When Leadership Falls Short: The Crisis of Care in Library Work
Posted on in Blog Posts
Posted on March 17, 2026 in Blog Posts
Authors:
Jamia Williams
I remember when I worked at an academic library that still had a physical reference desk, and I was surprised that they did not adopt a model I was used to—one where, when a student had a question, we would simply come out of our offices to speak with them. Honestly, at first, I did not see the value in being stationed at the desk. It felt outdated. Until I had my first shift. Then I was sold.
As a health sciences librarian, my work primarily centered on reference and instruction. I quickly realized that library instruction was happening at the reference desk in organic, unscripted, and deeply responsive ways. That desk became more than a service point. It became a classroom, an outreach tool, and a space for relationship building. This was my entry point as a new librarian at that institution. It was also my way of learning whether students’ professors were utilizing the library in ways that truly supported their assignments.
I know that sometimes when we are at the reference desk, our interactions can feel overwhelmingly directional or tech-support heavy. We help with printing. We troubleshoot logins. We answer, “Where is the bathroom?” for the 15th time. But in this blog post, I want to discuss how those interactions, whether at a physical desk or through virtual reference, can be teaching moments. In addition, as liaison or outreach librarians, the knowledge we gain from these interactions can be transformative in making connections with students and faculty. Lastly, working at the reference desk was a powerful way to connect with student workers and library assistants.
The first shift in my mindset happened when I realized that instruction does not only occur in a classroom with a PowerPoint presentation and a lesson plan. It happens in real time. It happens when a student says, “I just need one article,” and we gently respond, “Tell me about the assignment.” That simple question opens the door. What class is this for? What are you studying? How did your professor describe the assignment? Sometimes students do not realize that the words embedded in their assignment prompt are the very keywords they should be searching. Sitting at the desk is a moment when we can unpack it together. We translate academic language into searchable concepts. We model curiosity.
And here is the part I did not expect—students remember that. They come back. Not because we dazzled them with database features, but because we slowed down and taught them how to think through the process. So, when we see them on campus, we are remembered as the librarians that they met, and that sometimes led to introductions to other students.
Even directional or technical questions can be instructional. When a student struggles to log into a database, we can explain authentication systems. When they cannot find the full text, we can introduce interlibrary loan. When they ask how to cite something, we can talk about authority, credibility, and scholarly conversations. The desk becomes an entry point for information literacy in its most applied form.
The second thing I learned is that reference interactions can be a way to collect data. As liaison librarians, we often wonder: Are faculty embedding research skills into their assignments? Do they know what we offer? Are students being prepared to navigate scholarly resources? The reference desk gives us clues. When multiple students from the same class struggle with narrowing a topic, that tells me something. When they do not know the difference between peer-reviewed and popular sources, that tells me something. When they say, “My professor told us just to use Google Scholar,” that definitely tells me something.
Learning about a student’s assignment can naturally lead to asking about their professor. “Have you had a library session for this course?” “Did your professor mention any specific databases?” These questions are not accusatory; they are exploratory. They create an opening. If students share that they have not had instruction, that becomes an opportunity for outreach. We can follow up with the faculty member and say, “I’ve been working with several of your students at the desk. I’d love to collaborate to support this assignment.”
That outreach is rooted in care, not criticism. It positions us as partners in student success. Without those desk interactions, we might never know where the gaps or the opportunities are. For me, especially as someone who values connection and strategy, the desk became an informal assessment tool. It helped me prioritize which departments needed more engagement. It helped me understand patterns. It helped me see beyond my office door.
The final piece that surprised me was how much the reference desk strengthened my relationships with student workers and library assistants. When you are physically present at the desk, you are not siloed. You see the rhythm of the library. You witness how student assistants handle difficult interactions. You hear the questions they are asked before those questions escalate to you. You become approachable, which is helpful, especially if you are at an institution where you are considered faculty. It takes off the guise of elitism that many student workers and staff feel when interacting with librarians.
For new librarians especially, this visibility matters. Student workers begin to see you not as a name on the website but as a person. They learn more about what you do as a librarian. You learn about them as a student. You can mentor in small moments, modeling how to handle a frustrated patron and how to transfer a question to someone else without making the patron feel dismissed. Those small moments build trust. And trust builds teams. In many ways, the reference desk flattened hierarchy. We were all there serving. It created opportunities for shared problem-solving and mutual respect.
Working at the reference desk gave me something I did not anticipate: a window into students’ intellectual worlds. I learned what they were researching, what they were curious about, and what kept them up at night as they tried to finish a paper. I met students exploring public health disparities, university politics, social determinants of health, and topics that felt deeply personal. Their research interests were inspiring. Sometimes I would leave a shift thinking about the questions they were asking long after I logged off the desk. Being present in that space allowed me to witness their growth in real time from “I don’t even know where to start” to “Wait, this actually makes sense.” That transformation never felt redundant to me.
The desk was also a place where I connected with so-called “non-traditional” students, those returning to school after decades away from higher education. You could sometimes see the doubt in their eyes. Returning to school after raising children, building careers, or navigating life’s detours can feel overwhelming. Many of them did not need just research support; they needed reassurance. They needed someone to say, “You can do this.” Working at the desk, I remember laughing to myself when I realized that what a student called “old school” music was from the 1990s. I had to pause and process that one. Those funny generational moments created connection. They reminded me that the reference desk is not just about information retrieval; it is about bridging experiences, honoring each other, and making space for people.
What I once thought of as an outdated model became one of the most formative experiences of my librarianship. The reference desk is not just a piece of furniture. It is a pedagogical space. It is an outreach strategy. It is a community-building tool. I know that, as academic librarians, we must conduct instruction sessions, attend or create campus events, and take on so many other responsibilities. Hopefully, the next time you have a reference shift, you can appreciate the moment a little better. Whether physical or virtual, reference is rarely “just” reference. It is instruction disguised as assistance. It is an assessment disguised as a conversation. It is mentorship disguised as a shift on the schedule.
And sometimes, all it takes is sitting down at the desk to see that.

Jamia Williams (she/her) is a health sciences librarian. She is also the co-creator and co-host of the podcast LibVoices and the founder of The Diversity Fellow’s blog.
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Header image is a detail of This is Harlem by Jacob Lawrence. Courtesy of Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden. © 2021 The Jacob and Gwendolyn Knight Lawrence Foundation, Seattle / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. For more information, click here.
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