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I regularly forget that I have a Ph.D. in English Literature.
Okay, so, it’s super nice when I remember, but the reality of that credential doesn’t play an active role in my everyday life. When I was a professor, students called me “Dr.” dozens of times a day. It was hard to forget. Now, I actively resist using that prefix. It’s like a reenforcement of the hierarchical structures that used to wear me down so hard in grad school. As a grad student, it’s hard to feel like a real adult because 1) you are making low wages for full-time work, and 2) the old structures of academia superimpose a sense of apprenticeship and gatekeeping over your life.
It’s been seven years this summer since I graduated. I remember the morning of my doctoral graduation very clearly: I’d just moved my husband and my dogs to a brand new state for my big girl job, and then we made the several-hours drive back to Texas so I could graduate in person. It was stressful, expensive, and hot. The car broke down days before the trip. (I like to say that I paid $750 to attend my Ph.D. graduation.)
I remember trying very hard to enjoy the ceremony. I appreciate rituals like this, and doctoral graduations have plenty of pomp. The point at which you truly become a “doctor” is when you receive your “doctoral hood,” which a senior faculty member places over your robes. “Congratulations, Doctor,” they say as they shake your hand.
It’s supposed to feel very nice. I do remember it feeling nice. Transformative? No. Nice? Yes.
The thing is, I was so exhausted from carting my spouse + dogs (it was cheaper to bring them, ironically) all the way to Texas, I struggled to let the ritual seep in. I questioned if I’d made the right decision by insisting on walking across the stage. Was this an entirely selfish decision? Was this worth the trouble of inviting my parents and aunts and granny to come to Texas in the worst heat of summer to watch me graduate?
Overall, yes, it was worth it. I’m grateful for that memory. I just wish the memory wasn’t so steeped in exhaustion.
In honor of that seven year anniversary of me becoming “not that kind of doctor,” I wanted to write about why I’m grateful to have a Ph.D. while not working in the academy. This is an important distinction. I want to articulate why I’m grateful for that crucible even though I ultimately decided professor-ing wasn’t for me.
For many Ph.D. grads, I am living their nightmare: having a doctoral degree and not having the coveted tenure track job. For me, it’s dreamland.