I care a great deal about being a well-rounded person.
I didn’t get a lot of guidance about higher education while I was in high school, and I went off to college at a top institution without a lot of understanding of what possibilities existed. After I graduated, I made a really active decision not to go straight on to the next academic step. Part of this was uncertainty about what I wanted to do, but the other piece of this decision–and it was a big piece–was that I’d felt really sheltered. I’d spent my entire life in school. I didn’t really know what it was to be a “real” person. Continue reading
Less than a month into grad school, I had my first potential-PI meeting. The professor was a Nobel laureate, I’d spoken with him in writing a fellowship proposal, and I’d spent most of my summer envisioning myself in his lab. He was interested in the fact that I’d left industry to do my PhD, and wanted to know why.
I explained that I wanted to see the culture of science change. I wanted to work my way up and gain a position from which I could influence policy and make the scientific community more welcoming to folks from different backgrounds—more welcoming to people who looked like me, like my (Latin@) family, like my (queer, trans, low income) communities. And under all of this, of course, because I wanted to do science! But when I described my passion for change, the man looked at me across the table with disbelief and said, “That’s why you came to grad school?” Continue reading
I’ve known for a long time that accommodations are a Thing–that is, that they existed. About a year back, TSW had an excellent guest post on this very topic, outlining what sorts of accommodations exist, who qualifies for them, and some of the hurdles folks face in moving through the system. I hope for this post to serve more as a personal case study, to describe my experience in requesting accommodations for the first time, and to offer any insight I might have gained from the experience.
I’ve written a bit already about my mental health. As I mentioned in that post, I have pretty serious depression, but I’ve found a combination of therapy, medication, and physical activity that keep me pretty darn happy and stable. That said, though, most of my first year in grad school has been tougher than it needed to be due to my housing situation. Continue reading
My mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder shortly after I was born, and shortly after her grandfather, who she loved deeply, suddenly died. As an adult, I can make sense of it: I can reason that the combined effects of grief and pregnancy on her body did something to bring to light an illness that had been latent; but when she told me when I was a child, I thought maybe if I hadn’t come along, my mom wouldn’t be sick.
Bipolar disorder is highly heritable, and both of my parents have diagnoses. I’ve known this for most of my life and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me.
It has taken years for me to push back against all of the ableist rhetoric that society has shoved into me. The thought that depression was something I could just push through if I tried harder. The idea that if I went on medication I would lose myself, I would change. The notion that if I went to therapy I was weak. That I couldn’t seek services because then it would be official, I’d be crazy, and what’s worse than that?
And frankly it’s all utter bullshit—but it took years to deprogram.
So here’s where I am now: Continue reading