Dr. Lori Marie Huertas is an Assistant Director of Industry Partnerships and a first-generation academic leader dedicated to expanding career pathways for underserved students. A bilingual educator, children’s book author, and advocate for experiential learning, she has built programs that connect students with mentorship and workforce champions. Her research centers on critical thinking, student voice, and equitable access in STEM. Dr. Huertas is recognized for her transformational leadership, community engagement, and initiatives that bridge academia, industry, and opportunity.
When I step into a classroom or student gathering, I remind myself that every person sitting in front of me carries an entire life with them. The confident voices, the quiet ones, the students who arrive early, the ones who slip in after a double shift, none of them are simply “learners.” They are caregivers, dreamers, veterans, refugees, parents, artists, and young professionals discovering themselves. They are navigating systems that never fully anticipated their lives. Higher education often views them through enrollment dashboards; they experience it as hope, pressure, debt, or possibility.
If higher education is to prepare students for the realities of the workforce, it must first understand who students are when they arrive.
The Emotional Realities We Don’t Talk About
The students who stay after class are often not asking about grades. They’re asking about life. They wonder if they belong in a major dominated by people who don’t look like them. They ask whether a gap in their résumé will cost them opportunities. They whisper their ambitions, unsure if they are allowed to want more.
I once worked with a brilliant engineering student who had excellent lab performance and glowing faculty feedback. Yet she refused to apply to a competitive internship. When I asked why, she answered with a softness I’ll never forget:
“I don’t want to waste their time.”
It was not a question of capability. It was a question of identity. Many first-generation, low-income, and underrepresented students don’t see themselves as the people employers choose. They imagine rejection before possibility. They’ve spent years being praised for survival, not for excellence, so excellence feels like unfamiliar territory.
Career readiness cannot begin with résumé templates or professional attire checklists. It begins when students feel worthy of opportunity.
Education as a Bridge, Not a Destination
For decades, higher education focused on access, scholarships, recruitment pipelines, admissions strategies. Opening the door matters, but access alone does not guarantee mobility. A student can be admitted and still feel excluded. They can graduate and still feel unprepared.
The most transformative college experiences do not merely impart knowledge; they create new identities. Students who once saw themselves as outsiders learn to introduce themselves with confidence:
“I am a scientist.”
“I am an architect.”
“I am a leader.”
This identity shift does not happen by accident. It comes from community, mentorship, and environments that affirm the value of their lived experience.
Mentorship Is Not a Bonus: It Is a System
When we talk about mentorship in higher education, we often imagine a formalized program or an annual networking event. But mentorship is more elemental, it is a human relationship. It is the moment when someone says, “I see you,” and means it.
I once met a student veteran who spent years stationed overseas. He had medals, leadership experience, and unmatched discipline. He applied for entry-level jobs because he believed that was all he deserved. He didn’t know how to translate years of service into civilian language. What he needed wasn’t a brochure. He needed affirmation. He needed someone to say, “Your skills count here.”
Mentors transform the internal narrative of students. They don’t just advise; they normalize ambition.
What the Workforce Is Actually Asking For
Employers do not hire transcripts. They hire people—people who can collaborate, think critically, lead, adapt, and communicate. They want what I call quiet leadership: the project manager who listens, the early-career analyst who asks thoughtful questions, the intern who takes feedback without defensiveness.
These traits are rarely taught directly. They emerge when students have spaces to reflect, struggle, experiment, and build confidence. Students need opportunities to fail without humiliation and try again with guidance. They need adults who model curiosity instead of perfection.
If we want career-ready graduates, we must treat learning as a developmental process rather than a performance.
A Call to Higher Education Professionals
Universities have immense power to shape student identity. But that power is often unintentionally transactional. Advisors focus on degree plans. Faculty focus on content mastery. Career offices focus on job listings. Each area serves a purpose, but they are not coordinated around the psychological needs of the student.
Imagine a different model:
- Faculty intentionally integrate reflective practice and problem-solving.
- Advisors help students connect their life experiences to strengths.
- Mentors provide context and industry language.
- Employers partner not only during recruitment, but during learning.
None of this requires a new product, a new platform, or a new budget line. It requires a shift in posture, from “fixing deficits” to “cultivating potential.”
The Quiet Miracles That Signal Real Transformation
There are breakthroughs I never post on LinkedIn because they are not flashy. They are deeply human. They sound like this:
“Professor, I finally emailed the recruiter.”
“I volunteered to lead the team presentation.”
“I shared my rate and didn’t apologize.”
“I told my family I’m applying for graduate school.”
These small declarations reflect seismic shifts in identity. They come from students who no longer feel like impostors in their own future.
Why This Work Matters
Somewhere in every class sits a student wrestling with grief, self-doubt, or the belief they are one mistake away from being exposed as a fraud. When they persist, it is not because the syllabus told them to. It is because someone made space for them to belong.
The most powerful form of career preparation is not a certificate. It is a campus culture that tells students:
You are not here by accident.
Your story matters.
Your success is possible.
When students believe that, opportunity follows naturally. They apply. They network. They lead. They take risks. They learn to see themselves not as charity cases, but as contributors, people whose future workplaces will be lucky to have them.
That is the true promise of higher education: not just degrees, but identities. Not just careers, but self-determination. Not just classrooms, but bridges.