When was the last time you heard a colleague talk about their upbringing in a department meeting? I do not mean, "we used to go on a family ski trip every February" or, "my father taught me to sail when I was seven." If you are anywhere near New England, these are all common and acceptable pre-meeting expositions. No, I am talking about passing confessions like, "I confronted my parent about their drug use for the first time when I was 10," or "my closest cousin is spending time in prison." You likely cannot remember an occasion when this has happened, and perhaps you are thinking, why would it happen?
"One's ability to overcome complex childhood trauma does not qualify a PhD candidate to successfully defend their dissertation, nor does it make a tenure portfolio that much more convincing to the review committee."
Despite the potential shock value of these recollections, they are not as unique as one might think. A report reveals that around one in eight children live in households with a parent who has a substance use disorder (1). Perhaps what is unique is for these recollections to come from a PhD candidate at a prestigious, R1 university. I use 'perhaps' intentionally here, because we simply do not know. Within higher education, there are many boxes that academics strive to fit into. These include the tenure box, the teaching award box, and the "wow you publish a lot!" box, to briefly name a few. One's ability to overcome complex childhood trauma does not qualify a PhD candidate to successfully defend their dissertation, nor does it make a tenure portfolio that much more convincing to the review committee (2). In other words, even if members of the academic community have a profound history following them around each day, there is no motivation to share this aspect of their identity.
Nearly three years ago, I decided to begin sharing snippets of my own story. My decision was motivated by the "This Little Girl Is Me" campaign (3). Described by LinkedIn as creating the most buzz in the history of the platform, the global movement to share personal stories and advice for our younger selves reached more than 47 million people worldwide. While my vulnerability allowed for more authentic connections between myself and my community, my decision to share some of the harsh realities of my development was truthfully terrifying, and it still is at times. Will I be judged by others? Seen as less capable? Considered to be too much? Not enough? These are the thoughts that still manage to creep in, even now.
Why should we share what many of us have likely deemed as some of the darkest times in our lives? Often, these uncovered realities are the very attributes that make us precisely who we are. They are the driving force for our most authentic dreams, aspirations, and achievements. They may also also be a key ingredient to impactful mentorship for first-generation college students, specifically (4). I'm not suggesting that we sit down at the next lab meeting and blurt out a harrowing account of our childhood. Rather, I'm proposing that we find small ways to create space for our full, authentic selves to show up in our next interaction with a colleague, student, or mentee. When we spontaneously encounter a moment where more could be shared, or that fleeting opportunity to be honest about where we come from, maybe we grab onto it rather than hide. Maybe this is how we begin to expose the human behind the PhD.
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