First-Generation Students Are Creating the Legacies They Couldn’t Inherit

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For first-generation college students, the diploma is never a mere fancy signed piece of paper. It is proof.

Proof that the sacrifices were worth it, that the family’s story is shifting and that the silent yet sometimes deafening pressure did not crush them. It is also a weight wrapped around them like a drenched blanket left in the rain for far too long, bearing down until every step forward feels harder than the last.

Image Credit: Niaomi MoShier

Niaomi MoShier

“When I think about the word legacy,” said Niaomi MoShier, who holds a master’s degree in public health, “I think of my grandmother, who picked cotton as a child and gave up her educational dreams at 19 to care for her family.” 

She added that her parents also shaped her understanding of legacy. 

“I think of my mother, who pursued school but returned home after a devastating loss in our family. I think of my father, who spent over 40 years behind the wheel of a truck to make sure his child had more than he did. My legacy begins with their resilience. It will continue through every door I open that they couldn’t and every other first-generation student or family member that I support through the same paths.”

MoShier walked into classrooms where she had to explain the cultural norms of her community and humanize her experiences because no one else could. She was often the only voice pushing back against microaggressions and outright racism, measuring her tone to avoid being dismissed as the “angry Black woman.” While classmates leaned on parents for financial support, she juggled 18 credits, three jobs, and leadership roles while navigating intimate partner violence and sexual assault.

When she told a professor she was struggling, the response was blunt: “Figure out whatever is going on so you can focus on your studies.” In graduate school, after losing her job, she was told, “That must be hard, but I will be taking points off if your assignment is late.”

“Building a future with no example to follow is equal parts terrifying and empowering,” MoShier said. “I often say, ‘My kids will never know what I’m going through,’ and I mean that with my whole heart. I’m working to break cycles of struggle, silence and survival so they can live in something softer, something freer.”

She added that she did not grow up with a roadmap, but she had two godparents who earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees. Their achievements showed her that higher education was possible, and they supported her in every choice, pushing her to be better and chase her dreams.

“If institutions were truly designed for students like me, they would center equity, not just equality,” MoShier said. “Advisors would be accessible, intentional, and invested in helping students graduate on time, not just available in name. Support systems wouldn’t be hidden behind red tape or reliant on knowing the right person to ask. They would be visible, approachable, and built into the student experience from day one.”

She wants systems that extend grace. Scholarships and opportunities that are widely shared. Support that gives first-gen students a fighting chance. At Howard University, she filled out her FAFSA alone and moved into dorms by herself, while classmates benefited from legacies of access and knowledge.

“I often feel like I am racing against the clock,” she said. “Like I need to secure the ‘big girl job’ with the salary, 401(k), and benefits as soon as possible. There is a constant pressure to succeed quickly, not just for me, but for the people who have poured so much into me. If I can open a door, I want it to stay open. If I can share a resource, I want it to be accessible to everyone who needs it. I’m not just building a future. I’m building a legacy that begins with me.”

Image Credit: Falsheen Maitland

Falsheen Maitland

For Falsheen Maitland, who earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology from Medgar Evers College, the word “legacy” doesn’t carry the same meaning it does for others.

“When I hear it, I don’t think of myself or my family, because there wasn’t much passed down to me,” she said.

Her perspective shifted after becoming a mother. “Now that I have two children — a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old — my legacy feels more like the future than the past. People often tie it to history, to something they’re carrying forward, but for me, it’s the opposite. I’m starting from the ground up. I’m the foundation for whatever legacy my kids will inherit.”

At home, she is the only one in her family who can read English, as they are Spanish speakers from Panama. She translated documents, balanced the accounts, and carried her family forward while trying to stay afloat academically.

“I wasn’t a part of any clubs. I didn’t join anything. I didn’t do anything because I felt like I didn’t have the time,” she said. “Being the first person in my entire family line to go to college, I felt like I didn’t deserve to have that kind of fun. If I had time for clubs, I had time to study. I still carry PTSD from needing to have straight A’s for my mom, because she worked all these hours and made it clear I had to be the one who delivered academically.”

When asked what institutions designed for students like her would look like, she didn’t hesitate. “They would be more affordable and flexible. Professors would be more invested in their students. After the pandemic, many lost touch with why they teach. A student might be trying to figure things out and needs someone to point them in the right direction. Whether you’re a first-gen student or a regular student, people just want to feel seen.”

For Maitland, legacy is not just personal. It is the foundation she lays so her children can inherit something she never had.

Image Credit: Toya Johnson

Latoya Johnson

Latoya Johnson, a registered nurse, remembers walking into a system where no one in her immediate family could guide her. “I rarely saw people who looked like me in the nursing field,” she said. “I had to figure almost everything out for myself, from navigating nursing school requirements to understanding the profession as a whole.”

She worked full-time while in nursing school, raised her son, supported her sister who lives with a mental disorder, and helped her mother with family responsibilities. “Balancing a demanding job, family obligations, parenting, and the intense workload of nursing school required resilience and discipline,” Johnson said. “But it also strengthened my determination to succeed.”

The journey was even more fraught with difficulty as Johnson had no familial support. “My family is distant. I no longer speak to them because of the way I was treated during nursing school. The lack of support and the negativity I experienced created a divide that I chose not to bridge, and I’ve found peace focusing on my own growth and the people who truly support me.”

Quitting was never an option. “I wanted something more stable. A career where I could build toward the American dream. I wanted to understand things like a 401(k) or 403(b) and plan for retirement, something my mother never had the chance to do.”

Johnson believes she is setting an example for her son and others in her community. “I am breaking barriers and showing that it is possible to create opportunities even without a clear blueprint to follow. I am proud that I persevered despite having no guidance, limited resources, and little emotional support.”

Image Credit: Xavier Logan

Xavier Logan

Xavier Logan, a Juilliard School alumnus, describes legacy as “forging an unprecedented path for those coming after you.” That path has meant navigating spaces where others assumed he would be fine.

At 22, he is the same age his mother was when she had him. “I sometimes think about making sure my parents know they made the right decision in having me instead of finishing their degree and aspirations,” he said.

“The best way I could describe it is like a blank canvas,” Logan added. “Different from a template, it’s scary not having any guidelines or parameters on what is possible.”

He feels the same pressure to succeed quickly, but channels it differently. “Growing up, there was a friendly rivalry of last names on my dad’s side of the family. The Logans always felt othered, but time has shown that resources do not mean anything without a vision.”

Mentorship and community anchor his vision. “My current path would not exist without the guidance, love, and support of mentorship and community. I hope to foster an environment like that for someone else.”

The Legacy They Are Building

For all four, making history ought to be lauded as hard as their white counterparts. For them, it has constantly been a series of choices made when no one is watching. It is the long walk back from class after a double shift. It is the FAFSA form filled out in silence at a kitchen table. It is holding the weight until your shoulders stop shaking, because you know you cannot set it down yet.

They are not only the first to arrive. They are the ones laying the ground so someone else can walk it lighter. The real legacy is not the moment they toss the cap in the air. It is the ground they broke to get there and the promise that the door will not close behind them.