Coalition for Women's Identities
Thursday, 14 May 2015 - 4:10pm
The Truth Behind the Title
When you first meet someone, it’s common to say, “So, tell me about yourself.” Our responses usually start with what we do, not who we are. We’re more comfortable with titles rather than characteristics. Except there are some titles that I’ve never fully embraced. Sure, I’m ok with the titles that situate me within my family: daughter, sister, aunt. But those are things out of my control. The titles that reflect my achievements are the hardest ones for me to claim.
Growing up I was afforded a lot of different opportunities. I played the flute. I was in the band. I took piano lessons. I was in all kinds of dance classes from the age of 5. While my parents supported and encouraged me in all of those areas, I knew my main priority was school. But school was easy. I was good at that. I made straight As and had perfect attendance. I was a year ahead in math and in the gifted programs. My teachers praised my efforts and I felt good about my accomplishments. Even in high school when I started to stumble with the advanced math courses, I knew I would figure it out. I got into all five of the schools I applied to and went to college on a full merit-based scholarship. I graduated in four years, amidst two changes in major and a completely unpredicted career path. I went to graduate school and obtained my master’s degree without pausing to appreciate the significance of that accomplishment. With all of the success I’ve had academically, I’ve never fully owned one particular title.
Scholar.
After trying my hand at the overwhelming experience of full-time professional/part-time student, I finally accepted that I couldn’t do it all. I decided to take the leap into full-time graduate student life again. I wasn’t so worried about the coursework. I know I can do school. I think I’ve been prepared for doctoral work since my undergraduate years. Unlike the experience in my master’s program, doctoral student life has taken a full semester of adjustment. I secured an assistantship, enrolled in additional courses, and continued work on a research team in a different discipline. I’m presenting at my first academic conference this summer. I’ll have my name on a published paper. I’m doing things people said I needed to do while in the Ph.D. program. So, why I am so hesitant to claim this title?
Scholar.
All of my projects and papers this spring semester were focused on a topic that I have decided to adopt for my own dissertation work. I’m excited to explore an issue that could help change the experiences of women faculty and faculty of color. I’m building a research agenda. I have a teaching philosophy. I’m setting myself up for different opportunities and building a network. I’m steadily moving through coursework and have a timeline for completion, but things are about to get real. This title is almost within reach and I’m not sure if I’m ready to embrace it.
Scholar.
Can I really be seen as a scholar? Are my thoughts that important? Am I truly worthy of that crown?
Scholars are responsible for producing knowledge. They craft research studies around problems that impact society. They publish and disseminate their results in order to inform other studies, inform policy, and with hopes of one day making change. Scholars are professors, leaders, supervisors, advocates, and decision-makers. Scholars are essential personnel.
So why do I doubt myself? What is causing my uncertainty?
Over the last few months, I’ve asked myself these questions. I’ve doubted the value of my words. As a Black female in academia, I am bombarded with messages that tell me that I can’t make it. I’m reading published articles, the results of so many studies, that describe the experiences of women faculty and faculty of color. This path is not for the faint of heart. We are underrepresented across institution type, across discipline. We are paid less for the same work and promoted at a slower pace. Our research is undervalued because our publications aren’t in the “right kind” of journal or “too focused” on a certain population or audience. The messages I receive tell me that the knowledge I may produce is really just an anecdote. My story is not an example of systemic problems, but solely a personal experience. I’m told that holding the title of “Dr.” won’t mean anything when my students see me in the front of the classroom because I’m still the wrong color or sex. I’m told that life as a scholar will be harder for me than for others with the same credentials just because I was born in this body and not another.
So, then why should I believe it when I tell myself I can do this? Why should I even try?
Because I have something to offer this world. I am smart. I am persistent. I am dedicated and committed to making change in the areas around me. I can be an effective leader in the classroom. I can do valuable, scholarly work. I can make a difference in the field of higher education.
I’m already doing it.
I am a scholar.
Stacey D. Garrett
Doctoral Student and Graduate Teaching Assistant
Clemson University
Twitter: @AKAStaceyG04