virtual grad school isn’t what I signed up for, but I'm making it work

Real picture of me in grad school

Hello world! The truth is I’ve been putting off writing an update to my first post because I was waiting for my life as a grad student to get just a little bit more exciting, but with the way things are going I figured I should just sit down and crank this post out before the memory of my first semester becomes entirely obsolete. 

After the initial excitement of starting my PhD wore off and the brief honeymoon period ended, I was left only with the unglamourous reality of virtual grad school. The stipend that initially seemed like an exorbitant fortune to my working class self dwindled away far too quickly each month. I found out the hard way that having a penchant for online shopping is dangerous when you have a mountain of new adult bills to pay, a car that breaks down every other week, and a family back home that needs support. Everyday felt the same: back-to-back Zoom meetings, hastily heated frozen meals, and late nights frantically studying for the next exam. Throughout the semester, the ennui of my day-to-day life was so severe that I learned to appreciate the times my car broke down because at least it got me out of the house and I had the chance to make small talk with roadside assistance workers, insurance agents, tow truck drivers, and auto mechanics.

Honestly, I felt frustrated most of the time last semester. When I was applying to schools, Emory had been my dream program, my top choice. I distinctly remember doodling colorful hearts and the words “Emory University” and “Dr. Yesenia Garcia, PhD” on my notes like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. I daydreamed about walking through the scenic campus and pictured myself doing exciting research in world-class labs as I waited for a response. I was over the moon when I got my acceptance. I felt like the world was at my fingertips and that I was on the cusp of greatness, but starting grad school virtually during a deadly pandemic took away a lot of that magic and naive optimism, and I lost a lot of the momentum I had built up. Sure, I am grateful to have the privilege to even do a PhD and pursue my passions in the first place, but being denied access to lab facilities and rotations, the ability to bond and make memories with my cohort, form friendships outside my program, and make valuable connections with faculty members made my first semester (a lot) less than ideal. This, compounded by the all-encompassing desolation that comes with knowing that you are 2500 miles away from your family and 1000 miles away from your nearest college friend is enough to dampen anyone’s spirits. 

Part of what made last semester so difficult was, shockingly, the fact that I have never been a grad student before. It's really challenging to gauge how you are doing, both emotionally and academically, when you don't have a baseline for what “normal” even is in grad school during non-pandemic times. How much stress is healthy? How much burn out is too much? What am I supposed to be doing right now? No one tells you these things! Doing my PhD alone in my bedroom is frustrating because I don't know if I'm doing something wrong, or if I'm doing something right. There isn't anyone around to tell me anything at all. I know that grad school is all about becoming an independent thinker or whatever, but I am someone who benefits from social interaction and external validation; that is to say, I am human. Having easy access to organic, positive, day-to-day interactions with encouraging professors or friendly postdocs is something I miss dearly. I distinctly remember the (one) time a faculty member took the time to check in with the class and genuinely ask how we were holding up before beginning her lecture. That considerate moment of kindness was almost enough to make me cry. The truth is, no one is doing okay right now, especially not first year grad students who are adjusting to the rigors of academia under even more rigorous circumstances. It has been very difficult to build community outside my cohort, and I feel like I haven’t been able to really put down roots in my new city or build a proper support network at my new institution simply because I don’t have the opportunity to meet people in person. 

Last semester, I never had doubts about whether pursuing a neuroscience PhD was the right option for me; I know in my heart and in my head that this is what I want to do. However, I do still frequently find myself questioning my decision to begin my graduate studies in 2020. Perhaps I should have spent more time weighing the pros and cons of deferring my admission for a year and exploring the option of working as a lab technician. Would it have been a better use of my time to gain more research experience than to take online classes as a PhD student? The jury is still out on that one. I think that after the crushing disappointment of not being able to finish my senior year of college with my best friends or return in-person to my beloved summer research lab (I unironically love St. Louis, MO), I was determined to not miss out on grad school as well, so I didn’t even entertain the notion of deferring. I still don’t know if I made the “right” choice by starting grad school in 2020, but it's too late to go back now. However, if I had deferred I would not have the (virtual) company of my incredible cohort, and that's reason enough to convince me that I am where I need to be. 

I don’t want to give the impression that I am completely disillusioned and jaded at this point. It hasn’t all been bad, there were in fact some good revelations I made last semester.

After years of struggling with the imposter syndrome that comes from being a first-gen low income person of color and being made to feel less than my peers at a certain predominantly white, highly selective, small liberal arts college located in the scenic Hudson Valley (in other words, Vassar), I was convinced that grad school would be no different. I assumed that those insidious feelings of inferiority that I worked so hard on overcoming would resurface when I started my PhD and that I would find myself doubting my abilities and my place in my program. I am happy to report that this wasn’t the case and that my self-confidence, which has gradually blossomed over the years, is here to stay. To be frank, I know that I’m a bad bitch who deserves to be here and that the admissions committee made no mistake by accepting me. I know that I am not a “diversity hire” and that I am capable of producing excellent research. I am frequently told that Emory is lucky to have me as a student, and my response is: they sure are. I think that being 100 percent online mitigates my imposter syndrome because I have fewer opportunities to compare myself to others. I also think that living through a pandemic has made people more open and willing to share their insecurities and struggles for which I am grateful for because it means we can find common ground and commiserate together. I also just simply don't have the time or energy to be self-conscious about trivial things like academics anymore because I need to conserve my strength for more important things, like um, surviving a pandemic.  

Also, as much as I miss attending in-person school and the serotonin rush I would get from strutting into a classroom wearing a silly little outfit and locking eyes with my campus crush, I do not miss being misgendered everyday during in-person interactions. As a nonbinary person who uses they/them pronouns, I live my life perpetually holding my breath, braced for the impact of the next time I am inevitability misgendered. It stings every time. I get over it quickly of course (I have to in order to survive), and I don’t hold grudges against people who slip up, but it hurts nonetheless. Virtual school has its perks, namely the fact that I can go days at a time without being misgendered simply because there are less opportunities for me to be referred to given the often impersonal nature of graduate level Zoom lectures. One thing I dreaded during college was the first day of class when we would all go around and introduce our names, pronouns, majors. Yes, sharing pronouns is an important practice that cisgender people should get in the habit of doing more often, but it’s incredibly uncomfortable to share yours when you’re the only openly trans nonbinary person in the room. Declaring that I am a “they/them” in a sea of “she/her/hers” and “he/him/his” can be really embarrassing sometimes. Maybe I’m projecting, but when people unconsciously glance in my direction and mentally assess whether I “look nonbinary” (whatever that means), it’s invalidating and makes me feel like I should pack it up and go back to gender la la land or something. I like that on Zoom I can just type my pronouns in my display name if I want to, or delete them if I’m in a meeting where I don’t feel comfortable sharing that part of my identity. And at the risk of sounding like an unoriginal Twitter post, I like having the ability to turn off my camera and not have my trans body perceived (and misgendered), sue me!

All things considered, I am really looking forward to starting my second semester later this month and (fingers crossed) being able to finally start my rotations, meet my cohort in person, take my written quals, and eventually choose my thesis lab (!!!). Maybe then Atlanta will start to feel like home