As a library administrator—associate university librarian, associate dean, department head—you’ve probably experienced this: you send an email about a difficult decision, such as reorganizing desk schedules or shifting budgets, and… silence. No one replies. Or, you notice that some staff avoid initiating emails on sensitive topics altogether.

Every organizational survey seems to tell the same story: employees want more communication. Yet when leaders respond with regular updates, open-door policies, and multiple channels for information sharing, the complaints persist. Staff members continue to feel left in the dark, suspicious of hidden agendas, and frustrated by what they perceive as a lack of transparency.

On some days, leading a library feels like living several professional lives at once. Some days, balance feels impossible.

Toxic workplaces in academic libraries often share the same roots: lack of communication, absence of trust, and exclusion. The consequences are predictable—burnout, disengagement, and diminished scholarly output. Yet, the opposite is also true. When trust, inclusion, and even laughter are present, library teams thrive. Scholarly productivity grows, relationships deepen, and the workplace feels lighter.

Setting the StageAcademic library administrators often carry the weight of two jobs: managing their own heavy workload while supporting the well-being of their staff. The irony is hard to miss—leaders are expected to shield their teams from burnout while quietly experiencing it themselves. The result? Exhaustion, disconnection, and a creeping sense that no one is winning.

As a library director, I see firsthand the toll that toxic culture and burnout can take on academic librarians. The signs are often subtle at first—a colleague skipping breaks, staying late too many nights in a row, or withdrawing from discussions they once led with energy. Over time, those small signals accumulate into disengagement, frustration, and, eventually, burnout.

The beginning of a new academic year often feels like a sprint—orientation sessions, library instruction, committee meetings, and the rush of new responsibilities. But the truth is that the academic year is a marathon, not a sprint. Without mindful pacing and care, librarians can find themselves exhausted, disillusioned, and burned out before midterms arrive.

Healthy organizations thrive when leadership is not concentrated at the top but shared across all levels. Senior leaders set the tone through vision, trust, and empowerment. Middle leaders bring that vision to life by connecting strategy to practice, fostering collaboration, and guiding teams through change. Together, these roles create an environment where innovation and resilience flourish.

In a healthy organization, a new leader acknowledges the past, then focuses on building the future. Criticism may surface during a transition, but it should fade as trust and direction take root.

What does it really take to move forward in academic librarianship? To find out, a recent study of 200 academic library professionals (link) explored the barriers and supports librarians encounter on their career journeys. The findings were clear: many librarians feel stuck. Promotion and tenure criteria are often unclear, tenure itself is out of reach for most, and workplace cultures sometimes undervalue critical contributions like service, mentoring, and DEI work.

The one thing I ever agreed with a former manager on was this: when a new administration arrives, its first move is often to criticize the old one. In higher education, this dynamic plays out regularly. A new president, provost, or dean steps in and quickly distances themselves from their predecessor’s vision. Sometimes it’s framed as “We’re moving in a new direction.” Other times, it’s sharper—“We’re fixing what they broke.”

Receiving a Performance Improvement Plan (PIP) can feel like the floor has been pulled out from under you. For many employees, it’s a moment filled with anxiety, self-doubt, and fear about the future. In a truly supportive workplace, a PIP should function as a roadmap—a structured opportunity to get back on track, clarify expectations, and strengthen professional growth. At its best, it’s a signal that the organization values you enough to invest in your improvement.

Libraries are more than repositories of information—they are communities where people learn, grow, and find belonging. For student workers, interns, and even new staff members, the first days in a library role can shape their confidence and engagement for years to come. At Inclusive Knowledge Solutions, we believe that fostering strong, supportive relationships through mentorship, buddy systems, and sponsorship transforms onboarding into something deeper: a foundation for growth, belonging, and equity.

Roy Wagner (Invention of Culture) once warned:

In academic libraries—where change is constant, resources can be tight, and collaboration is essential—it’s easy to default to problem-solving through a deficit lens. What’s not working? What’s broken? What’s falling behind?

Sasha Costanza-Chock once warned:

Academic libraries are often framed as neutral spaces—repositories of knowledge, service points for students, and support systems for faculty. But beneath this surface lies an often-overlooked force: emotional culture. How people feel at work—what emotions are expressed, encouraged, or suppressed—has a profound effect on performance, retention, collaboration, and institutional trust.

In today’s academic library landscape, many of us spend just as much time pinging, emailing, Slacking, and Zooming as we do curating collections, teaching research skills, or building partnerships with faculty. Yet so often, our messages are misunderstood—or worse, ignored. You might send a clear, concise message about a collaboration or event and receive silence. Or perhaps a carefully worded update yields only a single emoji response.

After nearly three decades in academic libraries—starting in 1997 and graduating from my MLIS program in Wisconsin 20 years ago—I find myself reflecting more and more on what it means to be successful. Not in the abstract sense, but in the personal, lived-in, late-career, what-was-it-all-for kind of way.

"We're like a family here." It's one of the most common phrases you'll hear in corporate culture, often uttered by well-meaning managers and featured prominently on company websites. While the sentiment behind this language is generally understood—leaders want to convey warmth, support, and unity—it's time to retire this metaphor once and for all. Your workplace isn't a family, and pretending it is creates more problems than it solves.

In a moment that quickly went viral, professional tennis player Amanda Anisimova stood at the mic after a crushing loss, fought back tears, and thanked the crowd with unflinching honesty. For many, it was a moving act of vulnerability. For Harvard Business School professor Amy Edmondson, it was something else: a rare, generous act of courage after a devastating failure.

When you're down two colleagues, buried in reference requests, and still expected to run instruction sessions, social media, and assessment reports, it’s natural to ask: How can I keep doing all this?

We've all seen it happen: the manager who consistently misses targets gets promoted to director. The executive who oversaw a major project failure becomes a vice president. The leader who struggled with team management suddenly finds themselves running an entire division. Welcome to the phenomenon of "failing up"—where mediocre or poor performance seemingly gets rewarded with greater responsibility and higher positions.

The job search process can be nerve-wracking enough without employers making it worse through poor communication practices. Unfortunately, many organizations leave candidates hanging in limbo, creating unnecessary stress and anxiety while potentially damaging their own reputation and ability to attract top talent. When employers fail to communicate effectively during the hiring process, it often signals deeper organizational issues that candidates should take seriously.

Middle managers occupy one of the most challenging positions in organizational hierarchies—serving as the critical bridge between senior leadership and frontline staff while often feeling they cannot satisfy either group. Success requires embracing the role as a strategic conduit, not a people pleaser.

In academic libraries, lean staffing has long been portrayed as efficient, necessary, and even virtuous—something to endure quietly, even as we're taught to continue advocating for more support, more staffing, and more recognition. But what if this austerity model is quietly eroding the very foundation of our impact? What if the cost of lean staffing isn't just current stress—but future lost sales?

We often celebrate the idea of transformation in academic libraries—rebranding leaders as innovators, change agents, or visionaries. But not all transformation leads to healthy outcomes. What happens when a transformative leader enters an academic library, only to find that their vision doesn’t fit the institutional culture? Or worse, when transformation becomes disruption without direction?

In academic libraries, overwork is often described in terms of hours logged, tasks juggled, or meetings survived. But these symptoms distract from the deeper cause: power inequities and systemic unfairness. As Brigid Schulte argues in Overwhelmed, work stress flourishes in cultures that mistake busyness for worth and devalue care, rest, and equity.

Check out our limited series podcast with Chloe Mills by clicking play below.

In Holding Change, adrienne maree brown invites us to approach transformation not as a crisis to survive, but as an opportunity to deepen our values, relationships, and capacity for collective action. This perspective is crucial in academic libraries facing sustained budget reductions. Too often, budget cuts are treated as inevitable, technocratic events. But they are also political. They reflect institutional priorities, power dynamics, and whose labor and learning are deemed valuable.

In an era of increasing consortial collaboration, strategic partnerships, and shared service models, academic libraries are leaning on each other more than ever. From resource-sharing initiatives to cooperative digital preservation, the language of partnership abounds. But behind the rhetoric lies an uncomfortable truth: many so-called “partnerships” are structurally inequitable.

In academic libraries and across higher education institutions, we often say our doors are open to feedback. But is that enough? A compelling study by James R. Detert and Ethan R. Burris, "Leadership Behavior and Employee Voice: Is the Door Really Open?" challenges us to consider whether openness is truly being practiced—or merely proclaimed.

In the workplace, communication is everything. But too often, the tone of a conversation—especially the volume of someone’s voice—is used to distract from the content of what’s being said.

In academic libraries, strong leadership is not about shielding employees from challenges or gatekeeping opportunities — it’s about equipping them to meet challenges head-on, grow, and lead in their own right. Yet too often, librarians encounter supervisory mindsets that, even with good intentions, stifle professional development instead of nurturing it.

Academic libraries are often seen as inclusive spaces—committed to access, equity, and lifelong learning. But even in mission-driven environments, bias can quietly shape hiring practices, team dynamics, and advancement opportunities. While we may not be able to change institutional culture overnight, academic librarians in leadership roles can make a powerful difference by intentionally interrupting bias in everyday decisions.

In the world of academic librarianship, visibility is often mistaken for prestige—and prestige, in turn, is confused with legitimacy. For those of us working in small colleges or under-resourced institutions, contributing to the broader professional discourse through writing, presenting, or publishing is sometimes viewed as “punching above our weight.”

Advocacy from supervisors is one of the most valuable currencies in the workplace—especially in academic libraries, where hierarchical structures, tenure processes, and institutional politics can shape the trajectory of a librarian’s career. But what happens when that support isn’t there? Whether it’s intentional or simply a symptom of competing priorities, lack of advocacy can leave you feeling stuck, unseen, and professionally vulnerable.

In every academic library, what we choose to reward—and what we choose to ignore—tells a story. Incentives are not just operational levers; they’re messages. They communicate what is truly valued, often louder than any mission statement or strategic plan. And when incentives contradict stated values, they don’t just send mixed signals—they produce noise.

When morale tanks and teams disengage, leaders often rush to fix the problem by swapping out people—quietly nudging out the “negative ones” or restructuring entire departments. But toxicity doesn’t originate with a few individuals. It spreads when the environment rewards silence, isolates feedback, ignores emotional labor, and favors productivity at any cost.

In academic libraries, we often encourage curiosity in our users—students, faculty, and researchers—but the most transformative environments are built when leaders foster curiosity in themselves and across their teams. As highlighted in the Harvard Business Review article "What Makes an Inclusive Leader?", curiosity is not a “nice-to-have”—it’s a critical capability of inclusive leadership.

You’ve been in the meetings. You’ve seen the whiteboards, the slide decks, the draft org charts. You’ve participated in committee discussions, advocated for clearer alignment, and supported the idea that structure should reflect strategy.

In academic librarianship, we talk a lot about technology, access, and outcomes—but not enough about the health of the relationships that make those things possible. When a vendor relationship begins to falter, it often doesn’t happen all at once. The silence creeps in. A response takes a little longer. Updates stop coming. Negotiations stall. Eventually, what once felt like a partnership begins to feel transactional—something to chase rather than build.

In times of transformation, academic library leaders are asked to be both builders and bridge-makers—carefully managing details while cultivating trust, shared purpose, and community. Drawing on Albert O. Hirschman's distinction between skill and charisma, we can better understand what inclusive leadership demands of us—and how DEI-centered programming can serve as a proving ground for both.

Gossip has a bad reputation—and often for good reason. In academic libraries, as in any workplace, gossip can fracture teams, erode trust, and perpetuate bias. As we explored in our earlier blog post, Gossip in Organizations: How Bad Is It?, informal communication isn’t inherently negative—it becomes harmful when driven by exclusion, power struggles, or poor communication structures. And as Fear as a Powerful Motivator for Gossip in Academic Libraries: Insights from Corey Robin points out, gossip often thrives where fear silences more direct conversations. But that’s not the whole story.

Academic libraries are no strangers to disruption. We’ve been navigating technological change, constrained budgets, and shifting institutional priorities for decades. But the rise of artificial intelligence—particularly generative AI—calls for a different kind of leadership: one that is innovative, inclusive, and scalable.

Check out Trevor A. Dawes and Russell Michalak's Toxic Dynamics podcast with Michael LaMagna and Erica Swenson Danowitz, Ed.D.

There’s a unique frustration many academic library leaders know too well: you advocate for your department—student workers, temporary staff, frontline librarians—and the reply you get from senior leadership is a flat, dismissive, “Sorry to hear that.”