September 22, 2023

Friends, I am not one to mince words – we are in the midst of a downturn. As part of my job, I write an insights digest which highlights top workforce news stories to keep folks informed on what’s happening in the labor market. For the past few weeks, as I trawl through various websites, I’ve been scrolling past all of these super fun headlines that scream HELP, whether it’s the climate, civil rights, economy, or government. All of that macro-level uncertainty, anxiety, and stress manifests at the micro-level in our bodies, minds, emotions, and relationships, whether we’re conscious of it or not. It can be hard to keep going.

I’d like to share with you all a little story that may offer some perspective. Three years ago, I had to leave my PhD program without completing my master’s thesis, a milestone largely considered a cakewalk in academic circles. I had no choice but to leave because I experienced a mental health crisis of proportions that are difficult to communicate in this short format. I struggled with mental illness for many years before I went to graduate school, but along with many other factors, I was unprepared for how draining and isolating such an environment could be, particularly for a woman of color. I didn’t realize being so unhappy could spin me out so far.

Independence is the keystone of my identity, so you can imagine how devastating it was to pack up my belongings and move back in with my parents without any idea of where I was going next. My self-esteem, my self-confidence: shredded. If I couldn’t write a measly master’s thesis, did that mean I was stupid? And who in their right minds was going to give a job to a PhD dropout? One glance at my resume gap was all it would take for people to realize I was a total loser. Would I ever be able to stand on my own two feet again? But there at the very bottom (quite literally in the basement of my parents’ house), I did the one thing I had refused to do for a very long time. I accepted the fact that I needed help, that I needed to let go of my independence… at least for a little while. Instead, I had to do that most dreaded and horrible thing: depend on others and admit that I do not, in fact, have all the answers.

I was lucky. I got the support I needed. I had so many loving people in my life. I had the resources needed to access quality healthcare. I had the knowledge and language to navigate the convoluted mental health system in this country. Not very many people have those luxuries. With three years of hard, hard, very painful work, I redefined myself, who I am, what matters to me, and how I see the world. And yes, three years later, I am an associate director at a well-respected organization, doing what I love most and what I went to grad school to do – thinking, reading, researching, writing, communicating. I could not have even dreamed the life I have now was possible when I got on that plane from LA three years ago.

That’s a fine story, but what’s the point? Well, there’s two, actually.

1. Life is terribly uncertain, and the most unfair, unexpected things can happen even when we’re trying our hardest and doing our best. There’s quite literally nothing we can do to control that, but what I learned from my experience is that each of us carries a resiliency, a very bright and beautiful flame in our hearts that we often forget we hold, but rest assured, is always there. Humans are problem-solvers and survivors, and particularly with the smart bunch of people I’ve seen posting and sharing on this platform, I have full faith and confidence that no matter what happens with the state of the world, each of us will not only weather this storm, but we will go on to thrive and send out so many fresh, green shoots of life. Often, it is the path that appears in adversity that leads us to the sublime. As the Buddhists say: no mud, no lotus.
2. What matters in life is not our work, whether that’s graduate school or a job. This was a lesson we all learned during the pandemic, but our brains like to forget what happened in the recent past, especially if those times were traumatic shocks. Fieldwork, master’s committees, doctoral theses, conferences, board meetings, programs, events – of course, these all have impact, and of course, we all need to earn a living so that we have a place to sleep, food to eat, water to drink, heat to keep us warm, but at the end of the day, work is work. We do it to survive and if we’re lucky, to make the world a better place. Work has impact, yes, but that’s not what matters. What really matters is when you’re sitting on a park bench and the breeze brushes your cheek and you close your eyes and you hear that hum of contentment between your ears. What really matters is when your mom makes you laugh so hard that you choke on the sip of water you took because she skewered her Zumba instructor with such pitch perfect savagery. What really matters is telling other people that they matter, not for what they produce, but for the cute scarf they chose to wear or the certain combination of veggies they put together to make you a warm meal. Perhaps most of all, what really matters is learning to shrug off the stress the world is just so excited to dump on your head and instead choosing to seek out the kindness and love that also exists, on the sidelines, quietly waiting to be found and appreciated. You want to know why those are the things that matter? Because whatever the economy or government chooses to do, nothing and no one can take that joy, laughter, connection, love, or kindness away from you. Though we cannot control the world, we cancontrol the narratives we write in our minds. And that’s the kind of power that transforms society from the ground-up.

Well, that’s my little story time. If you’re interested in hearing more about my experiences, I am always happy to talk because open books change the world. I hope everyone has a fabulous weekend. I will be spending it doing all the things that bring me joy and laughter, which is what I have done every day since I got well two glorious years ago.

Originally posted on LinkedIn.