There is a common assumption about doctoral programs that we don’t often question. That they are about becoming better researchers. Better writers. Better thinkers. That if you follow the process, learn the structure, and meet the expectations, you will come out the other side more skilled, more refined, more “academic.” But that is not what happened to me. What happened was something far more disruptive. My doctorate did not just improve my writing. It changed how I understa

There is something deeply unsettling about not being able to trust your own mind. Before my concussion, I moved quickly. My thoughts came in layers, connections forming almost instantly. Writing, teaching, researching—these were not just things I did, they were ways I understood myself. My mind was a place I could rely on. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. The Invisible Disruption A concussion is strange because it doesn’t always show itself in obvious ways. There is no cast, no

Before I knew the word violence I knew the sound of it. It lived in walls that were too thin to hold secrets, in footsteps that taught me to listen before I breathed, in the way silence could feel safer than speaking. I was a child learning a language no one should know— how to read a room before entering it, how to make myself small enough to disappear inside it. I learned that love could come with conditions, that safety could be taken without warning, without explanation,

There is a difference between something ending and something being over. On paper, what happened to me has an ending. There was a process. There were years spent in court. There was a sentence. Four years of fighting. Four years of having to tell my story again and again. Four years of carrying everything into spaces where it had to be explained, questioned, and made legible in ways that never fully captured what it actually meant. And in the end, he received two years of pro

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from having to fight to be helped. Not in a loud or visible way, but in the quiet persistence of explaining your pain over and over again. Of waiting. Of being told to try something else. Of learning how to advocate for yourself in spaces where you thought care would be given freely. This has been my experience with the healthcare system. For years, I have lived with ongoing physical pain. I was diagnosed with PCOS when I wa

It was just a ride. A changed plan. Nothing dramatic, on the surface. That’s how it would seem to most people. A minor miscommunication. A quiet adjustment. No big deal. But for me, it wasn’t small. It was the kind of moment that lingers. The kind that settles into the chest like a stone. The kind that reminds you you’re alone, even when surrounded by family. Here’s what happened: I had worked until 3 a.m. the night before, juggling multiple jobs, deadlines, and responsibilit