The PhD Isn't What I Thought

I love school. That’s laughable to those who knew me in high school. I recently had a conversation with an old friend where she lightly chastised me for not wanting to go to college at all. Ha! But it’s true, I love reading, taking notes, studying, writing papers, researching–all of it. I am pursuing my PhD in Afro-American Studies as both a passion project, and a life-saving/life-affirming endeavor. I’ve written about my journey to get here before, but now that I’m at the halfway point in my coursework, I’m realizing a few different things. The PhD. just isn’t what I thought it was going to be. 

When I first came in, everything was shiny and new. By the time I discovered the right major (Black Studies and Gender Studies), the world had shut down due to Covid. So, my entire Masters in American Studies program was online. I missed out on everything I loved about the classroom, the bustling collective energy and the seamless interactions and impassioned interruptions. Zoom took all of this away in favor of begrudging and distracted students slumped over computer desks for our 3-hour sessions. It wasn’t ideal. Most of my academic experience has been blasé and disconnected because it took me a while to discover my passion. When I found it, the best parts of human connection were interrupted by Covid and Zoom.

So when I was accepted into the W.E.B. DuBois Afro-American Studies Program at UMass Amherst, I was so excited because I thought I’d finally be around like-minded students with the same commitments that I had. The best part about a classroom environment is the discourse, and it’s why I was itching to be back in the space. I was basically fiending for in-person intellectual stimulation and conversation. 

Yet, as my first year unfolded, I found myself grappling with a series of disappointments, from the faculty to my peers to the overall experience of living in New England. Of my three semesters, I have only truly enjoyed one class. My energy and investment is not matched by others. I was shocked to discover that not everyone engaged the texts as deeply as I did. I regularly came to class with a book full of highlights and sticky notes only to be met with folks who barely read the text. I was excited, eager to speak and see what others had to say. After the first few weeks, there was a clear detachment and ambivalence in the room I rarely had myself. Although I recognize the various personal circumstances contributing to that environment, its effect remains. I have empathy for others’ struggles while maintaining that my experience was negatively impacted and unfulfilling because of it. 

At the core of it all, I was missing the intellectual exchange I craved. I thought that my doctoral career might be a cut above my undergraduate experience where people completed work to earn a grade. I thought we were all here gaining this knowledge for knowledge's sake, really engaging these concepts and books as intellectual projects. I learned pretty quickly that a lot of graduate students seem to view it all as a means to an end. I never wanted to distance myself from my work like this; I’d spent my entire high school and undergraduate career getting through the material. I wanted to dive in full force now; I wanted to be consumed by it. My devotion to this work is the primary reason I’m here. I made the choice to go to school because I so deeply craved all that it brings. 

I felt so discouraged by the end of the first semester because I felt all alone in loving my work. It was hard, but I enjoyed it; I made the conscious choice to enjoy it. But that was slowly drained from me as I began to anticipate a dead classroom. The light died in my eyes when I would enter a classroom full of disinterested people who only halfway engaged the material. The discourse was unfulfilling. Even though I do all the work, it’s much more than reading and interacting with my own mind. I look forward to meeting people that can help me challenge and broaden my worldview. I felt robbed of my experience. 

Then, I tried to turn to the professors for solace and there was an absence of the culture of mentorship. At my alma mater, Kennesaw State University, I was fully embraced by my academic community. My professors there personally invested in me and I shared such rich, beautiful mentor relationships with numerous people. I was invited to their homes for book clubs in the summertime, asked to come to their holiday parties and book launches. They went out of their way to introduce me to colleagues, mentioning my name in important spaces to help me network. They continually sent me relevant opportunities and engagements they thought would benefit me. They considered me. 

My connections with my past professors cultivated the love I have for reading and making real-world connections to the material now! They created the scholar that I am today and curated my thirst for knowledge. I felt valued, respected, and loved under their mentorship. I felt cared for, beyond the minimal requirements of a professor. I felt that these professors had truly seen me and wanted me to thrive, and that they provided the necessary resources and avenues for me to do so. There was an overwhelming ethic of love and care in their pedagogies and practices. I experienced all of this in undergrad, so I just knew that going into my doctoral program, I was going to be even more warmly received. 

The truth is that three semesters in, I’m still searching for the kind of mentorship that inspired me and set me ablaze all those years ago. The doctoral program is a long-reaching academic endeavor that is only possible with positive mentorship and an affirming team of supporters. I have yet to find this in my department, and that may be due to the individualistic culture of New England as a whole. The individualistic culture had such a negative effect on me that I began to believe that I could have simply pursued an online degree for all that I was getting from my colleagues. Overwhelmingly, I often feel alone in this program. I have my friends, but as far as sanctioned mentorship, I’m still left wanting. While I have made some meaningful connections with some professors, I haven’t yet found that close-knit, supportive academic relationship I once thrived in. I know what it feels like when professors lead with an ethic of care. I feel the distinct absence of it now.

I am sorely disappointed in my doctoral experience thus far. However, I have reason to believe that fulfillment of my needs and desires lies beyond those walls. In fact, it already has! I will be posting about the affirming experiences I’ve had since I’ve moved from Atlanta with more detailed insights, but suffice it to say here that I have discovered new passions and connected with new people that choose to see me. 

All is not lost. While my experience has fallen short of my vision, I feel empowered to tell my story. It can be painful and disconcerting when the two misalign, and being authentic to my experiences is important to me. You cannot effect change if you are unwilling to speak on what’s wrong. I give voice to this because I believe change is possible; I am not airing these grievances to simply complain, but to call for action. In graduate school, away from our families and friends from home, all we have is our community. By fostering an ethic of care and mentorship within the department, we could thrive together and feel more connected and responsible for one another. This program has so much potential, as proven in its history—it’s time for that legacy to be realized once more.