It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Tuesday, and while a lot of students at Northern Kentucky University are wrapping up their night, student Savannah Metzger is clocking in for a late shift at Walmart. Instead of studying or relaxing after class, she’s spending her night working to keep up with the cost of college.
“I work about 25 hours a week,” Metzger said. “People always say college is your full-time job, but for me, this is what actually pays the bills.”
Even with those hours, the numbers still don’t really work. Metzger is a freshman currently living on campus, but she already knows that won’t last. As she looks ahead to next year, the cost of tuition and housing has forced her to make a tough decision – she won’t be returning to the dorms. Instead, she’ll be moving back in with her parents and commuting about 45 minutes each way.
“I love being on campus, but I’m already over $20,000 in debt after just one year,” she said. “I can’t justify spending another $10,000 just to live here. At this point, my college experience is probably going to be a lot of driving and a lot of listening to podcasts.”
What Metzger is dealing with isn’t unusual. Across the United States, student loan debt has grown to more than $1.7 trillion, according to the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. For students at NKU, it’s not just a national issue – it’s something that affects everyday decisions, like where to live, how much to work and how to balance school and life.
NKU is still considered one of the more affordable schools in the region, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to afford. With a recent 3.9% tuition increase and rising costs for things like food and housing, even a “reasonable” option is becoming harder to manage.
This isn’t just about numbers – it’s about how students are having to change their daily lives just to stay in school. To understand why costs continue to rise, you have to look at the university’s side. In the Lucas Administrative Center, Brandon Billiter, director of Student Account Services, works directly with how students are billed and what goes into those costs.
“We are very aware of the burden on our students,” Billiter said. “We just passed a balanced budget, but that comes with difficult decisions. The cost of labor, utilities and technology is increasing, and some of that unfortunately gets passed on to students.”
He said NKU has tried to expand support systems like UCAP and FUEL NKU, the campus food pantry, to help students stay on track.
“Financial stress is one of the biggest reasons students don’t finish their degrees,” he said. “If someone is commuting long distances or working multiple jobs, it becomes much harder to graduate. The goal is to help them finish so the debt they take on is manageable.”
For Metzger, that “manageable” path comes with trade-offs. Moving back home means spending about an hour and a half in the car every day — time she used to spend studying, being on campus or just taking a break.
“Last semester, I had to wait two weeks to buy an access code for one of my classes because I needed my paycheck first,” she said. “Now I’m thinking about gas, tires, oil changes, stuff I didn’t really worry about before. It feels like everything just keeps adding up.”
That pressure doesn’t go away.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m getting a degree to actually do what I want,” she said, “or if I’m just getting a degree so I can pay off the degree.”
For some students, the stress doesn’t end after graduation. Sadie Weaver, a 2022 NKU graduate, is still dealing with the financial impact of her degree. She originally planned to go into marketing, but right now she’s working at Walgreens while trying to find something in her field that pays enough to support herself.
“I graduated with about $32,000 in debt,” Weaver said. “At 22, it didn’t feel real. Now at 25, it definitely is.”
Between a $350 monthly student loan payment and a car payment just to get to work, she couldn’t afford to live on her own. Like Metzger, she had to move back in with her parents.
“I’m grateful they let me stay, but it’s not what you picture after graduating,” she said. “You think you’ll have your own places, your own life. Instead, it kind of feels like you’re stuck.”
She said her debt has made it hard to move forward financially.
“My debt-to-income ratio is so high that I can’t qualify for an apartment, let alone a house,” she said. “It feels like I’m just waiting for things to finally start.”
Looking back, she said she would have approached borrowing differently.
“Don’t just accept the full loan amount because it’s offered,” she says. “Only take what you actually need. Nobody really explains how much that decision matters later.”
The situation at NKU reflects a larger shift in higher education. As state funding has changed over time, more of the cost has been passed on to students, according to the College Board. The university is trying to respond with scholarships and what it calls a “student-first” budget, but for many students, the reality is still difficult.
For Metzger, thinking about the future can feel overwhelming.
“I try not to stress about it too much right now,” she said. “But it’s always in the back of my mind. Like, am I going to graduate and actually be able to afford my life?”
That uncertainty is something a lot of students share. While a degree is still seen as the best path to a stable career, the rising cost is forcing students to take on more risk than before. Even small financial decisions during college can shape a student’s future: how much they borrow, how much they work and even where they live.
Billiter said the university tries to help students make informed choices.
“We want students to succeed not just while they’re here, but after they graduate,” he said. “That’s why we encourage students to really understand what they’re borrowing.”
Still, for many students, those choices don’t feel simple.
“It’s not like I have a lot of options,” Metzger said. “I’m just doing what I have to do to stay in School.”
That reality shows how college today is about more than academics; it’s about survival, planning and trying to stay ahead of the financial pressure that comes with it.
As her shift ends at 2:30 a.m., Metzger grabs her things and heads out. She has a 9 a.m. class that morning, and soon that routine will include a long commute from her parents’ house.
“People act like student debt is something you deal with later,” she says, locking the door behind her. “But for us, it’s already affecting everything.”
She walks out to her car under the streetlights, getting ready to do it all again the next day. Soon, she’ll be back in class, working toward a degree she hopes will pay off. But in the dark of the morning, she’s just trying to make the numbers work.
