Professional glow

I thought of a story for you. I didn’t think I was going to write tonight, but then this memory returned with intense clarity, so I thought I’d share it.

I felt really good about myself in June. I had completed a draft of my thesis and handed carefully printed copies to the 5 men who would sit on my committee. I was beginning 5 weeks of nearly constant travel that was to be based out of my hometown. My dog was staying at my parents’ and it was easiest to deal with flying out of the smaller airport at home. I was done – had completed projects, was working on some papers, and feeling confident and smart. Completely capable of dealing with this interview stuff.

I had successfully interviewed at 5 places, I think. I headed back to grad school for a short stay – wanted to check in for early revisions on my thesis document, reserve a room for my defense in early July, touch base with some students I’d mentored. I wasn’t thrilled with any of the job prospects so far, but I was only halfway through my 9 interviews, knew I’d get offers and be lucky to have them, and was still feeling darn good.

You know when it hurts to be wrong? When you’re so sure you’re right. When the pain is so completely unexpected that it brings waves of embarrassment – humiliation, even – in addition to the shock of being unexpectedly slapped back. My thesis, scheduled for a week later after one more interview trip, had been unceremoniously canceled by a member of my committee through email.

No note to me – I was cc’d on a message to my whole committee that noted his concern that the document, and my work, were insufficient to merit a degree. I don’t have words to explain how bad this was, so I’m not going to go into detail. I fought – viciously hard – and I lost. We pushed it off indefinitely, and I went home to prepare for my flight the next day.

Instead, I spent 3 days lying on my parents’ bathroom floor. I’m not sure exactly how you define a nervous breakdown, but if involves the inability to do anything but lie mutely or cry, vomit regularly, and curl so tightly into yourself that you’re not sure what will eventually emerge, then I guess I had one. So I missed the interview, and it happened to be for the institution where I currently work.

It killed my parents. I don’t know that they’ve ever been so angry or worried on my behalf. It finally pulled me out of it. I went back to my grad school, found refuge in icy rage, and told my advisor that there was “no way in hell I could stay.” I would put off the defense because I clearly didn’t have the support necessary to graduate, but I’d leave without a degree, work, then return to finish up. So we set specific conditions upon my release, and I decided to leave.

At this point, I still had 4 interviews to go, and that glow I had before? From looking over my CV? Listing my accomplishments? Noting the affection and respect I had for my colleagues and graduate institution? It was extinguished completely. I had nothing left from which to draw strength or professional confidence.

Later, I was returning from a long interview – 4 days, I think – and only had one left to go. I remember getting on the second flight that would take me back to my parents and dog after a lengthy layover. I think I read a magazine, but the delayed boarding had enabled me to finish it. I could have worked on the paper that had just been rejected, but I couldn’t find the internal resources necessary to do so. Instead, I got on the small plane – 2 seats on either side of the aisle, sat in the front row by the window, and fixed my eyes on the ground outside.

Someone sat next to me and I shifted slightly, acknowledging her presence without turning to look. She asked me where she should put her carry-on since there were no seats in front of us. I turned to offer suggestions and smiled weakly before returning to my bleak stare outside.

I sighed when she asked what was taking me to the relatively small Midwestern city.

“My parents live there.” I replied simply, not looking away from the window, curled into myself to protect from the nearly constant disappointment that faced me.

She then told me about her church conference, and I remember forcing myself to keep my eyes on her as she spoke. I was vaguely worried – I very rarely have trouble enjoying people once I’m engaged – and I wondered if I’d lost some vital piece of myself that was capable of feeling joy, hope or even mild amusement. I don’t think I’d really laughed in weeks.

She asked if I was working in the South, and I shook my head.

“Interviewing, actually.” I told her, not able to resist the lure of looking out the window afterward.

She asked about the job, and I told her, trying to muster some enthusiasm for at least one of the eight since I had to take something to get out of grad school at this point. I couldn’t. I did tell her I was leaving graduate school. Not finishing – I never used the word finish – always leave. I was leaving grad school.

“What did you work on?” She asked. “Did you do research?”

I nodded automatically, turned to her and opened my mouth to answer. Then closed it. Thought of the jobs I didn’t want. The email informing me of my paper’s rejection. The defense date that had come and gone without a presentation or signed forms or celebrations.

“It doesn’t matter.” I told her, meaning it with every molecule of my being. “It’s not important at all.”

For once, I’m not trying to gain sympathy and guilt you into offering encouraging comments. I’m writing a grant and going through the candidate section, telling my story of grad school – the various projects, the problems, the mentoring, the people with whom I collaborated, how I followed some ideas and discarded others.

And you know what? I was good at it. Yes, there were weaknesses and places I could have tried harder. But as I write about myself, look back on my background and forward to goals I’m struggling to define, the glow is back. I am smart and capable and lovely. I am.

If I may offer you some advice, which I rarely do because I almost never know what I’m talking about, I’ll tell you that my confidence came back. So try to hang in. It took some time – a lot of resting and thinking and writing on a blog. I understand how it is to feel lost and alone and profoundly changed. I also know that I’ve laughed a lot in the time since then – loved people and sought collaborations, pushed myself to keep moving forward even with the knowledge that being slapped back again was likely inevitable. Because now I have the knowledge that I’ll bounce back. Know that this – me – is important and matters is some very real way.

And I’ll glow again. I'm glowing now.