"In some ways, I am still just a girl who loves learning and desires a career dedicated to it. In other ways, everything is different."
5 years ago, in the Fall of 2019, I began my PhD program in Experimental Psychology. In contrast to my undergraduate university, my graduate school was remarkably small. I had grown accustomed to large lecture halls where even my closest professors occasionally called me by the wrong name (to which I never corrected them, because I understood that I was but a single fish in a seemingly infinite pond). Somehow, I found myself pursuing a doctorate at a prestigious "Little Ivy" in New England. The world-- my oyster. The possiblities-- endless. The disappointment-- loading.
4 years ago, in the Fall of 2020, I completed my initial big "milestone" with the presentation of my First Year Project findings to the department over Zoom. A moment that should feel like a celebration ended up feeling like a clunky relief. I had survived the first academic year and continued to make research progress despite a global pandemic and the mental turmoil that followed. My wrists ached from typing. My head hurt from screens. My ego had seen better days. I was moving forward. I was developing several experiments in tandem. I was doing ok, wasn't I?.. Next stop: Masters!
3 years ago, in the Fall of 2021, I decided to attempt making lemonade. Through this harrowing PhD journey, I gained flickers of wisdom, or minor tricks of the trade that helped me along. Rather than gatekeeping, I created LaurenFindsAWay. If I could help one person, the uncomfortable vulnerability would be worth it. This vulnerability stemmed not only from the growing pains of my program, but also the socioemotional burden that came with upward mobility as a first generation college student and daughter of an addict. To add to this strain, while getting ready for my final Structural Equation Modeling course of the semester, I received a call from my dad. He was in the hospital, waiting for emergency, life-saving surgery. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
2 years ago, in the Fall of 2022, my anxiety reached an all-time high. My dad received the life-changing surgery, but he denied chemo. I turned to my most prized coping strategy: compartmentalization. I defended my masters, moved forward with my PhD requirements, and continued sharing insights on overcoming higher education hurdles. Unfortunately, I had grown deeply unhappy with my living conditions, and when I turned to nurse practitioners at the campus center with health concerns, no one took me seriously. I told myself this was all simply part of being in graduate school. One day, I would live in a home free of pests or noisy neighbors, and I would have solid health insurance. Just not today.
1 year ago, in the Fall of 2023, everything came to a head. I had spent the summer attending doctors appointments with my dad. I was emotionally taxed and terrified of when the end would come. By the grace of God, I had somehow managed to move into a new home and successfully propose my dissertation. I made every attempt to care for myself despite the constant, chronic worry. This meant keeping the dermatology appointment I set seven months prior. At the end of the general skin check, the doctor noticed the tiny bumps along my neck and recommended a biopsy. The results came back positive, as did follow-up genetic testing. I had a rare genetic disorder called Birt-Hogg-Dube (BHD). This disorder resulted in benign skin tumors (the bumps on my neck), lung cysts, and in some cases, a specific form of kidney cancer. Given his similar bumps, I likely inherited it from my dad.
Now, in the Fall of 2024, I am preparing to defend my dissertation in less than one month, all while juggling the postdoc that I perhaps naively started early. As the holiday season nears, I am keenly aware that Christmas Eve will represent one year since my dad's passing. Inching closer to the title of "Dr." has forced me to reflect on the past 5+ years. In some ways, I am still just a girl who loves learning and desires a career dedicated to it. In other ways, everything is different. I am entering this new season as a fiancée, dog mom, and young woman figuring out what it means to move through life without parents. I am both lost and found all at once.
Perhaps you, too, have faced mental health challenges, unhealthy living conditions, loss of loved ones, or life-changing diagnoses during your graduate school journey. I invite you to take a moment to reflect. What has happened during this time for you? How have you measured your progress? Challenge yourself to focus through the blur of it all. What remains?
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