secondary trauma from exposure to trauma narratives (Carello and Butler, “Potentially Perilous” 157).
WC staff—in their unique and often precarious role with limited control over what material crosses their desks (see for example Nier-Weber, Seahorn and Jones, or Wolcott)—may be exposed to trauma triggers. While the WC literature has begun to address emotion and affect (for example Bassett or Brentnell et al.) and even grapple with emotional labour and burnout amongst staff (see Concannon et al., Emmelhainz, or Johnson), the link between trauma and WC work is largely unexplored.
Given the relationship between trauma and disability, with Harris and Fallot modelling TI care after disability-informed practices, a critical disability lens that explicitly considers intersections of power, privilege, and inequity is ideal for examining trauma in the WC. Disability scholar Alison Kafer contrasts her political/relational model of disability with individual and medical models that frame disability as stemming from ‘problematic’ individual bodies or minds that need to be to be ‘cured’; at the same time, she differentiates this model from the social model that tends to centre barriers in environments but can overlook the disabling effects of bodies themselves (chronic pain, for example). Borrowing in part from Kafer and applying this model to trauma, Carter argues that systems that are inaccessible to trauma-affected people are indeed the problem, as opposed to locating the issue within individuals and seeking to ‘cure’ those who are trauma-affected (13); at the same time, she does not deny the real physical and emotional pain caused by trauma to individuals. Employing a critical disability lens informed by Kafer’s explicitly political view of disability allows us to acknowledge the intersections of oppression faced by disabled and trauma-affected students and thus encourages an understanding of trauma as mediated by power and a need for systemic change.
Shannon Davidson cautions that educators may end up triggering their own trauma histories while engaging with student trauma (20). Even when not diagnosed with secondary trauma, educators dealing with trauma narratives may be expected to perform heightened levels of emotional labour, work required of helping professions to regulate emotions (Hochschild qtd. in Driscoll and Wells 24). Rebecca Hayes-Smith et al. frame the work of professors engaging with student trauma as outside their anticipated jobs and thus constituting “role strain” (5). The literature on trauma disclosures in post-secondary education also frequently describes participants’ anxiety around drawing a line between the role of teacher and therapist (see for example Agostinelli et al., Batzer, Bisson, Carello and Butler, Miller, or Weintraub).
Despite exposure to possible disclosures, WC staff often lack sufficient health benefits and labour precariously (Nier-Weber 107). Dani Nier-Weber also frames staff as wanting to “contribute, be of service, and make a difference,” placing them firmly within the realm of helping professions, vulnerable to emotional labour and secondary trauma (112). Still, Dana Driscoll and Jennifer Wells argue that WCs “are uniquely positioned to help promote a holistic approach to education by focusing on tutoring the whole person” (17). In her analysis of WC consultant emotional labour, Christina Rowell explains that staff must be supportive of students but at the same time set boundaries “to keep the session from becoming a counselling appointment” (1). Rowell’s participants discussed working through their breaks, feeling burnt out and drained, hiding frustrations, and experiencing stigma, low pay, and lengthy shifts. While the stress levels may be high, the control WC staff exercise in their work tends to be low: Wolcott calls WC tutors “middlemen” who do not create the assignment structures or curricula, are not familiar with the course or the instructor, and must switch rapidly between disciplines, all while maintaining a polite and professional demeanor (16).
Writing center literature has begun to address emotion and affect, with Camille Bassett suggesting that staff need to be able to engage empathetically with negative emotions and exercise vulnerability (6). Still, other writing on WCs frames emotion as a barrier, such as Tracy Hudson, who writes against “emotionalism” in sessions, arguing that “it makes tutoring almost impossible” (10). Lauren Bisson’s account of reacting empathetically to students crying in session concludes with a caution to look out for students crying manipulatively for attention, and Agostinelli et al. advise “focus and firmness,” showing empathy while keeping the goal of the session—addressing the writing—at the forefront. Conversely, Lauren Brentnell et al. recommend “care-based practices,” including empathetic listening and working toward trust, noting that “the [WC]… has often failed survivors in its reticence to address trauma within its walls” (para. 21).
WC tutors’ emotional capacity can be diminished by the compounding factors of role strain and labour precarity. WC staff needs “are made to feel secondary to the writers’ needs and desires” according to Brentnell et al. (23), who add that staff “often pretend we’re not on fire” (12). Hohjin Im et al. note that little attention has been paid to this emotional labour as compared to that of professors (204). This “emotionally and mentally laborious” work (Parsons 26) often falls on staff with little training to manage the emotional stress, leading to greater negative effects (Perry 3). The emotional toll on racialized WC staff is even greater as WCs “are overtly unwelcoming and even hostile spaces for certain people,” and simply hiring more Black staff into this toxic environment will not improve the underlying conditions (Haltiwanger Morrison and Nanton).
As the WC literature has moved toward exploring emotion, research discussing strategies to manage this labour has also arisen, such as mindfulness, breath work, and meditation (see Concannon et al., Emmelhainz, or Johnson). However, Genie Giaimo, Yanar Hashlamon, and Shraddha Prabhu and Janice Carello all caution against the neo-liberalization of self-care that puts the onus on the individual to improve mental health as opposed to ameliorating systemic issues. Prabhu and Carello state that “individual approaches to self-care are incongruent with a [TI], human rights, and equity-focused approach to education” (188).
There is also a move toward training instructors and WC staff to feel more prepared to handle difficult interactions and topics, including training on TI practice (Blackburn), anti-harassment and intervention training (Brentnell et al.), and social justice and critical empathy training (Del Russo). Driscoll and Wells suggest emotional intelligence training, with a focus on active empathetic listening and allowing emotions in tutoring sessions. Noreen Lape also advocates for this type of work, including role-playing scenarios and reflective journals to build confidence with uncomfortable interactions. However, training and self-care cannot remedy the issues WC staff face without addressing the contributing labour practices and working conditions. Driscoll and Wells suggest WCs partner with counselling centers for support and that administrators model self-care, including taking time off. Alison Perry suggests providing staff time to recover, reflect, and share with peers following a difficult consultation, flexibility to swap appointments, and a culture of support and care. In order to make further recommendations specific to consultants’ engagement with student trauma and TI practices, it is necessary to address this gap in the literature. This study therefore explores the perspectives and experiences of Ontario university-based WC consultants as related to these issues as well as barriers they face in enacting TI practice.
Methods
Narrative Inquiry
Drawing from Michelle Day’s TI research methodology, this project involved open communication with participants, demonstrating researcher vulnerability, and acknowledging the limits and contributions of researcher positionality. Employing a narrative inquiry, we emphasized the ways in which participants use narrative to express and re-figure their experiences, framing the research as a collaborative meaning-making as opposed to a one-sided recollection of fact (Clandinin). In addition to addressing participants’ experiences phenomenologically and how these occurrences may relate to one another, narrative inquiry also allows for an analysis of the ways in which these phenomena are narrated (Clandinin). In practice, semi-structured interviews were used to allow participants to lead the process, speak broadly on their experiences and narratives they felt were relevant, and not be limited to a strict set of pre-determined questions or topics.
Sampling
Eight participants from six different WCs across Ontario universities, including seven current writing tutors and one former staff member, participated in the study. Five participants identified as cisgender women, two as cisgender men, and one as genderqueer. The majority also identified as white and Canadian. One participant was a racialized person, and three participants were immigrants to Canada. The ages of participants varied from 20s to 60s, and all participants held at least a bachelor’s degree with most holding a master’s or doctoral degree. Several participants were disabled. Participants had been employed at WCs for durations between four months and 14 years. To avoid providing identifying information, and given the small sample size, the niche population of the study within Ontario, and concerns for anonymity expressed by participants, the demographic information provided here is a high-level summary only. We received clearance from the University of Windsor Research Ethics Board, and semi-structured interviews were conducted via Microsoft Teams (45 minutes to one hour).
Reflexive Thematic Analysis
Following participant transcript checking, pseudonyms were assigned, and the data were coded using reflexive thematic analysis (TA) (Braun and Clarke). Reflexive TA, as opposed to coding reliability TA and codebook TA, is ideal for this project in that it acknowledges “the researcher’s active role in coding and theme generation” (Braun and Clarke 8). Further, it emphasizes the subjective role of the researchers in the creation of themes from the data as “analytic outputs” as opposed to ideas that passively emerge (Braun and Clarke 9). Reflexive TA is also necessarily steeped in the theoretical lens and underpinnings of the research (Braun and Clarke) in that the critical disability and equity-centered TI lenses of this project are acknowledged to influence the TA process.
Given the small number of interviews and a desire to be more actively immersed in the data, we re-read the interview transcripts after transcript checking several times and coded the data manually. We began by producing high-level codes from each interview and later grouped these codes together or parsed them out as they related to codes from other interviews. Next, we rearranged and grouped the codes from the interviews into larger themes, considering not only the content of the interviews but also the ways in which the participants narrated that content. Following this initial coding and grouping process, we returned to these groupings and the interview transcripts and completed an additional pass through the transcripts and theme groupings in order to establish whether any themes or ideas were missing, over-emphasized, or underreported and adjusted the coding on this basis. Based on our immersion in the transcripts and the thematic coding, including regularly engaging in reflective journalling regarding the interview and coding process, we drafted an ‘analysis’ of the data. As Braun and Clarke note, framing our reflection as “analysis” rather than “results” subverts the assumption of data discovery and undermines the notion of any outcomes or results being final.
Analysis
The following summarizes the dominant themes we drew from participants’ interviews as they relate to working conditions and trauma in the WC.
Staffing and Structure
Some participants reported that they worked either alone, or with one or two other staff, while others worked alongside upwards of ten colleagues; some worked only a few hours a week during short shifts and others full-time in shifts of seven or eight hours or more. Most WCs required some administrative tasks after each one-on-one session for which a small amount of time was allotted (five to ten minutes). The one-on-one sessions, which made up the majority of each WC’s function, ranged from 25 to 30 minutes to upwards of an hour. WCs were led by a director or administrator with some directors tutoring students and others not involved in the day-to-day work. Participants spoke positively of leaders who were actively involved, while participants with largely hands-off leadership described directors as being out-of-touch and unsympathetic to issues they faced.
Workload
Those employed part-time typically reported that their workload was manageable, while consultants working full-time or 20+ hours per week reported significant issues around understaffing and exhaustion. Participants described staffing as “atrociously poor” with staff “scrambling to keep up,” being “swamped.” The busiest consultants interviewed reported seeing upwards of 40 students a week with sometimes 14 appointments per day. According to Emily, “It’s an intense schedule... we’re very, very booked... you’re supporting the whole university.” Elliott also spoke to the intensity of the work: “By the end of the week, I’m dead... it feels very overwhelming… I’m just like, tired… Sometimes… my voice is out… my brain is dead.”
Training
Lack of training was another commonly cited issue. The majority of participants described being hired on the basis of their experience as writers or teachers and being expected to know what to do. For those who received any training, a mentorship or job shadowing model was common with encouragement to reach out to colleagues or supervisors with questions. Emily described her experience: “I started on a Monday and started taking appointments on the Wednesday... I would not say that there was any sort of training, except ‘here is a computer, let’s get you keys.’”
It follows that staff also reported minimal to no training regarding mental health concerns or trauma. Nora cited feeling unprepared to support Indigenous students around educational trauma: “When students first began disclosing things to me, I was not prepared. It took me a few encounters to understand that the historical trauma around education was going to come right into their papers, right into their experience of education.” When staff received training around disclosures or other issues, it often centered how to refer students to mental health services.
Encountering Student Trauma
In discussing student trauma encounters, many shared stories of individual students with demonstrable empathy, emphasizing the ‘helping’ nature of WC work as a profession. For example, Nora discussed her memories of specific students: “I feel like there’s a panorama of faces in front of me of students… I'm thinking about particular students and particular stories.” A frequent refrain was the need for tissues in the WC due to students, and sometimes staff, crying. As Emily put it, “We need a tissue budget in our in our office so that we don't have to keep supplying them.”
Types of Emotionally Challenging Sessions
Students experiencing anxiety was cited as the most common emotional challenge in the WC. Several participants discussed students being overwhelmed by their programs and disclosing this to WC staff, sometimes in tears, with intersecting issues impacting their level of anxiety. When discussing disclosures of trauma or mental health issues outside of school-related anxiety, multiple participants cited the one-on-one and repeat nature of WC consultations as being a factor in building rapport and receiving disclosures. Nora explained, “Students weather a lot of trauma of many, many different kinds: from family trauma to being in domestic violence situations themselves, to having been refugees. My sense is that they’ve mostly held that in and held it down in order to succeed in school… but a one-to-one appointment with a trusted person, it just pours out sometimes, and… I’m always honoured to be that trusted person… I’m not… a social worker. I’m not a psychologist… At the same time, I can’t say, ‘Oh no, no, don’t tell me,’ because that would be damaging.”
Participants discussed consultations that began with writing-related conversations but quickly pivoted to becoming trauma disclosures. Some of the disclosures made to participants were characterized as describing “horrific” experiences. Emily described an interaction with a student: “Anything that has gone on in [the student’s] life… a lot of domestic violence, sexual violence… I didn’t know what to do, and so I just sort of stayed there and listened to her, and we came to the end of the appointment—she stayed longer than her appointment, which is fine. We never covered the assignment, which I felt bad about.”
Multiple interviewees acknowledged that certain types of papers seem to bring up more emotions, including personal reflective papers and social sciences/humanities papers. However, other participants noted that the discipline was immaterial and that students became emotional when stressed over large or complicated assignments. Nora described the way in which student trauma history rather than specific discipline seemed to have a strong effect on the ways that trauma arose in student papers she saw at the WC: “Say they’re a nursing student, and they’re having to write up a case which is similar to a case they’ve dealt with in their own family. Or say they are an Indigenous student, and they’re having to write about the Truth and Reconciliation report, and it is anguishing to them.” Gus also spoke to the different types of trauma he has encountered: “[I’ve seen] stories of students being… sexually assaulted by police officers… the time students were raped, stories of parental abuse, psychological abuse pertaining to weight, appearance, or gender… These all come through the papers, and it’s often quite difficult to work with students through their trauma, which is what they’re doing. It’s when they are asked to write about these things… they’ll often confess why the particular disorder or case study… and it winds up getting quite personal quite often.”
Political topics, specifically those related to gender issues, such as abortion, were also described as being difficult subjects for student papers, either for the student or the advisor.
Participants also noted that trauma manifested more often in papers from international students with refugee backgrounds. One participant spoke to the importance of acknowledging the role of stigma in mental health and help-seeking behaviors, and how this may affect students from racialized, immigrant, and working-class backgrounds. A participant also suggested that students facing trauma may be more likely to seek WC help as they may face academic difficulties due to the impact of trauma on their schoolwork.
Consultants Experiences of Student Trauma
Across all participants’ narratives on addressing trauma was a strong focus on the well-being of the student, sometimes at the cost of the staff member’s own. Several participants described becoming emotional either during meetings with students or afterwards, including crying at work. Emily explained her reaction to emotional sessions as “closing the door and crying in my office, and five or ten minutes later, bring in the next student.” Regarding a specific case of a disclosure, she described her lingering emotional distress: “I was absolutely devastated for the next two days. I cancelled my appointments for the rest of the day. It was not great… I can’t be distraught for two days after meeting with a student.”
Tutors emphasized that they did their best to not make their own distress obvious and would wait until afterwards to process emotions. However, given the lack of time between appointments, this was difficult. As Elliott explained, “If I had an appointment that was like, just emotionally… breaking to me, I better hope it’s lunch or the end of the day.”
Role Strain and Boundaries
Despite the emotional intensity that can come with the job, several interviewees made a point of emphasizing that they love their jobs, demonstrating the difficult balance between the fulfillment of ‘helping’ professions and maintaining personal well-being. Multiple participants spoke of worry about where the ‘line’ is between providing support to students and overstepping into a counseling role, including Amanda who noted: “As a tutor, I’m only allowed to provide so much support… Because of that natural empathy and compassion, [I feel] like I’m still not doing enough … I’m not able to cross a certain boundary with this student even though I want to be able to comfort them and… make them feel better and… listen to them.” She went on to explain that “Navigating [emotional] appointments is very, very stressful because there’s all these lines you’re trying not to cross. But then you’re also trying to provide the adequate amount of support that the student feels… heard and doesn’t feel like their emotions and things are just being swept under the rug because they feel comfortable sharing with a peer tutor for a reason. I’m not just a student, I’m also staff, so… toeing that line and figuring out sort of what’s appropriate is so difficult sometimes.”
The theme of guilt recurred regarding interactions with students during which staff felt they did not do “enough.” In some cases, this guilt related to not having enough time to assist with an assignment, particularly when the consultation was derailed by a more pressing emotional concern. Interviewees also expressed guilt around the need to cancel appointments, including to tend to their own well-being.
Personal Trauma Triggers
While a minority of participants noted that they had faced issues with personal triggers related to student work, this was nonetheless an issue for some. Amanda explained that “Reading something that even… was adjacent to something I’ve been through… it doesn’t necessarily trigger me like to a point where… I feel too overwhelmed by it. But it’s definitely… connecting more personally to the writing than I normally would. And kind of that taking a bit of my mental load away from being able to show up fully for the student where it’s just kind of like my mind is occupied… like my own experience is coming up while I’m in the actual appointment.”
Two participants pointed to distressing content related to children as being a particular issue as parents, as well as medical papers that resonated with personal or familial trauma.
Consultant Strategies
The predominant strategy participants cited for working with students experiencing trauma was referrals to mental health and other student services. Participants emphasized the importance of trained professionals assisting students as opposed to students seeking a counseling relationship with WC staff. Emily noted, “They should be seeing a counselor. They shouldn’t be talking to me… I don’t have that kind of training.” However, she also spoke about referrals as fraught, as one student reacted negatively to being referred to a campus mental health service due to feeling “shut down.” Nora too noted issues with referrals, including both problems with access and stigma related to help-seeking. Emily described WC staff as being more accessible to students than counselors, suggesting that this may lead to disclosures in the WC. Further, several interviewees highlighted that they were not trained on referrals and had to seek out mental health first aid training.
Several participants noted that if they felt unsure about whether a student was struggling or in danger, they could approach a manager or colleague for advice. However, Gus noted that in attempting to reach out to campus services to assist students, he has had difficulty receiving timely and adequate responses, even in crises, which complicates the notion of collaboration amongst departments as a strategy for support.
Before a referral can be made, active and empathetic listening strategies were cited by several participants as a key part of WC work. Nick framed the act of being a receptive listener as a means to avoid harm: “Sometimes it might be, ‘we’re not going to get to discuss your essay, but we’re gonna sit here, and… you’re gonna tell me what your problems are, and… I can at least… be a good listener.’ I think if it goes nowhere, if… that’s as far as it gets, then at least it’s gotten to a better place for that student than it was… 45 minutes or an hour before when they came in.”
Nora also used active and empathetic listening to prompt the student to explore options for support outside of the WC: “I mostly listen. I ask them if they want to tell me more about it. I ask them… how is it affecting them when they try to write or try to do academic work. I ask them what kind of support they’ve got, either… counselling or family or friends and so on. I ask them how they could access that support. Soon… Can they talk to their family members? When will they see them next? Could they call? I mostly try to be a good listener and a supportive presence and help them identify what sources of support they have.”
Several tutoring strategies were cited in relation to WC pedagogy, including avoiding discussing the paper’s content, focusing on structure and grammar, and not reading the paper out loud. Some tutors noted that they made a point to be gentler in their critiques, such as not using red pen or avoiding harsh criticism. In dealing with particularly difficult material, several interviewees spoke of the need to compartmentalize their own reactions and push back against their own emotions in order to continue with the appointment. Amanda explained her feelings around masking in the WC: “There is a certain level of… putting on a mask… a very professional confident persona in a way even if I’m not feeling professional and confident that day, and that’s kind of part of what I mean when I say… showing up for the students… I’m no longer fully me existing… I have now taken… a leadership role, a teaching role, and education role… I have to show up that way.”
Participants also discussed how they manage the impact of their work on their own well-being. Several participants noted that following a difficult session, they would turn to their phone for a brief distraction. Multiple also noted the importance of physical movement and being outdoors to ground themselves. Nora described how before engaging in active boundary-setting she found herself overwhelmed by students’ stories: “I would be overwhelmed and overwrought… not in the session with the student… because I’ve got enough self-control… to be sympathetic without making it about my feelings… but always to support where they were. And so it took me some years really to develop a sense of boundaries where I could listen to their very, very painful stories… it wasn’t that I was unmoved… I was never unmoved. But it’s different to be unmoved than to be really in pain, you know?… I have never stopped being moved by their stories, but over time, I learned not to be overwhelmed by them because I realized I wasn’t effective.”
For multiple participants, part of this boundary-setting came in the form of taking a short break mid-session. They described stepping away from the session or allowing the student to focus on a task and taking a moment to center themselves. Part of the boundary-setting involved mental visualization and grounding exercises. Amanda described conducting a brief mental grounding mid-appointment as needed when a student was working on a task with their paper: “When something has come up, I’ve kind of waited until we’ve gotten to a point in the assignment where I can ask the student to work on something for a couple minutes… then I can kind of center myself a little bit, ground myself in any way that I feel necessary. And then when we come back to it, I just feel a little bit less charged. And then I can kind of deal with the whatever is residual after the appointment is over, and I feel like I have the time to really sit with it.”
For Nora, the grounding process was based on a mental visualization strategy to separate the students’ story from her own life: “Even if it hits right where my story hits, right, this is not my story. This is her story. What does she need? And I get out of myself that way and sometimes it’s just visualizing a kind of translucent curtain between the student and myself so that I’m protected from what happened to her.”
Several participants noted that they have pursued professional counseling, not only related to their workplace issues. However, they also cite that therapy can be expensive and may not be covered by insurance. Student WC employees noted that they have access to student counseling services, and one participant had reached out to KeepMeSafe, a student mental health service available via phone, to support her mental health while employed in the WC. Another staff member discussed using a 1-800 mental health hotline. Employee and Family Assistance Programs (EFAPs) were also discussed, with one participant noting that they would not use such a service due to concerns over confidentiality. Outside of professional counseling, many participants discussed the importance of debriefing informally with someone, whether a spouse or partner, colleague, or manager, about their work. Amanda noted that, when concerned about a student, she felt that she could go to her manager or administrator for assistance and to work through the issue. Gus and Nick also detailed the importance of having strong familial support to discuss feelings about emotional appointments. More than one participant noted issues with communicating with their directors/managers, whether due to management disengagement or overwork, as well as feeling disconnected from their colleagues and lacking lateral communication. Thus, despite the importance of community support, not every participant felt that they had access to a sense of community in the workplace.
Consultant Recommendations
We also prompted participants to discuss what they would like to see change to support them in providing TI. Flexibility of WC cancellation policies was suggested by one participant, as strict cancellation policies can prompt disclosures from students as well as punish them for potentially traumatic incidents through removal of service access. Several participants also discussed a lack of flexibility around their own schedules to rearrange or cancel appointments if sick without negatively impacting service.
A need for increased collaboration was also discussed as a strong priority. As Gus explained, “If there were a fulsome network… of writing advisors where we could collaborate to address issues… in between departments under [student services] if there were a fulsome network… I think that would offer a lot of support… I know it’s not just [WC]…[Other departments] get the students in tears discussing trauma.” Other participants noted that they saw a benefit to having a direct connection to a campus mental health service or professional in allowing them to know that they have an expert on call.
Another resounding theme was the need for better access to mental health services. Many participants noted that they should not become the point people on mental health for students but often do so because students cannot access other services as easily. While some felt that services such as MySSP, a phone service to support students, were a step in the right direction, the overall impression was that these options were not enough. Participants spoke of their own lack of access to mental health services, given the precarity or contract nature of some of their jobs. While several interviewees noted that they could see a counselor at the campus mental health center if they needed to, this was generally not seen as a realistic option. Emily noted, “The reality is… that I have students in and out my door all day long. Which student do I say no to? And counseling also is doing the same thing. Are they really going to sit me in there because I feel bad and miss the student who might need suicide prevention? They’re not gonna do that, and they shouldn’t.”
The most commonly cited recommendation was training in responding to disclosures, mental health, and TI practices. Almost all participants noted that they require more training on these topics and have felt, at least at some point, unprepared. As Emily expressed: “I wish that I had had more knowledge of how to handle [student disclosures]. I did seek out resources [afterward], but I had to do that. I had to go and find information and sessions and things to work out what I should be doing.” Nora also noted that, while she has received some training, it was limited to the logistics of how to refer a student. Emily and Amanda echoed Nora’s point by suggesting that training describing what to do and say in the moment is critical. Sophie also noted the major gap in support for the specific needs of racialized and international students.
Regardless of the type of training cited by participants as necessary, the majority of interviewees also noted a need to balance their role as a WC staff member who can assist trauma-affected students with setting boundaries around what that role entails. Nora explained: “I don’t think we should be inviting disclosure, but I think we ought to be prepared for it... I think… really the only responsible thing… is to be as informed as possible about the ways in which trauma of one kind or another can be affecting students work and rather than holding ourselves aloof from it, trying to think of how to get the student to somebody or someplace where they can get support with those issues while we continue working with their writing and their academic work.”
Many interviewees spoke to the need to improve the labour conditions and staffing at their WCs in order to facilitate the implementation of their recommendations. Among the suggestions was ensuring that staff have adequate time between appointments. Advisors also emphasized the need for policies and strong, consistent boundaries so that they can take all their breaks without interruption, being fully able to disconnect. Emily summarized this tension: “I hate that my first thought when a student starts crying in my office is, ‘oh no, how long is this gonna take?’ I have three other students waiting. And [better staffing] would hopefully be top of my list.” Due to their heavy workloads, participants expressed that they also lack the time to enact many self-care or well-being strategies and that they may be encouraged to by management such as taking adequate breaks, debriefing, or calling an EFAP helpline.
Discussion
It is clear from conversations with WC staff that their workplace experiences support the ubiquity of trauma in post-secondary settings. Staff were overall unconcerned with a diagnostic approach to trauma or mental illness, rather acknowledging the substantive impact that students’ traumatic experiences had and continued to have on those students’ lives, including the effect on their academic pursuits. The consultants’ aim, in keeping with Carello and Butler’s work on TI pedagogy, was indeed to support these students, center their learning, and do no harm in the process of supporting them. The consultants linked students’ trauma and access to appropriate care to a variety of intersectional factors, including intergenerational trauma, racialization, immigration and refugee status, gender, disability, sexuality, and social class. The critical disability lens also resonated with the strategies and recommendations that staff described, as they related to not only supporting students but the impact of power imbalances and their own working conditions on their ability to do just that. The overarching focus was on ameliorating the systems that present barriers to staff and, in turn, to students as opposed to demanding resilience or change from individual people, whatever their role.
While the structures of individual WCs across Ontario vary quite widely, the overall impression the participants provided of WCs in the province is one of an important student service that remains marginalized. As a result of the lack of resources and the “helping” nature of WC work, it is critical to understand participants’ experiences of emotional labour. Again and again, participants framed their narratives of student interactions not around their own feelings or desires but how they could best help students regardless of the emotional impact on themselves. They spoke about their own empathetic natures, compassion, guilt, and negative self-talk when they felt like they did not meet a student’s needs. The emotional labour described by participants aligns with Brentnell et al.’s research, which describes the exhaustion that results from consultants attempting to act like everything is fine for the sake of the student (see also Costello and Im et al.). Relatedly, the notion of burnout also emerged frequently, although typically framed as related to overwork. While often used interchangeably, emotional labour and burnout had different connotations for participants. Those who described burnout referred to the exhaustion of back-to-back appointments regardless of content; those who spoke of emotional labour referred more often to the work of regulating their emotional responses to students’ dispositions and needs. As with emotional labour, burnout made it more difficult for WC staff to “show up” for students and be as effective as they would like, demonstrating the impact of institutional labour conditions on individual student/staff interactions. As in Dawn Fels et al.’s work, participants described the emotional impact of putting students’ needs above their own.
Another challenge for WC staff was related to re-traumatization or secondary trauma. While no participant framed their experiences using these terms, several interviewees noted that content had ‘brought up’ experiences from their own lives or pasts and had an impact on their emotional state or ability to tutor. Regardless of the terminology, and because secondary trauma and re-traumatization are not necessarily mutually exclusive, it is clear that the “helping” and empathetic natures of those who seem to choose WC work may leave them vulnerable. As Amanda suggested regarding building conversations around emotional labour into the interview process for WC roles, Eileen Zurbriggen’s work on secondary trauma suggests that providing education to staff in roles where they may be vulnerable to secondary trauma—just as crisis line workers receive such training—is a duty of employers.
Elliott drew the connection between students who may be experiencing academic difficulties due to their experience of trauma and may therefore be referred to the WC or choose to seek out WC support during that time. Their observation aligns with the complexity of the effects of trauma on students’ academic success and suggests that WCs as well as other student services such as academic advising and retention programs need to be particularly prepared to support students with trauma histories. This may involve greater collaboration between WCs and other student services with mental health services as well as disability accommodation services and offices addressing sources of trauma such as sexual misconduct given the relationship between academic challenges, disability and mental health, and navigating trauma.
Across the various WCs represented in this study, a decided lack of formal training, both in basic WC work and in TI practices and responding to disclosures, is evident. Given the intersections of trauma and racialization as well as marginalization more broadly, an intersectional and equity-centered approach to training on student disclosures and trauma is essential. When discussing referrals, it is important to note the potential complications of referring students to counselling or other services, which may not offer culturally appropriate supports, and the need to explore additional avenues and resources, including advocating for culturally appropriate resources. Relatedly, balancing staff mental health first aid and disclosure training with adequate access to qualified mental health professionals was suggested in line with Day’s advocacy for both departmental training as well as systemic change and support.
Throughout the interviews, participants emphasized their commitment to supporting students as well as their empathy for the difficulties students may face. However, there remained a tension between this vulnerability and the idea that emotion must be quashed to proceed with student services. While the participants in this study did not frame student emotion as a barrier to learning (as in Hudson) and were more likely to make efforts to reduce the impact of their own emotional involvement with a session rather than attempting to diminish the affective engagement of students, the notion of emotion as a barrier persisted; however, this barrier was typically more related to the pressures of understaffing than a negative perception of vulnerability as it relates to pedagogy. In order for the WC to embrace vulnerability in a meaningful way, mechanisms must be in place to support those who may need additional care, as well as reject a paradigm that rushes students in and out of appointments and contributes to burnout of advisors who are struggling to keep up. In these sorts of circumstances, an authentic vulnerability that allows staff to demonstrate empathy, emotion, and understanding is not substantively possible as they may still be wondering when a student begins to cry, “how long is this going to take?” Again, the individual practices of tutors and their ability to be authentically vulnerable and supportive to students are constrained within the systems in which they conduct their labour. Essential to any framework of TI WC practice is thus improving the resourcing and working conditions of staff.
Further to Harris and Fallot’s principles, community and collaboration were at the forefront of many recommendations made by both participants as well as the literature. While some participants spoke of independent strategies for grounding, many acknowledged that none of the mindfulness or grounding work is useful without ameliorating systemic problems and untenable labour conditions that lead to their feelings of overwhelm, exhaustion, or burnout (as in Giaimo). Participants’ suggestions of working within departments and with other student services were based in collaborative models of care that reject individualizing responsibility for self-care and instead put the onus back on the system.
Conclusion
This project sought to explore how WC staff perceive and narrate their engagement with student trauma in the context of TI practices. Through in-depth interviews with WC advisors, their commitment to supporting students was striking, even when this empathetic instinct came at a cost to their own well-being. Further, the lack of training provided, as well as the inaccessibility of mental health supports for both staff and students, contributed to a reduction in staff’s ability to “show up” and therefore provide the best possible support in a sustainable way. The recommendations provided here reflect the systemic nature of both trauma and TI care: WC consultants need both ongoing and meaningful training and improved labour conditions, flexibility and resourcing, access to community models of care and collaboration, and institution-wide TI practice to support them. If WC advisors on an individual level can only continue to empathize with students who have limited access to mental health supports or who continue to find themselves re-traumatized by lack of choice around triggering materials in class, the WC cannot meaningfully support these students or even its own staff. Buy-in regarding TI practices must come from both top-down and grassroots efforts in order to ensure that the principles of safety, choice, trust, collaboration, and empowerment resonate across the institutional environment, from substantive work to redress oppression and uplift justice on campus to improvements to labour conditions for staff. These are not small issues or boxes to be checked in order to declare a department or even an institution adequately trauma-informed; however, beginning with acknowledging that trauma-affected students and staff are in every service setting could have far-reaching effects in the work toward developing a system-wide culture of care.
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