My dorm room embodies everything opposite of the chaos outside its walls: tranquility. It’s where the academic grind and existential questions about future success are left at the door. The same can be said for students across campus who curate their rooms similar to tiny museums of calm, filled with posters and personal touches — a physical reflection of who they are. But, when an unwelcome disturbance shatters this haven, it feels like the fragile order of student life crumbles into chaos. Usually, these unwelcome disturbances are an inadequacy of the housing experience offered at Vanderbilt.
I love my dorm and the community it offers, but what I don’t like are the avoidable lapses that disrupt my residential experience. As a resident of a Mayfield, I’ve seen the cracks — literally and metaphorically. Within weeks of move-in, my housemates and I were battling an insect invasion, with bugs sprouting from the crevices in the walls. After persistent maintenance requests, the issue was resolved, but the dawn of spring semester greeted us with another unpleasant surprise: a clogged shower on the very first day back.
Perplexed, we filed a maintenance request, only to find this time the problem was also a persistent retaliator. Each day, a worker would come to fix the drain, and by evening, our bathroom would metamorphose into a hideous puddle yet again. This predicament ensued for a few days, creating a frustrating tug-of war between the clogged drain and confused workers. Finally, the issue was investigated more thoroughly and resolved. While I understand that occurrences like these happen, limiting ten people to a single bathroom for days on end is a massive inconvenience — one that feels avoidable with better preparation and responsiveness.
This isn’t just an issue for our Mayfield. Not far from us, Mayfield 7 residents were greeted by a rat scurrying across their floor on the first day of the academic year. And, in October 2024, a malfunctioning elevator in E. Bronson Ingram jolted to the ground while a student was inside. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but incidents like these seem to be a tradition — albeit an unwelcome one — in Vanderbilt’s on-campus housing experience.
For a university that prides itself on its world-class education and holistic student experience, these situations prompt a simple yet unsettling question: Why should students pay a premium for living spaces that often resemble scenes from a disaster movie? If you are content with your living experience, I am more than happy for you, but imagine being in the middle of peak midterm season and waking up at 2 a.m. to find your Mayfield flooding, forcing you to relocate to emergency housing. This nightmare became a reality for the residents of Mayfield 17.
Kiran Dhillon, a sophomore and resident of Mayfield 17, expressed her frustration with the lack of communication from housing coordinators during the ordeal. Initially told the move would last three days, she and her housemates ended up staying in their temporary space for over a week, spilling into fall break last semester. Apart from its barren walls, the emergency housing in Mayfield 12 offered dust and bugs as constant companions. Dhillon shared how the upheaval disrupted her sense of stability.
“I’ve furnished my room to my liking, free from extraneous distraction. Being forced to move into a bare, unfamiliar space was unsettling, especially since we ended up staying longer than expected.”
This point brings us back to our purpose here as students. Kevin Dolan, in his guest editorial, described Vanderbilt as “the school of the manic overachiever.” He’s not wrong. But, for students to live up to Vanderbilt’s high expectations, they need an environment that fosters, not hinders, their growth. Unceasing issues like pest infestations, flooding, and structural malfunctions don’t just inconvenience students; they compromise safety, health and the ability to unwind. Research from BMC Public Health reveals that poor housing conditions can lead to mental health struggles like depression, creating a ripple effect that harms academic performance, and that is surely not Vanderbilt Housing’s intended purpose.
To address these ongoing issues and create a genuinely supportive living environment, Vanderbilt should take proactive measures. First, improving communication between students facing housing problems and those working to resolve them is essential. If I were getting regular updates about my problem, it would’ve assured me I’m not forgotten and that there’s actually progress being made. They would make me feel respected and in the loop, inducing empathy for the maintenance staff as well. Additionally, I propose a student-run housing committee, separate from the RAs who already have a lot on their plate, which could give students a more approachable platform to voice concerns. It would remove communication barriers between students and administrators, making it easier for all of Vanderbilt to work toward a more cohesive and livable experience.
If Vanderbilt expects its students to achieve greatness, it must hold itself to the same standard. The university’s high expectations for academic and professional excellence should be mirrored in its commitment to providing safe, stable and comfortable living spaces. After all, a sanctuary can only inspire when it isn’t under siege by rats, floods or broken elevators.
