Staying in college is harder for LGBTQ+ students than people realize | Opinion
When people talk about college affordability, they usually mean tuition. But for LGBTQ+ students like me, that’s not the whole story.
I grew up in southeast San Diego in a low-income, single-parent household. As the oldest of three and the first in my family to pursue college, education was much more than just “school” to me — it was our family’s path toward stability, opportunity and a different future.
As college prices continue to climb faster than family incomes, as documented by The Institute for College Access & Success, the real question now isn’t, “Can I afford to enroll?” It’s, “Can I afford to stay?”
Growing up, my mother carried the full financial and parenting load, yet she still showed up for football games, award ceremonies and graduations. She pushed me to aim higher — even when we didn’t have the money, guidance or access to the same resources many of my peers did.
As a first-generation, low-income African American student, I had to teach myself how to navigate the higher education system. I filled out complex forms without guidance, balanced adult responsibilities at home and often found myself to be one of the few Black students in academic spaces where I was expected to quietly figure things out while working twice as hard to prove that I belonged.
It felt isolating, but it also sharpened my resilience and sense of purpose.
I’m a student balancing school, work and long-term financial goals. What people don’t always see is the instability that can sit just beneath the surface for many LGBTQ+ students — housing uncertainty, family strain, mental health challenges and the constant calculation of when it’s safe to fully be ourselves.
For some of us, coming out means losing financial support from parents. For others, it means choosing silence to avoid conflict or instability. Even when families are loving, they may be stretched thin — working multiple jobs, unable to help with rent or textbooks. That pressure doesn’t disappear once we step onto campus. It follows us into classrooms, study sessions, late-night shifts and everyday life.
I have carried the weight of being responsible for my future while setting an example for my younger siblings. As I try to change my family’s trajectory, failure feels like disappointing the people who believed in me and invested everything they could in my success.
The data from studies confirm what many of us already know: LGBTQ+ college students report significantly higher rates of financial insecurity, food insecurity, anxiety and depression than their peers. But statistics only tell part of the story. Behind every percentage is a student deciding whether to buy groceries or course materials. A student skipping therapy appointments to afford rent. A student wondering if being honest about who they are could cost them stability.
Support for LGBTQ+ students has to go beyond a check.
Too often, decisions about student support are made without students at the table. As a member of the National Rainbow College Fund’s Student Advisory Council, I’ve seen how much stronger programs become when students help shape them. We know where the gaps are — we live them.
Financial aid is critical. Scholarships can mean the difference between staying enrolled or dropping out. But students also need stability, mental health support, affirming campus policies and programs designed with our lived experiences in mind.
What I have lived through drives me to push past barriers and create opportunities for other low-income families of color working to change the course of their family’s future.
As the pressure to pay off federal student loans is increasing under this administration and economic uncertainty grows, LGBTQ+ students are especially vulnerable to being overlooked. Student debt intersects with discrimination, housing insecurity and mental health stress. When institutions fail to recognize that, talented students are pushed out — not because they lack ambition, but because the system wasn’t built with them in mind.
This isn’t just about one organization or one scholarship cycle. It’s about rethinking how we define college access and success. Access isn’t meaningful if students can’t persist. And persistence requires more than tuition assistance — it requires safety, belonging and real partnership.
If you are an LGBTQ+ student trying to hold everything together while chasing your degree, you are not alone.
Saiyvionn Williams is a student at California State University, Chico.
This story was originally published March 31, 2026 at 2:00 AM with the headline "Staying in college is harder for LGBTQ+ students than people realize | Opinion."