PhD PTSD: Revisiting and Reconciling

In a now deleted, viral essay that I wrote entitled PhD PTSD I spoke about the feelings of confusion, disappointment and disenchantment following the completion of my doctoral degree. The story of the post being deleted actually tells a story all on its own.

 In November 2016, I offered my resignation for my first full time job in higher education just five months after graduating. I quit because at the time, I was only just beginning to heal from being sexually assaulted during graduate school, verbally assaulted by a student and then most recently a faculty member. I remember the incident like it was yesterday. A tenured faculty member stormed into my office, upset at my delay in responding to their emails. They referred to me as their insubordinate administrative assistant and tried their damnedest to assert their authority and superiority over me.

 I point out the way this moment felt because it was very similar to the way that I felt in the room with my rapist. There was this being trying to force my submission by any means necessary; and in these moments, we recall our best means of survival. It has been many years of therapy to truly forgive myself for anything I did the night of my assault to survive that moment. It has also been many more years of therapy for forgiving myself for not asserting my own dominance in the room with that faculty member. The night of my rape, I fought. The day some full professor spat insults to my face, I froze, and then I fled. Is it possible that on some level I knew I had a better chance of survival fighting a black man for my life than a white woman protecting white supremacy?

 When debriefing my experiences, honestly I found myself to be gaslit quite a bit. I had people reaching out to me offering me advice on how to market myself differently, coaching me to say this, not that. Encouraging me to stay out of DEI spaces because someone like me would surely upset the white people. An open secret is that so many DEI jobs are propaganda hamster wheels not meant to create any real change but instead to make those upholding capitalistic and thereby xenophobic, patriarchal and white supremacists ideals feel better while we’re doing it.  The truth is, most of us do not have the capacity to sit with the truth of ourselves, so asking for inclusion is beyond a reasonable ask. It is in this sweet spot that I have found a passion and calling. Residing in the discomfort of discovery and integration of Self for the sake of building and sustaining inclusive engaged and diverse communities.

 First, we have to be able to accept and integrate the parts of US that we do not want to look at, our work always begins in the mirror. In my essay “Black Surrender Within the Ivory Tower,” I wrote:

[Black Women] are intentionally robbed of opportunities to see the spectrum of who we can become. Without an accurate reflection, our world becomes a funhouse mirror of distorted expectations we can never meet. More often than not, the people around me believe that they are doing me a favor by not acknowledging my differences (169).

So, I deleted the post with over 500 comments, 14K shares and likes because I needed to understand what was happening in the relationship between my career and I void of the noise of others. In fact, I deleted my entire LinkedIn. I withdrew from expressing myself professionally because I had seen it done in such a malicious way I needed to redefine what it meant to be part of the academy as a Black woman—full of paradox and intersection. I was breaking down and the only thing it felt like people could offer me were more ways to be strong, resilient and keep going. I did not want to keep going, I did not find pride in strength, I wanted to quit and I wish, I wish I would have listened to myself, then. I wish that then, I could have told myself how much power there is in choosing your SELF even and especially in the face of the unknown. I wish I could have told myself that any space asking for less of you, does not deserve even an ounce of you.

 I would bounce through a couple more tense working environments before this November 2021, I would resign from higher education for good. I want to be clear in saying, at least with my last position, it was no one person’s fault that I stepped away. I had simply moved too far out of alignment of my true purpose.

 In the months prior to me quitting my job, I was offered an interim promotion and with it came a lack of sleep, poor eating habits, and eventually high irritability, moments of panic and rage and then in the final weeks, suicidal ideation. People who have struggled with depression will chuckle in recognition at the idea that I likely would have followed through if I had the energy to make a plan and get out of bed. My depression scared me so badly because it revealed to me just how sick I was. I did not know what the next step would be, but going back to work felt like a tightening noose around my neck, it simply was no longer an option.

 I wanted to scream at the graduate division that students needed money and comfort! This was a time to over communicate and assure them that yes, we are moving through unprecedented times but that we're doing so together—lost but holding hands. I wanted late fees to go away. They unnecessarily stressed my students out. I wanted us to bring puppies and weighted blankets for students. I wanted to care for them in ways that felt human and increasingly it felt like humanity had to be justified rather than expected.

The morning I quit my job, it was five years to the day of the time I quit the first time. November 9, my own personal 9/11. I reread my own essay after the prompting of my coworker. I recognized the ways that I had been hiding in this career. Playing small to keep the peace and not upset the egos who held more positional power or authority than me. I was exhausted at having to negotiate for my own humanity and it was increasingly more evident to me that in this country for a Black Woman, it's a distinct possibility that some people may NEVER give it to you. Some spaces will take too long to change and expand their capacities to be able to digest someone like me and it was evident to me that higher education was one of those places and I had to go, immediately.

I have always wanted to help people as they move through difficult transitions and a transition that is unique and I know very intimately is the doctoral student journey. I clung to that space believing my work was there but the truth is, my capacity to heal stretches far beyond my students. In this year, I have had the opportunity to work with other educators, but also people in industry who have found resonance in my story. Women who are tired of being implicitly or explicitly asked to pay small, tone down, be less, be good soldiers, stand still and look pretty. I was leading a book group discussion when the group decided the perfect name for me was a Discomfort Doula—"It makes sense because you usher [discomfort] in, hold space to process it and get [the group] to the other side.”

Which brings me full circle to the other side of my own discomfort. A place of knowing exactly what I can offer the world in terms of my ability to build empowered community and hold space, and wondering the best way to go about doing it?

My interim has been filled with requests for individual coaching, keynote addresses, and workshop facilitation. People who have heard me speak, saw an IG live, heard me on audible, or read my essay have invited me to hold space with them. To be paid well for doing the work that fills my heart lets me know that there are places that will affirm you when you dare to show up and be seen.

When I walked away from my job, I had nothing else lined up. My disability was denied and of course included a fairly lengthy appeals process that was too overwhelming for my anxious and suicidal mind. In moments like this, people offer to help, but honestly you are the only one who can answer a lot of the questions and between log-ins, and data sourcing, and fighting, and crying….my appeals never get done. I know that the insurance companies count on this and it infuriates me that “they win” when I pay for the benefit of short term disability care. So I have not received a paycheck since mid-September and am very open in requesting bookings and donations.

This was another lesson in undoing for me. Previously, I saw asking for money as a weakness but now?

One gift that I received that was completely unexpected came from one of my faculty. We had worked together most closely and he knew how much care and attention I poured into my students. He also knew that if I was walking away from my job, my health must be in serious jeopardy and he encouraged me to prioritize myself. Then, after I quit he took me to dinner and gave me a check. He reminded me that he read my essay and that He Saw Me. He knew I was not going to ask for help, because he recognized the struggle I articulated about being the Strong Black Woman. And then he gave me perhaps the greatest reframe I have ever been offered. He said, this is not me feeling bad for you. I am an economist, this is me knowing a good investment when I see one.

 It brings me to tears even now to recount those words because in them I hear him affirm my worth. The worth that I fight to have acknowledged in so many of the spaces I reside in, he offered so freely and I realized I never wanted to be in another workspace where he was the exception and not the rule.

 So I absolutely welcome those of you who see the value in me and my work to take action by requesting me for your spaces, or sending me a medicine ball from Starbucks, donation info will be included below.

For the first time in my life, I am job searching for a space. A vibe. I would love to work in an environment where collaboration is championed, as is innovation. I would love to be responsible for community building and sustaining, and any data, program eval or supervision related to said community. I want a supervisor who understands my PhD is an asset because I am a trained researcher taught to think critically and discriminately. I want coworkers who understand that as a Black Woman my hair might be different from day-to-day, week to week and that’s life don’t ask and don’t touch. I want family leave care and benefits for LGBTQIA+ be it medical, adoption, transitioning or health. I want the company ethos of care to be evident in every facet from the C-suite to Facilities. I want to see older people in entry level jobs learning their second or third career. I want to see young executives with families or not, making their jobs work for their lives not the other way around.

 Mostly, though, I want to take seriously my calling and commitment to healing through community. It would be wonderful if a company could see in me what I know to be true of myself. But I am honestly tired of waiting for people to See me because finally I can see myself and I know what I’m capable of.

So, if I can build it before I find it, then that’s okay too.

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Jessica Jamese Williams, PhD is a Discomfort Doula helping individuals and organizations process uncomfortable elements that are often barriers to connection, engagement, belonging and inclusion. Her work focuses on processing anxiety, grief, resolving somatic and sexual traumas, and centering the marginalized to build and sustain empowered, inclusive and compassionate communities.

 Likes and Shares are appreciated, as is the commitment to pay Black Women for their labor and their art. Donations can be made via venmo @ PH-Dubb. Dr. Williams is available for keynote speaking, workshop facilitation, diversity and intersectional identity training, individual coaching and expository writing and dialogues, for more information visit www.JessicaJamese.com.