Well-Read
Well-Read
The Limitations of Self-Identity: My Academic Journey
By: Leah Abrams
If you are a grad student like me, you will know the one question every professor loves posing at the beginning of the new semester. It goes something along the lines of “Tell us a bit about yourself. What led you to this career choice?” No matter how many times I answer this question, each time I do, I am given pause to think about my scholastic journey that has been a process of personal growth, more than one of academic pursuit. At the end of each semester, I celebrate not only my academic success but the confidence and complete reframing of my identity it took to get there.
Rewind to Chanukah, 2016. I had just begun dating my now-husband, and we were up to that part of the relationship where you go beyond the “Israel-sibling diet soda” chit- chat and get into the “Real Life Plans” talk. To be honest, I didn’t have much to add to the conversation. I was close to completing a Bachelor’s degree because my parents pushed me to, because “one day you will regret it if you don’t do it now (their words, not mine).” Career? Na, not for me. I would make money somehow, whatever came my way. For the moment, “what had come my way” was babysitting. I loved working with kids and I didn’t have to respond to a boss. I was making enough money to support my single life, I was independent, I was a free bird. In a way, I pitied my friends who were tied down to spending endless hours of their free time on schoolwork or their profession. My husband wisely accepted my response and realized that since I was an overall responsible person who cared about my loved ones when push comes to shove, I would do what I had to in order to help support my family.
Months later, we were settling into newly-wed life when my husband gently broached the subject of where I was actually going with my career. I was quick to shut that conversation down. Any time he brought it up, I refused to engage. Until finally, he confronted me: “What is going on? Why can you not even entertain the thought of returning to school? Of expanding your vision of the future?” My response was to promptly burst into tears (and I am so not a crier, by the way. #kallahhormones). I started blubbering about how I couldn’t go back to school, I just couldn’t, and there was no way anyone was forcing me to! I wasn’t smart enough for grad school! I was a horrible student, and I would never again endure the torture I experienced as a child.
My husband looked at me shocked. “You think you’re not smart enough? Is that really what you believe about yourself?” I avoided his eyes and shrugged. When it came down to it, I identified myself as a creative free-spirit, the artistic, deep, soulful type, without a bit of academic prowess in me. After many heart to heart conversations (filled with many more tears than I care to admit), my husband and I slowly broke down those walls and uncovered what was really going on in the dark corners of my mind.
I grew up in a small Orthodox community, where you graduated high school with the same handful of girls you learned to use scissors and glue-sticks with. My class was extremely competitive when it came to academics, and since I struggled scholastically and socially, let’s just say that this environment did not exactly stimulate my development. The teachers unintentionally encouraged this competition. When the spelling quiz marks were posted for all to see, I was crushed anew each week. I wasn’t completely failing, nor was I excelling, so I fell into that “neither here nor there” category in which the educators attributed my mediocrity to a lack of effort. I went through my early education, bumbling along this way.
My one saving grace was my proficient writing skills. I did not allow myself to take credit for this, however, since I convinced myself that I was “stupid and dumb,” so my writing did not matter. I ignored any evidence that I was, in fact, intelligent in my own way. Winning a writing contest, getting runner up in the science fair- it all meant nothing to me. I did not allow myself the grace and kindness I would have easily awarded to others- the recognition that while I was a poor test-taker and memorizer, and spaced out during dry class lecture, I had a lot of untapped potential.
These labels of victimhood which I had branded myself with followed me into my early adulthood. It was the fear of once again failing that prevented me from pursuing a career as I matured. It took someone who really believed in me more than I believed in myself to realize that I was not a disappointment and never had been. I had excelled in my own way, and I could use those very same tools and experiences to forge my own path and discover my true potential.
Changing an entire belief system about who I was, did not happen overnight. Instead of looking for confirmation of my stupidity as I had done in the past, I started looking for evidence of my intelligence. After two years of continued self-work, I was ready to take the plunge. Other things in my life were falling into place too. My husband finished his schooling and was secure in his job, and I was getting burnt out from babysitting and was ready to move on. I researched many, many career options as well as the required training. I was very adamant that I find a job that I would enjoy, with a training option that I would be able to realistically complete while being a present wife and mother.
I am currently enrolled in an online graduate program to become a reading specialist. I am sure this does not come as a big surprise if you have been paying attention so far. Everything is coming full circle. I will be helping struggling students, using my personal experience to relate to them and build confidence in their abilities. As for the scholastic aspect, I am actually excelling in a way I never have before. The program involves few tests (my weak point), and many writing assignments (in which I excel). The pressure is lifted now that I embrace both my strengths and vulnerabilities. I never realized how much my negative beliefs were holding me back until I let them go.
My journey is far from over, and I have been granted a whole new level of self-awareness through the process. I now wonder what other areas I have robbed myself of excelling at, by refusing to question the validity of childhood beliefs. Being a mature adult gives me the freedom to choose which self-identities to reject and which to adopt.
