starting my phd: pandemic edition

Hello world! I’m a few weeks into my grad program and I’ve been living on my own for about a month now, so I thought I'd pause and share my experiences so far. Buckle up, it's a bumpy ride. 

Before starting my PhD, I was living in my childhood home. This was not by choice, like many other students, the pandemic abruptly ended my final semester of college and I was sent home. My small liberal arts college experience was like gay summer camp for the most part, and it was incredibly traumatic to be ripped away from the most supportive, loving, queer, community I had ever known just as we were on the cusp of graduating and beginning our adult lives. I’m really proud of the personal growth and identity exploration I achieved in college which was only possible because I was far away from the cisheteronormative environment I grew up in, so I was feeling incredibly dejected about being shipped back home to deal with my complex family dynamics. Along with the feeling of general malaise about the state of the world, the depression I experienced at home was compounded by the fact that I was living in an environment that I associated with past trauma. So when I was notified that my grad program was switching to a 100% remote format for the first semester, meaning I had the choice of staying home in California, I was like lol, no thanks. I knew that relocating to Atlanta as originally planned would be the best decision for me and my mental health. 

While I should have been excited about the prospect of starting a new chapter, living through a mass death event has a funny way of sucking the joy out of everything. I couldn’t worry about normal grad student things like fellowships or which labs I wanted to eventually rotate in. I was incredibly worried about the actual logistics of flying and relocating across the country during a pandemic. My family insisted on coming out to Atlanta to help me settle in since they wouldn’t be able to take time off work or be able to afford to visit me in the future. I was grateful for their support, but was terrified of my family members getting sick while traveling and felt incredibly selfish for potentially putting their lives at risk in the first place.

When I finally arrived in Atlanta, I realized I was still holding my breath. At this point of the pandemic, I’m really used to having the things and people I care about the most ripped away from me and have learned to expect the worst possible outcome. I told myself that I was not going to let myself feel excited about starting grad school until all my loved ones tested negative for COVID and classes actually started. Once those things thankfully did happen, then I felt like I could breathe.

Turns out, it feels really good to breathe! I was finally able to bask in my multiple newfound freedoms and I even let myself feel an emotion I thought I had lost long ago—joy. My whole world opened up as I regained the bodily autonomy I had formerly enjoyed in college. No longer living as a closeted person in a conservative, traditional, Catholic, immigrant household meant that I could wear the colorful clothes that I like, the sparkly makeup I’m fond of, and most importantly, be openly queer again. I didn’t have to pretend to be something that I’m not. I could be me. I haven’t felt like myself in a really long time, so I was pleased when I started regaining the zest for life that I lost at some point long ago. 

Additionally, moving into an apartment meant that I had complete artistic freedom over my home. Growing up, I never had any privacy or even a bed to call my own, so finally having the space, energy, and resources to bring the vision in my head to life felt like a blessing. Having my own space where I could be my most authentic self definitely helped clear up some of the fog that had been clouding my mind for months. The gears in my brain finally started turning again, and I felt excited about the intellectual freedom that comes with pursuing a doctoral degree. I started thinking about all the valuable skills and insights I bring to the table and daydreaming about all the potential directions that my PhD could go and felt proud of myself for all the hard work I put in to get to this point. Also, when I moved I purchased my first car with my own money and gained the physical freedom to actually go places which was a real game-changer. I was finally getting over my anxiety as a new driver and was beginning to enjoy zipping around town and singing along to Nelly Furtado as I hunted for secondhand items to furnish the little home I was creating.  

Then, a couple weeks ago, I was knocked off the cloud I had been floating on. One morning, I was sitting in my parked car on my phone, minding my own business when another car backed into me and hit me. I was completely caught off guard and managed to honk my horn, but the driver sped away with no intention of coming back to give me their license plate number or insurance information. I did what any mature, independent, 22 year old, PhD student would do in my situation—I started crying. I cried for a really long time. This incident left me pretty rattled; it wasn’t until then that the full weight of the many forms of sadness I had been repressing finally hit me. Not only was I completely alone in a brand new city, attending a new school, thousands of miles away from anyone that I fully trusted or that truly knew me, but as the eldest immigrant daughter, I felt residual guilt for prioritizing my own comfort and leaving my family behind to deal with their own struggles, a pandemic, and blazing wildfires. Feelings of shame and selfishness over moving came flooding back and overwhelmed me. I always find myself wondering why seeking my own liberation and autonomy feels like a despicable act of family betrayal. Prioritizing my own mental health shouldn’t feel like a criminal act, but I still felt terrible for doing so.

Luckily, me and my car were both fine, but I still wanted to shrivel up and die. Even though what had happened wasn’t my fault, I felt really pathetic for being such an inexperienced, unassertive driver and for needing help. I felt so pitiful for wanting to be taken care of. I wanted my mom to comfort me and assure me that it wasn’t my fault. I wanted my best friend to hold me tight and wipe away my tears. I wanted my little sister to laugh at me and call me a crybaby. I even wanted my dad to curse out the guy that hit my car. I just wanted someone, anyone, to be there for me. I drove home (still crying), crawled into bed, and eventually talked to my friends about what had happened and immediately felt better. In this quarantine age where I can’t see the people that I love and care about on a daily basis, it has become increasingly easy for me to forget that the relationships l have spent years cultivating still exist. I totally forget that I’m allowed to reach out to my friends for emotional support and that they still love and care about me even though I’m far away—weird!

So yeah, there are rough moments down here in The Peach State. But overall, I would say that l feel very lucky most of the time. My mental health is far better and more stable here than it was in California. I have an appointment with a new therapist on Monday. I have the privilege of studying from home. There are faculty members who share the same niche research interests as me and are willing to connect me to resources and other scholars. My cohort is full of wonderful, supportive, collaborative people. I get to learn about the freaking brain and pursue my own interests while being financially secure and independent for the first time in my life. I can even afford to buy Talenti gelato now. It's a pretty sweet gig and it feels amazing knowing that I earned this. I built this little life for myself. Starting a PhD in a global pandemic has brought a unique set of challenges and anxieties to my life but as long as I remember that I’m not as alone as my brain tells me that I am, I think I’ll be alright. 

Thanks for listening.

Love, Yesenia <3