In Praise of Being First-Gen

I am a first-generation high school graduate. That means I come from a family where the road to higher education wasn’t paved by my parents. My journey wasn’t inherited—it was imagined. I had to believe in something I couldn’t see and then build the bridge to get there, plank by plank, with help from others who understood what it meant to be first.

That’s what being first-gen means to me. And that’s why I embrace the label.

Recently, Inside Higher Ed published an essay suggesting we should stop labeling students “first-gen,” arguing that the term defines students by what their parents didn’t do and risks perpetuating deficit-based thinking. I understand the intent—to see students as whole people, not statistics. But I believe the author misses something profound.

For many of us, the acknowledgment of being first-generation isn’t limiting. It’s liberating. The label didn’t stigmatize me—it empowered me. It opened doors, created community and connected me to people and programs that helped me build the bridge from potential to possibility.

Being First Is Not a Deficit—It’s a Distinction

The term “first-generation” doesn’t describe what we lack; it describes what we’ve accomplished. It marks the courage to enter institutions that were never designed with us in mind and the creativity to find a way forward without a map.

Being first-gen means applying to college without a parent who can explain the FAFSA. It means decoding admissions portals and financial aid letters that feel like foreign languages. It means learning how to do college while doing college—a dual curriculum that tests not only intellect but resilience, adaptability and faith.

To be first-gen is to live a balancing act between two worlds: honoring where you come from while navigating where you’re going. You become translator, advocate and pioneer—often all at once.

The Bridge Builders

I didn’t cross that bridge alone. My path was shaped by organizations, mentors and institutions that saw my first-gen status not as a liability, but as a starting point for empowerment. They didn’t ask me to prove I belonged; they showed me that I did.

They helped me see that my story was part of something larger—a collective movement of students who were not only first in their families to attend college but also first to reimagine what education could mean for their families and communities. That recognition mattered. It provided both structure and safety. It told me I didn’t have to know everything—I just had to keep going.

Those programs and people—from advisers to scholarship organizations—gave me more than academic support. They gave me a sense of belonging that came from being seen, not judged. The label “first-gen” wasn’t a scarlet letter. It was a source of solidarity.

The Real Issue Isn’t the Label—It’s the Lens

The problem isn’t that we call students first-gen. The problem is the lens through which we view them. Too often, the term is treated as a warning sign rather than a badge of honor. We study their deficits, not their distinctions. We design programs to remediate perceived weaknesses instead of amplifying existing strengths.

What if we flipped the narrative? What if institutions saw first-gen identity not as a condition to fix, but as a capacity to celebrate? What if we treated their ingenuity, adaptability and tenacity as models of the kind of learning we want all students to experience?

When we reframe the conversation that way, the label becomes liberating. It becomes an invitation to recognize the diversity of experiences that make higher education a living, breathing ecosystem of transformation.

From Support Centers to Cultural Beacons

First-gen programs, when done right, are not remedial. They are revolutionary. They teach institutions how to become more humane, equitable and responsive. They’re not just about tutoring or financial literacy; they’re about belonging.

These centers and initiatives help students turn isolation into identity. They create spaces where being first is celebrated, not hidden—where students can see themselves reflected in mentors, staff and peers. More importantly, they push colleges to question old assumptions about who belongs and why.

When first-gen students thrive, they remind the academy of what it exists to do: unlock potential wherever it’s found. Their success is not just a personal achievement; it’s an institutional measure of integrity.

Reclaiming the Meaning of First

When we stop naming something, we risk stopping the work it calls us to do. Erasing the term “first-gen” doesn’t erase inequity; it erases visibility.

We should not retire the term. We should revere it. We should use it not as shorthand for struggle but as a symbol of strength. We should celebrate those who are first not for “making it despite the odds,” but for changing the odds—for themselves and for everyone who follows.

That’s because first-gen–ness is contagious. First-gen students are not only learners; they are leaders. For their siblings and cousins, they become living proof that college isn’t just for “other people.” For their friends and neighbors, they’re the go-to guides for navigating forms, deadlines and essays. In real time, they’re building the playbook for those who will come next.

Being first-gen isn’t about what my parents didn’t do. It’s about what I did—and what others helped me do. It’s about building the bridge to opportunity and then widening it so that others can cross. It’s about transformation becoming inheritance.