Tag Archives: African-American

Chaos Before This Black Girl Does Grad School

Often times I am asked why I’m applying to graduate school. That’s followed with questions about my area of study and, upon me explaining it, most ask why I’m choosing to study fine arts. And I appreciate the concern. Making money is a requirement in the game of life. However, there is a seemingly huge contrast between income and studying the arts, you know, music, film, and writing.

A lot of my family and friends ask me, “what do you plan to do with that?” and ‘that,’ being a Master’s of Fine Arts. If they catch me on a good day, when I’m not being stubbornly sarcastic, I tell them that I plan to write, with all of me.

Many people frown upon a fine arts degree as if it’s worthless or something to study just to pass the time. And that may be true for some, but I am an individual who is fully invested in my craft. We don’t ask the pre-law student or the student studying pharmaceuticals, “what do you plan to do with that?” And it should be no different with a student studying arts. Granted, the road may be a bit harder or longer to achieve my dream but I don’t belittle the steps in reaching it.

It’s been almost three years since I completed my undergraduate career and the thought of pursuing a degree again is daunting. So, a little encouragement from my loved ones wouldn’t hurt. The specific school I’m applying to wants a passing GRE test score, a statement of intent and a 30-page sample of my writing that will blow them away. I’ve had the honor of studying for a test that I probably won’t use again in my professional career or life, and writing a paper pleading with admissions to let me in. Sound familiar?

Yup, applying to grad school is just like applying to undergrad except you already have a degree and probably loads of experience in your specific field of study.

I juggle a fulltime job, two part time jobs, a social life, and family relationships with hours of studying, days of blogging consistently and desperately trying to get a freelance writing career afloat. But in the end, I know my choice will pay off.

Like many black women, I have lofty dreams of going back to school, getting a degree or two, making more money, etc. however many of us are intimidated by the application; not to mention the internal conflict of not being smart enough or not having enough time to follow through. This explains why many of us quite soon or never start at all. There’s a part in me that still wonders if I still got it. Its been a while since I had to research and write papers on a deadline so I’m wondering if I still got the juice! But before I can even begin classes though, I have to be accepted. The school I’m applying to is pretty prestigious, given the amount of application materials they require of me, so the acceptance or rejection thing is a big deal.

And to make things worst, I can’t find out if I got in until three months after I submit my application, like people, at least give me a little hope. I have to twiddle my thumbs from February until May. Honestly, in grad school I have to get over my fears: fear of not being enough or being too much. There are plenty more things to lend my emotions to and fear isn’t one of them.


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Shanisha is a passionate writer and soon-to-be grad student. She writes over at Honestly Me where she promotes transparency among women of color.

Week 14, or Believing in the Path

A friend called me yesterday and wanted advice about grad school– finding programs, applying, doing the work, staying sane, etc.

A part of me thought, I am probably the least qualified person to give him any advice, and another part thought, This is probably a good moment to think critically about my grad school experience so far. It was a bad moment to ask me because this past week I’ve been walking around with my disdain for grad school coming to a boil. I contemplated quitting. I was told by a different friend that if one of us quits, both of us quit– and she’s not quitting.

If we’re being real, a little bit of everything is getting to me. I’m lonely; I feel isolated in my pursuits; and I have a nagging feeling that at least one of my professors thinks I don’t know what’s going on. There’s a part of me that wants to give into this nagging fear and accept that I don’t know, but there’s a fighting part that is disgusted with myself for believing myself to be stupid for even one moment. I find myself walking that strange tightrope in grad school of trying to speak up so as to be heard and not speak too much, because speaking too much can come off as self-indulgent and not speaking seems to imply ignorance. Still, I want to make a space for myself, I want to be heard, I want to be seen, almost as much as I want to just be still and listen because there’s so much I have to learn.

My friend then asked me for a general piece of advice about grad school. After a beat, I told him to know when to sit down. Know when to get off your soapbox and listen. Keep your ears and mind wide open. But you also have to know how to stand up for yourself. Know when to fight back, know when to lay down your arms. Fight the good fight, but protect your energy. My dwindling energy tells me I’m not taking my own advice. I’m fighting, but not protecting myself. Despite having been worthy of admission, I still feel like I’m fighting to prove that I belong in this Academic space.

After an hour long conversation which explored every way I felt hindered, I started to feel a weight settle on my soul. If I was this unhappy, I had to ask myself– why am I still here? Why am I still doing this?

Ultimately, my answer is the same as it’s always been: I want to be a Black professor. I want undergraduates to have more Black professors. I want Black people to represented in the Academy. I want to be proof that you can be whatever you want to be. I never got my 40 acres and a mule, so I’ll happily take my free education from the state of Virginia instead, an education that worked hard for. I want to teach. In my mind, very few things are more political than helping shape young minds. And I don’t want to teach my students to regurgitate what I’ve taught them– I want to teach them to think critically and for themselves, so they can make the final call on what to take with them when they leave my class. I never want to stop learning– I have too many questions. I love the idea of getting to spend my life in a career where I will be constantly inspired to explore intellectually– and to write about the process and results.

I’m still doing this because I believe this path was meant for me.

Sometimes, I think I just need to remind myself of that.

Week 11, or A Classroom Should Be…

The high from last week spilled over into this one: I started out enthusiastic from putting on another successful Lemon Porch Talk, getting my article from the Junto republished on HASTAC.org, and finding out that I would be a HASTAC scholar for the next two years. Despite the feelings of excitement from gaining new Twitter followers and relief from actually finishing all my readings for once, I ended the week on a contemplative note.

I’ve been thinking about classrooms– how they are both sacred and contested, places of refuge but not life rafts. And while it was at first difficult to think of what exactly the magic of a classroom is, I could very quickly discern what it was not. It is not a place where participants interrupt each other, disagree aggressively or otherwise check out all together. It is not a place where hesitant attempts to contribute in discussion are met with snickers or side bar comments. It is not a place where you may take a pejorative or patronizing tone when explaining something that everyone else might not know. While these dynamics are understandable to a degree– excitement causes interruptions and the need to whisper your thought so as not to interrupt the person speaking can be understood– explaining away the problem does not negate the facts.

These dynamics are not conducive to a fruitful classroom environment.

If this is what I do not want my classroom to be, then what do I want it to be?

A Classroom Should Be…

  • A Safe Space; but that does not mean it is always comfortable. As an undergraduate at UVA, one of the first things I learned was that I loved my classrooms. I felt free to learn, make mistakes, and grow. As I took more classes, I realized that even though I loved growing intellectually, it was often uncomfortable. Professor Harold challenged me constantly, Professor Woolfork told me I wasn’t always right, Professor McGrady encouraged me to do the hardest thing I could imagine– because even if I failed, I could say I’d been courageous enough to try. I used to think those professors hated me, but they loved me. They loved me enough to force me out of my comfortable patterns of thought and actions so I would grow. It was tough love, but love nonetheless.
  • Conducive to learning. In order to learn, there is a certain amount of vulnerability one must have, and I believe we must respect and protect students in their moments of vulnerability. We need to make our students feel empowered and encouraged to share, because fear of being wrong is hard enough as it is.
  • A Workspace. In a classroom, learning is a communal process. A good class is one where I not only develop a rapport with the professor but my classmates as well. They become your teammates. One of the best classes I’ve ever taken was Interracialism my first semester in grad school, and the five of us fed off of each other, built off of each other, learned from each other, encouraged each other. It was beautiful, and I wouldn’t have learned as much without my team.
  • A Space for Mistakes. I have made my fair share of mistakes and misinterpretations in the years and years in which I have been a student. I have indeed failed a quiz or two in my lifetime. There have been moments in which I have read every page of an assigned book and got absolutely nothing out of it. (Seriously, it happened just last week.) You won’t understand everything, you won’t ace everything, and you will occasionally follow a train of thought so far in the wrong direction that there’s no coming back. But part of the process is feeling free to go in the wrong direction and fall down a few times.

For a classroom to feel like this, it requires certain degrees of trust and respect that sometimes, admittedly just aren’t there.

Classrooms are hard spaces to “get right” and there’s no formula for it. Particularly since every classroom has a different purpose, a different professor, a different space, and most importantly, a different combination of students. Just one minute difference will change the tone of an entire class. As a scholar whose duty lies in the classroom just as much as it does in my research, I’m making a point now to think through power dynamics of the classroom and decide what I can do to create the kind of environment I would want to learn in.