Musings About Drawing Boundaries

March 13, 2025

I recently had a student ask when (not if) they could schedule a make-up exam because they would be out late celebrating their 21st birthday the night before. I thanked them for their honesty, and then suggested an alternative—maybe wait to celebrate until after the exam? Another student emailed, “Where can I find the recorded lecture, it is too rainy to get out of bed, lol!” I wanted to send them a picture of myself in the classroom, “I’m here, lol!” but I settled for a reminder about the policies related to missing class. Yet another: “Thursday due dates don’t work for me, I have to work. Can I turn my weekly assignment in on Sunday instead?” Perhaps they pay for their own tuition, I thought. I helped the student develop a weekly schedule so they could get work turned in on time; it didn’t occur to them that they could turn it in ahead of the deadline.

Do today’s students arrive with a different understanding of time management or independent problem solving than our new arrivals did pre-pandemic? Did students make requests for extensions, make-ups, and alternative formats more frugally pre-pandemic? What connection do students make between academic success and personal effort these days? Five years post shut down, and I wonder if, for students, the definition of a “policy” is still closer to “flexible guideline” rather than “firm expectation.” I don’t think it’s just me. Do others remember having so many of these “invalid” requests for accommodations pre-pandemic? It’s especially surprising to me because I already have so much flexibility built into my syllabus with its Universal Design for Learning structure.

But it’s not just eyebrow-raising requests or problem-solving skills that seem different. Requests for valid concerns, such as health challenges, also seem different. At the beginning of the term, one of my advisees let me know that she would be checking into a mental health facility for the “first” 12 weeks of the semester and that she had been given permission to take all her (in-person) classes online until she returned. I am a mental health advocate, and I understand the mental health crisis in the college population, but I was surprised that instructors would be expected to make such an extensive accommodation even for a mental health challenge. It turned out that the student misunderstood the Dean’s note, which served only as a notification to faculty about the extended absence and not that instructors had to accommodate her online request. I tried to help the student understand that it was up to each individual instructor if they felt it was reasonable or feasible to turn an in-person class into an asynchronous version for one student for the majority of the term. For some instructors, perhaps this is simple, but for others, this may be the equivalent of asking for another course prep without compensation. Instead, the student could consider options such as a medical leave or part-time status or find classes listed as “online.”

After that exchange, I found myself wondering if instructors—especially those early in their career or from marginalized groups—would feel obligated to accommodate the student (most likely, yes they would), and if we should feel obligated. Educators have received messaging over the post-pandemic years to offer flexibility, to meet students where they are socially and academically, to besensitive to rising mental health needs and heavier financial burdens. The Dean’s note thanks us for our care and consideration, but it doesn’t clearly state that we are not obligated to accommodate the request (only that the student must contact the instructor about the make-up policy). Legally, ethically, and practically, where should the line be drawn in terms of accommodating students with significant challenges (and other, less “valid” requests, like a 21st birthday party)? Are the recommendations made immediately post-pandemic (see National Library of Medicine and Seattle University, for examples) still applicable today? What are the boundaries of this flexibility (e.g., in this example, what if the student was going to be out for 2 weeks instead of 12?).

The College Board reported that students entering college in 2021 were less academically prepared coming out of high school (based on SAT scores) than students who entered in 2017. Faculty perceptions concur: over 70% of faculty surveyed believed that incoming students were less prepared in emotional intelligence and critical thinking, analysis, problem solving, and close reading skills. Roughly half of faculty reported that they knowingly reduced academic rigor in their courses as a result of these challenges and due to pressure from students and administration. It makes sense that something had to give during that extraordinary time. How many more years to come we will see the students struggling to transition to college? To what degree should educators reduce rigor vs. provide tools for students to regain skills and meet higher expectations?

In 2023, two years after the College Board report, an article in The Chronicle of Higher Education described the endless flexibility post-pandemic students have come to expect and asked how helpful or harmful meeting all of these demands (valid or not) might be on students’ academic and personal growth (and, I might add, on our own well-being; also see here). Even with all the extra support, students today are still struggling socially, mentally, and academically. Perhaps we are “helping” too much (are we “helicopter parenting” our students?). Perhaps reining in the over-flexibility and establishing clear and transparent guidelines regarding reasonable expectations (and reasonable consequences for not meeting them) for emerging adults in college, and for instructors’ workload, may enhance well-being and performance for both instructors and students.

We knew the pandemic would change things about our culture, and we expected to bend to student needs more than ever before during and even for a few years after the pandemic. We did. Many of us—instructors and students alike—are struggling to understand what the boundaries and expectations should be now. They are not the same as pre-pandemic, but neither should they be the same as they were immediately after the pandemic. We should continue to deeply reflect on our course expectations and policies. Am I being flexible enough? Too much? Am I being equitable? Am I being reasonable, or is my empathy leading me to set the bar too low? Am I providing the right kind and amount of scaffolding (given student needs) or am I doing too much and not giving room for making (and learning from) mistakes? As we continue to move forward, discussion about how to respond compassionately to the needs of incoming post-pandemic students while balancing academic rigor, instructor workload, and well-being is a critical issue for higher education to address.