Is My PhD Worthless?
When I was a child, everyone said I was smart. That was kind of the only thing people ever said about me. Even at my 10-year high school reunion, people that barely knew me remembered that I was smart. I did my best in school to live up to that praise and ended up finishing 3rd in my class (I started my last semester 2nd but worked out a deal with the 3rd and 4th students that no matter what happened, we’d all be salutatorian). It ended being smart because I was the first Black salutatorian in my school’s 40-year history up to that point. I always found it weird that there was still Black history to be made in the year 2004. My problem growing up though was that I had a problem opening up to and gaining favor with my teachers. I had always been an energetic child, and I loved that about myself. I was also opinionated, which led to countless arguments with everyone including adults. A particular low-point in my academic career was when I was suspended in 3rd grade for protesting the fact that my friends and I got into trouble for what seemed like the slightest offenses. In a real-life example of a permanent record following you, my teacher apparently said that my best friend and I were never to be in the same class ever again because of our behavior in 3rd grade, and I never saw him again really until high school. It was the craziest thing.
That experience did leave a scar. I learned that no matter how well I did in school, and I still did well in 3rd grade as I did in all my grades. In 3rd grade I got the highest score on an achievement test in my school and led the school in accelerated reader points. I was having a great year. But my academic success did not get me any benefit of the doubt. I didn’t get any leeway because I was smart, and that stuck with me. It frustrated me, and it made me withdraw from authority figures, most of whom were White. Maybe it damaged me in a way that I didn’t know at that point. Every other year in school was good from that point until I graduated. I still had some conflicts with authority. My band teacher and I did not have a great relationship. I was 2nd chair in the saxophone section in concert band (meaning I was pretty good), and I was a section leader in the marching band, which was supposed to give me some authority, but when I tried to exercise some authority, I was undermined and made to look silly in front of the entire band over a loudspeaker my band teacher used to address the band. After that, I lost the desire to perform that job, and I did not bother to apply for it my senior year.
I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, which was a dream to me. My parents hadn’t gone to college (well my Mom did, but she didn’t stay very long according to her). It was a whole new world, overwhelming in so many ways, and full of people savvier and more experienced than I was. I had been fortunate to attend a summer program that introduced me to experimental lab science, so in college, I began doing research and decided I wanted to study chemistry. My research adviser, the professor in whose lab I did my research, was an introvert like myself, and I didn’t quite know how to approach him. The graduate students there were certain types of people that I didn’t quite relate to, though I knew they meant well, so I never really got to know people really well in the lab. My parents had always been the type to put their heads down and keep working, and I did the same, presenting my research at many conferences, getting to travel from my university in North Carolina to a conference in San Francisco. Science had allowed me to take my first plane ride. It was beautiful to me. I was told I should go to graduate school because I was good at research, so I did that, though I had no idea what I wanted to do. I always said I wanted to be a professor, but I had no idea what that meant. I could barely talk to my professor, how could I deal with administrators or even get through the application process, but at the time, I had no real advisers that looked like me. There was one guy from my lab who had allowed me to intern at his company after my junior year, and I am thankful for him, but I didn’t get it at the time. I wasn’t necessarily into the idea of working for a company where the only driver was profit.
I went to Indiana University for graduate school. It was closest to home of the schools I had applied to, and it had a good rank in analytical chemistry. This way I could drive home if I wanted or needed to. In grad school, I did well at the start. I was one of the best students in my incoming class. I performed well in class and in research. What struck me as odd was how my White potential adviser said that because I was Black, the lab could get extra funding. That was a little weird and strange to bring up in an initial meeting. I guess if I were more aware, I could have been thankful for his honesty but chosen a different lab situation. But, I thought this lab would be good for me to learn a lot and get good mentoring. What I didn’t know was that no one was going to reach out to me. I think it took me years to understand that. Because I was doing well until my third year, I didn’t realize that I was not getting appropriate mentoring, which I wanted but didn’t know how to ask for. My reluctance to trust or bond with authority figures was always there and really hurt me. I joined the Indiana University chapter of the national organization for Black chemists (NOBCChE) for some support. One of the advisers told me early on that I would need to get to know him so that when the White people tried to screw me over, he’d help me. I shrugged it off, but in my 5th year, after contributing to multiple publications in the lab, my adviser told me I should leave with a Master’s degree. Throughout my time in the lab, I struggled to fit in culturally. I felt that my uniqueness was not appreciated, which isn’t uncommon when you’re the only person of a certain background. I was the only Black person in that lab and felt it every day. I felt different every day, and my coping mechanism was to deal with it because I didn’t know how to open up, and frankly, I didn’t want to be any different. I liked who I was. My adviser had no idea what was going on in my life and had made no effort to get to know me, which I informed him of through screaming at him. It was gratifying to let out the anger after having felt ignored and marginalized for years. Culturally, I didn’t fit it, and I didn’t know how to, and I was punished for it. I felt that a White person of my talent would have been given more mentoring or more chance to get out of the funk I was in. But I did accept his suggestion to leave the lab. I did that feeling like I could still get a Ph.D. with the help of others. The NOBCChE professor was there for me, and he and another Black professor in physics whom I had met by chance in town helped me navigate the process of getting a new lab and working with the dean of the chemistry department to negotiate the terms of finishing my PhD.
My new adviser was a much more sympathetic to my plight. She worked with me to help me finish and told me how much she appreciated my work. It was weird to get praise, so I didn’t take it well. This was how bad I had been wounded. After I spend one year in her lab, I defended my thesis, which I felt was scattered and random, but it was mine, and it was the culmination of all that work and stress. But it felt hollow. I didn’t even want it anymore because I got it from an institution that didn’t want me to have it. I had to fight so hard to get something that students that I felt were less talented got way more easily. But they bonded with their advisers and were given fair treatment.
My new adviser helped me get a postdoc at the University of Michigan, but by the time I go there, I felt burnt out. I was crushed by academic life, and it took me probably a year to feel OK with doing research again. My relationship with my adviser was non-existent again, and the entire experience felt like I was in free-fall. I applied for a few faculty positions, but I didn’t even know how to start. I was overwhelmed with anxiety at the thought of even getting an interview, so I stopped after a few applications. I just couldn’t do it. After 18 months there, I had to find something else to do because the funding for my project was running out. I got a job in another department on campus doing pharmaceutical analysis, which I thought would help get me a job in industry. My PhD work had been in atomic mass spectrometry, which everyone thought was a dying field, so I didn’t think that was going to get me a job, but the pharmaceutical industry would be a good place to land.
I ended up in that lab for 4 years. Two of those years, I did small molecule analysis, but the other two I focused on a research project that didn’t really make use of my skills and didn’t look fancy on a resume or CV. My adviser in that lab was Asian, and I didn’t feel any sort of relationship with him either, and I began to give up. I had no self-esteem with my degree even though, I had been productive throughout my academic career. Everyone told me I was smart, yet no one seemed to show enthusiasm for my talents, and no employers in industry were trying to hire me. After the four years in that lab with no advancement in sight, I was ready to move on.
I moved back to my parents’ home and have been applying for industry jobs ever since. I have no faith that anyone will give me any benefit of the doubt, and I don’t feel like I have any connections or desire to use any connections I might have that I’m not aware of.
I ask myself constantly: is my PhD worthless? For a person who is driven and started grad school with a plan, that answer can never be yes. But, I didn’t know I needed a plan. I didn’t know what I needed, and I relied on people to help me without my asking because I didn’t know how to ask. I had been too scarred. But no one did offer to help, except the Black professor who helped save my PhD. Other than that, I had no advisers who did that for me, and I told myself I would be that adviser for others if I were in that position. I’m not sure if that will ever happen, and I’m not sure what is next for me because my particular PhD might not get me where the PhD degrees of others get them. My PhD might be worthless for me. If that’s the case, how do I move on, and how do I help others not feel this same way? What I do know is smart means very little. Help means a lot.
I ask myself constantly: is my PhD worthless? For a person who is driven and started grad school with a plan, that answer can never be yes. But, I didn’t know I needed a plan. I didn’t know what I needed, and I relied on people to help me without my asking because I didn’t know how to ask. I had been too scarred. But no one did offer to help, except the Black professor who helped save my PhD. Other than that, I had no advisers who did that for me, and I told myself I would be that adviser for others if I were in that position. I’m not sure if that will ever happen, and I’m not sure what is next for me because my particular PhD might not get me where the PhD degrees of others get them. My PhD might be worthless for me. If that’s the case, how do I move on, and how do I help others not feel this same way? What I do know is smart means very little. Help means a lot.
