A Lightness About You

I just got home from the Auburn history department's graduate student mixer where I was welcomed and hugged. And I replaced my plans to write a post about female role models in media for a brief follow-up on my decision to discontinue my graduate program.

I wanted to do this for two reasons. The first is to say THANK YOU. I have been so overwhelmed by the positive response to my decision and my post. I had some anxiety about telling people, but I promised myself that, no matter how nervous I felt or how anyone reacted, I would not act as if I am ashamed or I have failed in some way. Because I'm not and I haven't, even if some people thought otherwise.  In fact, most people, when I explained my reasoning, agreed that I made the best choice for my own health and well-being. They were just glad that I made a decision that makes me happy and hope it will make me a more social creature.

Of course, there have been a couple of people who have considered it a financially unsound decision as withdrawing from school (which provided me with a monthly stipend) was the equivalent of quitting my job. Once I even heard, "There's not much money in social work or libraries" (as if historians are rolling in cash). I admit that these instances made me angry, but they also taught me what it really meant when Atticus Finch told Scout to stand in someone's shoes and walk around in them for a while. I can see what this looks like from the outside, but I also know that on the inside it feels right. And the people who matter can see that too. It felt amazing to hear my friend DG say, "There's a lightness about you that I don't think I've ever seen before." And he's known me since I was an undergraduate.

I felt most validated, however, when three of my friends told me they shared my post with someone who felt as if their own decision to quit graduate school was a disappointment or a failing. This leads me to my second reason for wanting to post a follow-up.

 

When I told them of my decision, several people surprised me by sharing their own personal battles with academic-related anxiety and depression. All the time I struggled, there were people around me who knew what it was like, and I just didn't know it. Depression and anxiety make you feel alone and isolated. I want anyone who may be struggling to know that it's not true. I promise you that someone else (like me) has felt the same way. And whatever you decide, most will understand and be supportive. Certainly the decision leads to other complications, such as my current unemployment. But I finished a year of graduate school, made the difficult choice to not finish it, and told everyone about it. Honestly, I can handle whatever comes next. And so can you. You have been strong and brave and what you were once you can be again. Let there be a lightness about you.

How To Quit Grad School and Still Feel Beautiful



Me: Yeah! Like he would have died many times
Austin: Or he would have died once and that would've been the end of it

In high school, Hermione was a sort of talisman for me. I considered myself the "plain" friend, the one who would rather stay at home with a book than go out. But I was certain, remembering Hermione, that being smart was better. I expect it is natural for teenagers, in those years before we really know who we are, to select a persona and cling to it desperately. I chose the Hermione persona, and, since I never thought I was pretty, made being intelligent my aim. 

I was good at it, and I liked it. I love reading and learning, and a streak of perfectionism makes me a great, if perpetually dissatisfied, student. I loved college, even as I felt a growing need for every paper to be better than the last. I'm not sure anyone really doubted I would go on to graduate school and do well there. I liked the idea of being an example of a strong, independent woman with a PhD and a family. My professors at LaGrange wrote what must have been glowing recommendations and the French history professors at Auburn advocated to have me accepted and fully funded.

I loved the program the first time I met my fellow graduate students. Everyone had such passion, such curiosity, and finally here was a place where being clever was cool. I still love and admire them. By December, however, I had developed a perpetual ache in my chest that only went away when watching mindless television. I couldn't bring myself even to read novels. My parents said I could choose not to return to school if I didn't want to. But what would I do? Though it strikes me as ridiculous now, I couldn't imagine telling my former coworkers at the LaGrange library who sent me off to grad school with an Auburn cake and orange and blue wash cloths.  

Over the spring semester, I spent a small fortune on doctor's visits and anti-anxiety medication. I probably would not have finished the semester, but my advisor sat me down and helped me make a detailed calendar that made everything less overwhelming. She forced me into a regular exercise and meal routine that worked for a few weeks. I knew by the end of my first year that I wasn't happy, but I had defined myself as "the smart girl" for so long that it felt like a weakness to admit it. My parents and Austin said if I decided not to finish the program, they would support me completely, but I knew they thought finishing was the logical thing to do. I was halfway through a master's program that I wasn't paying for, and I'd be more marketable on the other side of it.

So I complained and cried a lot, but I simply didn't respond when they gave me that choice. It's not just that grad school is hard, though it is. It was a perpetual feeling of uselessness and powerlessness. There was no time for extra-curricular activity outside a trip to the gym, no time for volunteer work. I would get flashes of inspiration for charitable projects, but the first ended in disaster. I got the idea to crochet blankets for nursing home residents without families in the area. Even with my mother's help, it took us until Christmas Eve to crochet ten blankets. I spent as much time crocheting as I spent on homework, which simply added to my stress. Every time I encountered something or someone sad, I wanted desperately to find a way to fix it, and I thought I probably could if I wasn't neck-deep in historiography.

I don't wish to suggest there is something wrong with history as a discipline or my program. I had the best advisor imaginable (really, I dare you to imagine someone better) and good, supportive friends who love what they do. But I quickly tired of the perpetual reading, writing about what I'd read, and talking about what I'd written. I felt like stagnant water. I needed to DO something, needed desperately to feel useful. Which is probably why, in the early days of summer vacation, I started this blog. It was my way to feel that I was encouraging others in the midst of what felt like pointless research.

   

I spent a lot of time over breaks talking to my parents about career options. I decided, once I'd finished my MA in history, I'd probably go back to school for social work, counseling, or library science. It felt like a sort of betrayal because I'd always been a history major, and the idea of pursuing another field frightened me. As a naturally empathetic and sensitive person I feared a more service-oriented career would only depress me.

Then something strange happened. I was at work on July 31st when someone mentioned, conversationally, "I can't believe tomorrow is August," and I started to panic. The end of July meant that school would start back in 22 days. I spent the next several days in a state of depression. A person who has not experienced depression often cannot understand it. Depression is not sadness. Depression is a general lack of feeling: not caring what I ate for dinner or what movie Austin picked to watch. Depression was my defense against my rising panic about the impending start of school, but it didn't last. In the midst of a few panic attacks, my parents and Austin continued to tell me I could choose to leave school if I wished.

But I knew it wasn't what they thought best, and I didn't trust my own feelings about it. I even asked my mother to make the decision for me, telling her I didn't feel emotionally able to be reasonable. Then I realized that I was being an idiot.

I thought I was being brave, being strong, sucking it up and finishing what I'd started. Actually, I knew exactly what I wanted. I just didn't want to be the one to say it. I was waiting for someone to tell me, "Don't go back to school. It's not for you." Because I was too ashamed to make that choice for myself. That, I realized, is not courage. That is merely being passive. I have always had a habit of doing things for the approval of others rather than myself, of trusting the opinions of others over my own. It was past time to trust myself.

Showing off my "power colors"

When I finally expressed what I really wanted to my family and Austin, they agreed it was best. I won't say there was immediate relief as the idea of telling my advisor terrified me. I wanted to wear my "power colors" and scoured my closet for something red. But what I found was even better: a navy blue t-shirt with a picture of the TARDIS that my friend April gave me on my last birthday. My terror was in vain. My advisor is truly a beautiful woman. She told me such a high level of physical or emotional distress was not worth finishing a degree. It was simply my body's way of telling me that this wasn't my path, and I was right to listen to that. I still felt guilty about waiting until two weeks before the start of term to reach the decision, but, with typical wisdom, she said that was just part of the process. I needed the relaxation of the summer and the anxiety related to school starting back to realize what I wanted. See what I mean - the best advisor.

I thought about not posting this. Everyone I love has been informed of my decision and it isn't pleasant to think about those few bad days. But I decided to write it simply because, as weird as it sounds, I decided to quit grad school even though those I trusted most did not think it the most logical choice. And now I feel a sense of relief and peace but also so much stronger as a person. I chose and I was right, and whatever lies before me excites me where it used to frighten me. I look forward to new experiences and new knowledge. I imagine it feels a bit like having all of time and space before me.

"No" Is A Complete Sentence

The historian in me is embarrassed to admit that I do not know the context of this photograph. The avid reader in me, however, likes to imagine the story that it tells. This is the face of a determined woman, a woman who has a mission. It is the face of a woman daring passers-by to contradict her message. "You are NOT Powerless," she tells the people passing her on what appears to be a cold winter's day. Is she telling women they can and should vote? Is she telling passers-by that they have the power to seek social reform for tenement-dwellers and factory-workers? Is she making a holy proclamation about a power that comes from God?

Frankly, it doesn't matter. What matters to me is the message because I believe it to be true. I also love the subtext of this woman's message: You are NOT powerless. And because I stand here in the cold, my jaw set in determination, proclaiming a message that can't be missed, I am NOT powerless either.

This photograph expresses precisely what I attempted to say in my post "Starfish", but I only found it later. My Mother commented about the post, "We should never underestimate the power we have as individuals to lift up - and tear down - our fellow human beings." I am inspired by both the photo and my mother's comment so I wanted to share them. This post, however, is not meant to be a reiteration of a previous one.

I have spent a lot of time lately writing about what we, as women and as human beings, can do for others because it is something I think about a lot. But it is time, for me at any rate, to think about what I can do for myself as well. I have a lot of demands on my time and attention. In addition to this, I place a lot of pressure on myself to do things like save the world. And on top of it all, I am really lucky to have a lot of people in my life that I love and want to spend time with. Needless to say, sometimes I just want to do what I want to do. I imagine that this is pretty ordinary for most people. My problem, of course, is that I have tremendous difficulty saying "No". Whether I can't do something or simply do not want to, I find myself feeling guilty when I do not appease someone.

For example, I am an introvert. This does not mean I dislike people. In fact, I like people quite a lot. I find my friends and fellow graduate students stimulating, funny, kind, and generally good company. However, when they invite me to go to a local restaurant every Friday night for french fries and liberal amounts of beer, my stomach gets all knotted. I don't want to go, but I don't want to seem anti-social and my friends say I need to relax. The fries are to-die-for, but I simply can't stand the after-taste of alcohol and the smell of beer alone makes me wrinkle my nose. But what I really dislike is the noise. In an hour, I'm ready to leave but there are so many people to say goodbye to that it's another hour before I'm on my way home where I arrive feeling exhausted and gasping for a diet coke and a fluffy novel.

Or sometimes I wouldn't go. Sometimes I would say, "Austin's coming into town" or "I've got loads of homework" or "I think I'll go to bed early." Then I tell myself it's not really dishonest, it's just that I don't want anyone to feel I don't appreciate them or that I'm unfriendly. If this is a familiar thought or feeling, please read the following note aloud.

Now read it again. And again. Read it until you believe it to be true.

Do I feel terribly guilty about using homework that I don't plan to do as an excuse for not going out? To be perfectly honest, not really. Don't get me wrong, I do not advocate even harmless lying. But I believe that there are two far more serious problems with this habit of mine, that are actually detrimental to myself and others.

The first problem is my belief that I must offer an explanation for my choice not to go out on a Friday night. The need for explanation suggests to myself and others that my choice is somehow wrong or inappropriate. If I must offer an excuse for my disinterest in the event, then I must ask myself "Is there something wrong with my not going?" And the answer to that question is also a complete sentence: NO. I am not going because I do not want to go. It's Friday night, and I've been working hard all week. I need to re-energize. This is a humorous article explaining introversion but there is actually a lot of truth to it. While extroverts get energy from hanging out with others, this drains an introvert's energy supply. We recharge our batteries by having alone time, or doing something calm with one or two of the people closest to us.

The second problem is potentially even more serious. Not only do I feel the need to excuse my absence, but I actually have to make up an excuse. I don't want to go to the pub on Friday night because sipping cocoa while watching reruns of Downton Abbey sounds so much more relaxing. Or maybe I'll crochet a pair of slippers or read a couple of chapters of a novel. Maybe I'll spend an hour on the phone with an old friend. To say I'll be doing homework or sleeping suggests that these are not legitimate interests or activities. And this is really just a way of convincing myself that there is something wrong with me. I don't like the things I should or behave the way I should. Someone inspired me once, saying "Don't think about it like 'Something's wrong with me'. Think 'It's just not me.'" 

The myths about introverts are not true. We are not anti-social, unfriendly, or boring. But how can I express that to the extroverts in my life when I act as if I am ashamed of the things I enjoy? How can I respect myself when I don't respect my interests?

(I'll just have to credit pinterest with this one since I don't know who wrote it)

 

This blog is all about embracing my true beauty. I can't do that if I walk around feeling like the "real me" isn't interesting enough to show the world.Well, I'm finished with that. I am who I am. I am beautiful. And I won't apologize for that.