Jeannette Mejia, TCCS ’19 student
There is no way, I guess no real way, to prepare one for the pain of higher education. I knew graduate school would be difficult, I was prepared for the difficulty of the technicality of it, but I did not know how painful the experience of learning would be.
I am a second-generation Dominican immigrant, I am an Afro-Latina, I am a first-generation college student, I am a Lawrence, Mass native, I am a woman, I am an unhealthy woman who is overweight and has high blood pressure, I am someone who has anxiety.
I share this, not to invoke pity, but because the intersection of these identities has shaped my experience as a graduate student, and needless to say, I wasn’t ready.
I sat in our Topics course, feeling the rage steaming on my face, feeling my heart beat faster than a ticking clock, my palms sweaty, the pain of the skin on my fingers after they started bleeding when I picked too much, the twitching in my leg because I could feel my anxiety seeping through my body not allowing me to sit still, my head hurting, I felt this anger deep deep down that I could not explain, I felt this feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that was not unfamiliar except this time it hurt a little more, almost as if my pain was punching my chest on the inside, and I felt the stinging tears starting to stream down my face, as we discussed Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow.
When I read the readings that had been assigned for that week, I was mad. Not because I did not know how the system targets Black and Brown people, because that was almost innate, that fear was something ingrained into my upbringing. But because I did not know how just how much it was embedded into the functioning of the United States. It was almost as if someone had yanked the half-peeled band aid over my unhealed wound, and I did not know how to move.
Because when I read our readings, a lightbulb went off, and all I could do was playback the moments the men in my family were taken away from me due to incarceration, and suddenly it all made sense, it all became clear and there was no longer a grey area.
I kept thinking about this for the whole week, ruminating about it. I was so angry, and as I have come to learn, anger is a secondary emotion, so I guess if I am going to be open and honest, I wasn’t just angry, I felt despair and I felt hopeless. How can I protect the people I love when I know that I do not have that power?
Pain is not new to me, I think most of us know this undying feeling, but it was the kind of pain. I was sitting there discussing the very thing that was happening at home, my uncle sitting in prison headed for deportation, my nephew who was completing a five-year sentence, my partner who was unjustly stopped by the police that week, this was happening in real time, right at home.
There is something that shifts when you really understand something that you once thought you understood and then you go home to the very thing you just conceptualized/intellectualized in class, and I still haven’t quite learned how to do this, so I just sit with it not really knowing what else to do. I share this because my experience in academia has been one of the most painful experiences and I question my place here every single day.
I want those who feel what I feel to find solace in this post, you are not alone. I am not alone.
On the weekend of November 11th, I attended the Black Health Matters Conference at Harvard, and I felt it. The genuine love and support and happiness that has been able to help me continue this journey. I left the conference and I thought “Okay, Jeannette, you got this, you need to do this”. I feel this when I walk into my lab (shout out to Dr. Tahirah Abdullah & The Black Mental Health & Advocacy Lab) and when I meet with my advisor Dr. Aminah Pilgrim, and the new connections I’ve made in my cohort, their unconditional love and support that has been my backbone throughout this experience.
I want to share this because higher education is an isolating and painful experience that I was not prepared to take on and when I entered the new world of TCCS, I did not know how to work through this. I’m still learning, and I think it’s going to be a long journey, but I think I’m going to get through this and I am grateful to those who are right behind me cheering me on, thank you.
I hope if you read this you can find support in this post or someone who just understands, you are not alone, don’t quit. I want to take a moment to highlight the importance of support & representation, without this I don’t think I’d have the strength to continue.
