For F[aculty]’s sake, Let’s Stop Overfunctioning

March 27, 2025

When my father died last semester, I didn’t take any time off work—not a day, not an hour, not a minute. In fact, that week, I worked several twelve-hour days in a row. To contextualize this, we were estranged; that said, I found the grief taking some interesting twists. Turns out that losing a father, even one you never really had, is not easy.

In the days and weeks afterward, I should’ve listened to the friends who advised me to honor the away message I put up; to cancel upcoming workshops I was facilitating; to cancel a class or two; to drop a few things off my to-do list; to just take some time to take care of myself. Most importantly, I should have taken up some of the offers of support that I received.

I didn’t.

Instead, I kept going, honoring what I thought were my responsibilities—and taking on a few that weren’t mine. Welcome to overfunctioning, which can manifest in many ways. We take on too many responsibilities; we overachieve to prove our worth (especially when we feel unworthy); we violate boundaries in the name of “helping” someone else, even someone who hasn’t asked for it; we offer plenty of help, but rarely ask for it; we don’t take time off, when we should. Many workplaces, including in higher education, pathologically reward overfunctioning and overfunctioners, and they also burn them (us) out. 

Overfunctioning shows up in so many dimensions of our academic lives. In our scholarship, where we are rewarded for our ever-growing lists of projects, presentations, and publications. In our teaching and advising, where, “sure thing!,” we’ll take on overloads and extra students and the courses no one else wants to teach; we take on the stress and emotional experiences of our students; we over-check-in, over-explain, over-remind, over-work, return essays within 48 hours, answer emails within 4.8 minutes. In our service, where, “of course!,” we’ll take on that colleague’s work, and we’ll serve on that committee. Heck, while we’re at it, we’ll co-chair it, volunteer to write the reports, and send the agenda and three reminders before each meeting…and detailed meeting notes afterward. It’s exhausting and, ultimately, counterproductive. 

We also need to attend to our overfunctioning students. We know to check in on and submit Madison Cares reports for our obviously struggling students, the ones who don’t come to class or who keep missing deadlines. But what about the ones who seem to be doing JUST FINE? Who have a 100% in the class and submit the extra credit, anyway; who turn in, a week early, a ten-page paper when the requirement was six; who are in five student orgs and the president of three?

Are they okay? Or are they overfunctioning in response to trauma or anxiety? How do we know? 

One way to address overfunctioning is to examine our culture of rewarding achievement alone. We have Dean’s lists for students, the Provost’s emails for faculty, and a plethora of awards for excellence. Those aren’t, inherently, negative things. But, sometimes, despite the good intentions of these offerings, we might be reinforcing inequalities, as well as a toxic culture of achievement. 

And, sometimes, the real achievement is getting through a tough day—or tough decade. (Maybe we need an award for that!) During the pandemic, for example, faculty—and the offices that supported faculty—kicked into overdrive, pushing and working through difficult conditions to keep doing our jobs, and then some. It was heroic. But it also led to burnout, and worse. 

Overfunctioning damages the overfunctioner, of course, but it can potentially harm us all. We talk about the dangers of snowplow parenting, but if we are “snowplow faculty,” we are potentially robbing students—or colleagues—of opportunities to develop strategies for navigating their own challenges and building up the confidence to know that they can do it. It’s okay and even necessary to make mistakes and learn by failure. In the classroom, we can use scaffolding and create opportunities where students can experiment and learn in low-stakes settings. We can build in support and challenge.

Consider proactively encouraging all students, not just ones we perceive to be struggling, to make use of resources like those offered by the Counseling Center, which include many workshops, spaces, and ideas for self-care. Advocate for more faculty wellness and well-being resources. Talk to students about self-care strategies, developing learning strategies, managing their time, saying no, and setting boundaries. Explore ways to build in flexibility, so that a few absences or missed assignments won’t be the end of the world.

 And we can learn that lesson, too. It’s really okay to let some balls drop, even ones that seem like glass. While faculty do need to think about external requirements, such as those for the tenure and promotion process, we also can be realistic about goals and priorities, and let some things go. The committee will be fine if we don’t join it; class will be fine if we don’t overprep it; students will be fine (or even better) if we let them find the solution themselves; the conference will go on without us if we decide we just don’t have the capacity to put in that proposal. We don’t have to always do all the things!

We are within systems that encourage us to be superhuman, that glorify overworking, and that make us work to prove our worth, often disproportionately. We shouldn’t have to prove our worth. Let’s work together to explore ways to learn from and transform overfunctioning, prioritize care, and create systems that value our inherent worth and dignity.

To keep this and other wellness and well-being conversations going, please join the CFI and partners for the upcoming Faculty Wellness and Well-Being Week, April 7-11, including a virtual keynote by Katie Rose Guest Pryal on “Reckoning with Mental Health and Neurodiversity in Higher Education.”