Bye Bye LB

Written by Lily Brown

Guys, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but here it goes. I’M OFFICIALLY DONE BEING AN RA FOREVER! By the time this gets posted and you all have a chance to read it, not only will I no longer be roaming the halls, but I will also be moved tf out. Scary!

What a time it’s been in the Little Building, a place I’ve somehow called home for four out of my five years at Emerson (which feels both impressive and deeply concerning). This building has truly seen every version of me. Freshman-year me had someone throw up in my laundry. First-year RA me got COVID during training and had to quarantine before I even learned how to properly do rounds. Then somehow, against all odds, I survived long enough to win the New RA ERA award and become a graduate student RA. At this point, I feel less like a resident and more like a historical landmark in LB. I genuinely feel like I’ve lived ten different lives in this building alone.

But honestly? I wouldn’t trade any of it.

Being an RA has completely shaped my college experience in ways I never expected. Sure, I thought it would help me pay for housing and maybe make me even more responsible. But I didn’t realize I’d gain an entire second family, learn how to problem solve under pressure, or become the kind of person who can de-escalate a screaming roommate conflict at 2 a.m. while simultaneously filling out an incident report and answering three lockout calls.

I’m now going to say something that may rub some other RAs the wrong way: being an LB RA is the hardest job on campus. I don’t want to hear it from Colo, the Para people, or anyone blessed with the 2B upperclassmen suites where residents actually know how to use a microwave and submit a maintenance request without causing structural damage. I would KILL for one PRow-style issue where someone’s only crime is throwing a slightly too loud pregame before Tam Thursday. 

Meanwhile, in LB, we’re fighting for our lives daily with the freshmen. We’ve got lockouts every seven seconds, mystery hallway smells that deserve their own CDC investigation, broken elevators, vandalism, students crying in bathrooms, and residents discovering freedom for the first time in the most horrifyingly creative ways possible. Living and supervising here is basically a nightmare.

And somehow, through all of that, LB becomes home.

Over the past three years, I’ve had 30 direct residents at a time, countless duty nights, and enough rounds to last me a lifetime. But more importantly, I’ve met some of the funniest, smartest, weirdest, and most resilient people ever. Residents who made me laugh after awful shifts. Coworkers who turned duty into therapy sessions. Friends who became family.

So before I officially pass the torch and disappear into post-grad life (for the second time), I wanted to reflect a little on what this job has meant to me, what I’ve learned, and what I hope the next (pit) crew takes with them.

LB Will Humble You

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. There is truly no experience quite like working in LB.

This building forces you to grow up fast because every single day is unpredictable. You can start your shift thinking it’ll be quiet and suddenly find yourself dealing with a fire alarm, two lockouts, someone sobbing over their EmCeleb situationship, and a resident trying to keep an emotional support dog they’re definitely not allowed to have.

And somehow, you adapt.

I think that’s the biggest thing this job taught me: confidence. Not fake confidence, but the kind that comes from realizing you can handle difficult situations even when you’re exhausted, overwhelmed, or unsure. There were so many moments my first year where I was fully convinced I had been accidentally placed in the wrong role and someone was going to notice I was just winging it professionally. I’d literally overthink every interaction and replay every conversation after rounds. Meanwhile, the residents were already back in their rooms living their lives and I was in my head writing a full performance review of myself for absolutely no reason.

But eventually, something shifts. You learn how to trust yourself. You learn how to stay calm during chaos. You learn that people don’t need you to be perfect. They just need you to care.

And despite all the jokes we make about freshmen being insane (lovingly), I really do admire them. Moving away from home for the first time is hard. A lot of residents come into LB terrified, lonely, overwhelmed, or struggling silently. Being able to support people during such a huge transition in their lives is something I’ll always be grateful for. Even on the worst nights, this job mattered.

LB Mid Forever

I could talk forever about crazy duty stories or bizarre incident reports, but the real reason this job meant so much to me is the people. My fellow RAs genuinely carried me through college, especially my previous LB Mid team and our supervisor Pat, who somehow managed to supervise all of us while also serving as emotional support, crisis manager, and voice of reason when things in LB got spiritually unwell.

There is truly no trauma bond quite like sitting in the duty office at 8 p.m. clocking in for another shift, inhaling stale chips and leftover cookies from a program nobody attended, while aggressively ranting about your week. Some of my favorite memories came from the most random moments: uncontrollably laughing during rounds, delirious post-duty morning debriefs, absolutely unhinged training sessions, or spending two hours at RD Kelly or Hunter’s desk “just talking for a minute” instead of doing the homework that was actively ruining my life.

These people saw every version of me. Burnt Out me. Sleep-Deprived me. Stress-Crying-Before-Finals me. And somehow they still showed up for me every single time.

That’s the thing nobody tells you before becoming an RA. Yes, you become a mentor and a leader, but you also gain a support system. You find people who understand the weird emotional exhaustion that comes with being “on” all the time. People who know what it’s like to sacrifice weekends, answer calls at impossible hours, and still have to make the building feel welcoming.

My first-year freshmen were genuinely everything to me, and it still catches me off guard when I’m walking down Boylston and one of you yells “LILY!” from across the street like we’re long-lost war buddies. But even my spring residents last year and this past academic year’s crew made an impact on me, too. The residents who would stop by “for one quick question” and somehow stay for 45 minutes. The little notes left on my door. The freshmen who showed up in September absolutely terrified and walked out a little more confident this May.

Watching people grow while you’re growing too is a really beautiful thing. And as cheesy as it sounds, LB really did become home because of the people inside it.

Passing the RA Torch

To the new RA crew: first of all, good luck. Seriously.

You’re about to enter one of the most exhausting yet rewarding experiences ever. There will be nights where you question why you signed up for this. There will be duty shifts from hell. You will absolutely get lockout calls at the worst possible moments. And yes, someone will probably cry in front of you within your first two weeks.

Emerson and HRE will throw a million and one things your way (I mean, did you SEE this year?). But you are more capable than you think.

My biggest piece of advice is this: don’t lose your humanity trying to be “perfect” at the job. The best RAs aren’t the strictest or the most intimidating. They’re the people who make residents feel safe, heard, and respected.

Your residents are not going to walk away from college with a detailed mental archive of every policy conversation you had with them. And they’re definitely not going to be able to tell you, five years from now, who wrote them up for what and why (frankly, half of them will be convinced it was a different RA entirely). But they will remember whether or not you treated them with kindness. Thank you, Harry Styles!

Also, take care of yourself. Burnout in this job is very real. Give yourself permission to step away when you need to. Lean on your coworkers. Ask for help. You do not have to carry everything alone, especially if you’re in LB. There’s like 30 of you and some.

And finally, enjoy it. Even the ridiculous parts.

One day, you’ll miss it more than you expect. It’s been a few days, and I already do. You’ll miss hearing people scream down the hallway at 1 a.m. You’ll miss duty walks with your coworkers. You’ll miss the random residents who stopped by your room just to say hi.

LB will frustrate you, exhaust you, and absolutely humble you. But if you let it, it’ll also change you for the better.

So with that, goodbye, Little Building. Thanks for the countless memories, the lessons, the friendships, and the endless lockouts. After three years, it’s officially time to pass the torch and turn in my key. As one of my professors used to tell me, “Onward!”

Peace out LB,

(L)ily (B)rown