By Karleigh K. Mattison
The first thing I learned after moving into student housing is how loud independence can be. Doors slam at unexpected hours, echoing down narrow hallways. Conversations slip through the thin walls between rooms. Even the quiet moments seem temporary, interrupted by footsteps or the distant thud of another door closing.
For many students, this constant motion becomes part of the rhythm of dorm life. For others, it takes longer to adjust.
Most mornings, before I check my phone or think about the day ahead—classes, assignments, the quiet pressure that comes with living somewhere unfamiliar—I notice the small, steady presence beside me. My cat shifts slightly at the edge of the bed, stretching into the morning light. In a building filled with people I’m still getting to know, she has become one of the few constants in a space that doesn’t always feel like home.
She is my emotional support animal, commonly referred to as an ESA.
Emotional support animals have become a more visible part of college housing in recent years. Unlike service animals, which are trained to perform specific tasks for individuals with disabilities, ESAs are not required to undergo specialized training. Instead, they are recognized as a housing accommodation for students with documented mental or emotional health needs.
Under federal housing protections, colleges and universities are required to consider requests for emotional support animals in campus housing. The policies surrounding them, however, often exist in a careful balance between accessibility and the realities of communal living.
On many campuses, ESAs occupy a complicated space. For students who rely on them, they can offer comfort and stability during an already overwhelming transition. For others sharing the same hallways and common spaces, their presence can raise questions about responsibility, policy, and fairness.
College housing is designed to introduce independence quickly. Students leave behind familiar routines and move into buildings where hundreds of people are learning to live alongside one another at the same time. Privacy becomes thinner. Noise becomes constant. Everyday habits shift to accommodate shared spaces.
For some students, that adjustment comes naturally. For others, it can feel disorienting.
Before moving into student housing, I didn’t fully realize how much of my daily sense of stability came from the routines of home. The familiar sounds in the morning, the quiet of my own room, the predictability of spaces I had known for years—all of it disappeared almost overnight.
In the dorms, life moves differently. People come and go at all hours. The hallway lights never seem to dim completely. Late-night conversations and early alarms blur together, creating a rhythm that feels both energetic and exhausting.
Living with an emotional support animal didn’t erase that sense of disruption, but it softened it. My cat introduced small anchors into a day that otherwise felt unstructured. Feeding her in the morning became part of the routine. So did the quiet moments before leaving for class, when the room was still and the hallway outside hadn’t fully come alive yet.
In a place where nearly everything felt unfamiliar, those routines began to matter.
Life with an ESA also carries practical responsibilities that can easily be overlooked in conversation about accommodations. Caring for an animal requires time, attention, and consistency—something that can be challenging to maintain while balancing coursework, employment, and the social demands of college life.
Mornings start earlier to make sure she’s fed and settled before class. Evenings involve cleaning, playing, and checking in before the night ends. The responsibilities are small on their own, but together they form a rhythm that shapes the day.
Living in close quarters with other students also means paying careful attention to how those routines affect the people nearby. Shared hallways and communal spaces require an added level of awareness. There is a quiet effort to make sure my presence—and my animal’s presence—doesn’t disrupt the people around me.
That awareness extends beyond daily care. Students with ESAs often find themselves navigating social assumptions about what emotional support animals are and why they exist.
Many people are familiar with service animals and the specific legal protections surrounding them, but emotional support animals are less widely understood. As a result, students who rely on them may feel an unspoken pressure to explain or justify their presence in ways that other residents never have to consider.
There is also the administrative side of the process. Bringing an ESA into campus housing requires documentation, communication with housing offices, and approval through institutional procedures. The process can take time, and for many students it involves sharing personal information about mental or emotional health with people they may never meet face to face.
For students already navigating the pressures of a new academic environment, that process can feel both necessary and vulnerable. At the same time, the benefits of living with an ESA often emerge in small, quiet ways rather than dramatic ones. During long stretches of studying or stressful weeks filled with exams, the presence of a familiar animal can provide moments of calm that are difficult to find elsewhere on campus.
Sometimes that support looks simple: a short break from studying to sit on the floor and play, or the quiet comfort of another living being nearby while the outside world continues at full volume.
Those moments don’t erase the stress of college life, but they can interrupt it long enough to breathe.
As conversations about student mental health continue to grow across universities, emotional support animals have become part of a broader discussion about how campuses provide support. Counseling services, peer networks, and academic accommodations all play a role, but for some students, daily companionship can offer another form of stability.
Housing policies must constantly navigate the balance between supporting individual needs and maintaining living spaces that work for large communities. That balance isn’t always easy, and policies surrounding ESAs continue to evolve as campuses respond to increasing requests and shifting awareness around mental health.
For students considering an emotional support animal, the decision involves more than comfort. It requires an understanding of the responsibilities involved and the impact that choice may have on shared living spaces.
For students living alongside someone with an ESA, greater awareness of what the accommodation represents can help replace uncertainty with understanding.
College is often described as a time of transition—a period defined by independence, pressure, and rapid change. In student housing, that transition unfolds behind hundreds of closed doors, each room holding a different version of what adjustment looks like.
For some students, support arrives through friends, family, or campus resources. For others, it arrives in quieter ways.
Sometimes, it curls up at the foot of the bed, waiting for the next morning to begin
Spring 2026 
Leave a comment