Graduate Student Voice(s)

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“What’s it like being a graduate student?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“What are you writing?”
“What are you reading?”
“What do you actually do every day?”
“Why aren’t you talking tonight? You seem kind of miserable.”
“Are you sick? You don’t look too good.”
“What do you mean you have to miss Grandpa’s birthday tonight?”
“Fine. I’ll just leave you alone then.”

I wish I could write that these questions and comments come from someone else, that they are voiced by a concerned family member, close friend, or a colleague. But they’re mine. They mark the solitary plurivocality, the internal dialogue that bespeaks, so commonly, my experiences as a graduate student. They capture and tell a great deal about the realities and paradoxes of my struggle.

Survival is a daily, ongoing concern. In class. In academe. In life. I am often crippled by anxiety. Paralyzed by writer’s block. Crushed by failure. Sometimes, I want to slam down my laptop. Hide. Run. Cry. Question why I pursued academic work. Open my laptop. Write a paragraph. Repeat.

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I began work as a graduate student in September 2014. Much to my surprise, I have been able to earn two graduate degrees (one in English and the other in Education) since then. During each Masters, I had told myself and my professors that I was “terminal,” that I would just be in and out, and that I would not be sticking around long enough to pursue doctoral studies. Yet, here I am entering the third year of my Ph.D. of Educational Studies program, still wondering what the Hell I’m doing here. How I’m doing here. How I even got here. Over the past few years, I have experienced more conflicting thoughts and emotions than I could ever (bear to) articulate. I have had incredible ups and unfortunate lows, all while trying to explain to those around me what it’s like, even if that it cannot be described or understood. “It’s complicated,” I tell them, “I’m sorry.”

In my first graduate course, my instructor asked me, “What, for you, is the biggest problem in education right now?” The initial response that I shared with her, and with my peers, came to me without hesitation: precarious employment. I noted that, across all levels of education in Canada, employment in sparse. Part-time, sessional instructional contracts continue to dominate the professional landscape with no promise of permanency or security in sight. The possibility of not being able to actually use my degrees in an academic setting is, for me, a very real fear. I am blessed to be employed as an Occasional Teacher with a local school board, but will I soon be a daily substitute teacher with three graduate degrees? I still dream of becoming a professor. I yearn for the opportunity to stand in front of a lecture hall to co-construct knowledge, challenge assumptions, and enrich my students’ learning. But as my peers continue to buy homes, cars, and baby strollers, I invest in the latest APA guide and question whether the trials and tribulations of graduate life will be worth it.

During my third year of university, I met with an English professor, for whom I would later work as a Research Assistant. He asked me, “Where do you see yourself in a few years?” At that time, my goal was to be a high school teacher, but I knew I would eventually want to work at the post-secondary level. My response, “I can see myself teaching at a university later on,” was much to my professor’s dissatisfaction, however. Interrupting me, he added, with a chuckle, “We’re not teachers, here. We’re scholars. We do research.” This remark has shaped my thoughts more than I would like to admit. Regrettably, I still see teaching as inferior to and less academic than research.

I am not upset by this notion. Teaching is rigorous and rewarding. I know that not all educators fall prey to the dichotomization of research and instruction, but my professor made me seriously question my position, and whether I belonged in higher education at all.

As I write this article in an effort to avoid completing the assignment that I am supposed to be working on, I cannot help but feel indifferent. I do not feel as though I need to catch up to those around me, to prove myself or my success. However, with fewer than two percent of jobs requiring a Ph.D. in Canada, I would be a liar if I were to admit that I am not scared, that I do not fear underemployment or none at all. My late brother, Bruno, had always joked that even McDonald’s would ultimately reject my application, deeming me overqualified—and unattractive. I miss his jokes. I miss him. I miss believing that I decided to pursue graduate work because I cared about the research. I wanted to learn simply for the sake of learning. I now catch myself giving dirty looks to the people doing a Ph.D. “just for fun.”

I remind myself of my privilege, and that I should be grateful for my opportunities and accomplishments. Still, something seems to be missing. Or overwhelming. Or discouraging. My late supervisor, Dr. Marilyn J. Rose, once told me that each experience, both good and bad, shapes one’s unique life narrative. Though I try to retain her glowing optimism, I wonder if academe’s precarity will eventually push me even farther from it. In selecting my field—my passion—have I sealed my fate? I wish I could say that, for now, I have stopped thinking about where my education might take me and, instead, am trying to see where I might take my education, but graduate life is not that simple, nor that cheesy; it is complex, unpredictable, messy, cruel, and wonderful all at the same time. I do not expect a pot of gold at my convocation, but following 23 successive years of formal education, something’s gotta give, right?

◊♦◊

Graduate life is the most unnerving and comforting part of my life. It is challenging but rewarding. Gratifying, but irksome. It is filled with stresses, struggles and, sometimes, successes that, to those outside of academe, may remain completely incomprehensible. The feeling of having an article or paper published, of seeing one’s name in a journal, seems, at once, to validate and make up for weeks, months, years of sleepless nights and black-coffee days—is that enough?

Every night, as I attempt to turn off my mind, it springs back to life and, like an ill-fated Jerry Springer, hosts unwanted conversations that disrupt the very fibre of my being. These ramblings and rants are, for me, my honest, real, and unfiltered graduate student voice(s), which both hinder and motivate me. They reflect, and seek to parse, piece together, and grapple with, fragments of information, bits of meaning which, throughout the course of my graduate studies, I have (sub)consciously absorbed.

For fellow graduate students, and for those who were not always doctors, these voices should not yield any surprises. They are comprised of anxieties, conflicting beliefs, and helpful yet altogether confusing advice offered by professors and colleagues supporting and competing with each other in the field.

Participate in as many professional development workshops and events as possible. (But don’t waste your time learning how to develop yourself. You should be writing. Researching. Publishing. You know, actually developing yourself professionally.)
Create a teaching dossier with evidence of your teaching experiences. (But don’t include your experiences as a Teaching Assistant. Or an elementary school teacher. Or a high school teacher. Or a tutor. We all know that those don’t actually count.)
Ask for ongoing feedback from your students in classes or seminars. (But don’t ask for it informally; it has to be sanctioned, officially, by your university’s department, which might not sanction nor welcome student feedback for graduate students and Teaching Assistants. Sorry.)
Publish as much material as you can to strengthen the contents of your CV. (But don’t publish too early. Or too often. Or co-authored articles. Or creative works. Or pieces that no one will want to read. Or in predatory, inferior journals. Just don’t publish at all.)

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Exercise your freedom of speech. (But don’t think that you’ll always be able to get away with your verbal and written commentary. Don’t critique or speak ill of your university or its many members. Criticality certainly drives change, but consensus and conformity often seem to drive cooperation.)
Volunteer as much as you can, especially with students. (But don’t spend a lot of your time volunteering. You should be getting paid for your services by now. You have two graduate degrees and are pursuing a doctorate. Why aren’t you working?)
Work as much as you can both off- and on-campus to gain experience and make some money. (But don’t work in fields that aren’t related, directly, to your research. And don’t take your part-time job too seriously. What’s the point of working that hard if it won’t get you a real job?)
Gather as many accurate, meaningful letters of reference from your superiors as you can. (But don’t get them from sessional instructors. Or your colleagues. Or professors without tenure. Or from non-native English speakers. Or working professionals. Or from people who aren’t doctors.)
Befriend, network, and make connections with others in your program, field, and workplace. (But don’t be too social. Or too friendly. Your network is only valuable when it’s exclusive. And don’t bother people for their contact information. Or their advice. They’re not guidance counsellors. Or psychologists [well, not all of them]. They don’t have time for you.)

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Build a trustworthy, online, social media presence. (But don’t post any pictures of yourself or text that might be perceived by anyone as politically incorrect. Or unprofessional. Or offensive. Or boastful. Just don’t post anything about yourself.)
Blog about your research and teaching practice, and take photographs of your students’ work. (But don’t share those photographs online with others. That’s a breach of privacy. You need formal consent from students. And their parents. And your school board. And your university.)
Apply to as many scholarships, bursaries, and awards as possible. (But don’t trouble your professors for reference letters, employment appraisals, or teaching observations. They’re so much busier than you’ll ever understand. Stop being so selfish. And don’t even bother applying. You probably weren’t going to win anyway.)
Your research is your own; feel free to explore your personal curiosities. (But don’t pursue research that no one else is interested in. Your research has to be timely, relevant, and fundable. Or at least most of the big scholarship applications say so.)
Embrace the strength and influence of your voice, and share your convictions with others. (But don’t say anything that might be interpreted as heternormative. Or non-LGBTQI+ friendly. Or political. Or taboo. Or ageist. Or religious. Or esoteric. Or conservative. Or sexist. Or neo-liberal. Or sexual. Or upsetting. Or racist. Just don’t speak. Smile. But not that much.)

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Let your experiences inform your ongoing narrative. (But don’t get caught navel-gazing. Don’t dwell on the past. No one really cares that much about it. And neither should you. Your future is what’s important now. Or so you’re told.)
Keep track of and list all of your academic accomplishments, awards, and distinctions. (But don’t list too many. Or too few. Remember to be humble about your achievements. But recognize them. And downplay them. At the same time. Nobody likes a show-off, right?)
Get lots of sleep, especially when you’re starting to feel tired or stressed. (But don’t waste valuable opportunities to write, edit, and submit your work for publication. Your professional archenemy hasn’t slept in 72 hours and you want to cuddle with your partner? Down some coffee and a few throat lozenges. Then get back to work.)
Immerse yourself in the university life; get involved in extracurricular activities. (But don’t lose sight of why you’re here: you’re a graduate student. An aspiring scholar. Don’t pursue causes or events that will distract you from your work. You need to graduate in a timely manner to beat the competition. But demonstrate ample community and school involvement.)
Seek the support and validation of your friends and family members.
(But don’t burden them with all of your university problems. They have their own issues to worry about. And definitely don’t show any signs of personal weakness. You can’t have people thinking you’re one of those students who actually needs a Reading Week.)

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Discuss your mental and physical health openly with your peers and licensed professionals. (But don’t disclose too much information about what you’re thinking. Or eating. Or not eating. Even in the safest of places, people will talk negatively about you. Or at least you think they will. So, shut up, and suck it up. Stigma is just another word for motivation.)
Feel free to enjoy a glass of wine, or a beer, every once in a while. (But don’t drink too much. Don’t be dependent on alcohol to numb your pain. Or cure your woes. People are going to start thinking that you have a problem. Reclusiveness. Alcoholism. Escapism. Depression. Cheap wine made with grapes that aren’t locally sourced.)
Aim to complete your dissertation in a timely manner. (But don’t finish it too early. People will think it’s just a rushed and inferior work with little academic rigor and merit. Or plagiarized.)
Audit a course that you are thinking about wanting to teach. (But don’t waste your time auditing a course when you should actually be teaching it. You need to spend more time applying for job opportunities that pay real money rather than knowledge.)
At all costs, provide as much meaningful and timely feedback as you can to your students. (But remember to spend only 15 minutes grading each essay. That’s all you’re getting paid for anyway. But don’t blame or shortchange your undergraduate students; it’s not their fault.)

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Be passionate about your research interests and projects. (But don’t bring up your research unless you’re asked about it by people who genuinely care. And when you are asked about it, tone down your excitement. Other people are always going to be working harder than you in their research endeavours.)
Learn from other people, places, and cultures. (But don’t spend money on travel. That’s not a real investment. You can’t pay the bills with pebbles of sand or suntans. You need to save up for a house. A car. A mortgage. Another degree. A solid, wooden casket.)
Share resources and lessons with fellow colleagues. (But don’t expect to get credit for your tireless hard work. Others will simply steal your material and pass it off as their own to students and instructors. And get rewarded for it. But education should be open and free to all anyway, right? And don’t be surprised if professors are ever insulted or threatened by your desire to collaborate, or to rethink assignments.)
Earn as many degrees as you want. There are no limits when it comes to education. (But there are, especially when your education prices you out of the labour market and you seem to not be able to find any employment. So, be careful. You don’t want to be overeducated. Or underemployed. Leave that last degree off your CV. It’s only your second Masters anyway.)
Be a generous scholar that is kind and considerate to all colleagues. (But don’t be too soft or positive. Education and academe are competitive fields and anyone would do anything to prevent you from getting a job. Don’t trust anyone. Not even yourself.)

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Foreground your positionality and subjectivity in your writing. (But don’t talk too much about yourself. People won’t be interested. This research isn’t all about you. Even if it is a self-study.)
Keep going: the good jobs will come to those who truly deserve them. (But don’t expect to get a career after you’ve finished all of this schooling. There are thousands of applicants just like you. Better than you. More qualified than you. You probably need more schooling. Or less. Or certifications. Or 7-10 years of relevant experience. Or to know someone.)
Hold as many academic appointments and positions as you can. (But don’t hold too many. And not all at once. You’ll seem like you can’t hold a steady job. You’ll seem like a flake. And don’t forget that you are allowed to work a maximum of only ten hours per week. So, don’t tell anyone that you’re working. Or not working. Whichever.)
Continue to remind yourself why you decided to enter this profession.
(But don’t expect to reignite your passions, and stand triumphantly in front of a classroom full of students to talk about hope and inspiration any time soon. That stuff only happens in movies.)
Invest some of your money in real estate. (But don’t buy a house now. This housing market is ridiculous. Wait until it crashes. But don’t wait too long. The prices are always going up. And definitely don’t rent. You can’t afford to have no return. Don’t live with your parents. Or in your car. Just live at your office. If you have one.)

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Align your financial recompense goals with your experience, skills, knowledge, and education. (But don’t demand that you actually get paid for all of your services. Or any of them. A doctorate is the new high school diploma. Six-figure salary? Think entry level unpaid internship practicum volunteering. But be grateful. There are others who have less than that.)
Be open to alternative, non-linear life paths. (But still get a stable, permanent job. With benefits. And a full retirement package. And a tuition waiver. And buy a house. And get married. And have children. You’re not getting any younger. You don’t look so good.)
Embrace the possibility of moving away from your comfort zone to land your desired career. (But don’t move too far away from home, especially for a part-time job. Your family needs you. And your partner doesn’t want to follow you. Only relocate for permanent work. But there isn’t any. So you might as well just stay here. Stick it out. Don’t move. Just keep typing.)
Ignore all those discouraging statistics and people telling you there aren’t any jobs in academe. (But don’t dismiss their claims. You’d be an idiot to do so. Do you even know what precarious, non-tenure, part-time, limited sessional instructional appointment even means? Research it.)
Pursue creative, non-traditional formats for your portfolio and dissertation. (But don’t do anything too wild. Or innovative. Or unconventional. People typically don’t like or react well to change. Who are you to want to push the boundaries and make your learning experience all about you? How egotistical are you?)

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Experiment with methods, methodologies, and approaches. (But don’t think that you’re qualified or skilled enough to propose or pull off a successful mixed-methodology study. Know and respect your audience. You were in high school fewer than 10 years ago. You’re no closer to being a scientist than your cousin in an Einstein baby costume is.)
Be the change that you want to see. (But know your place. Don’t forget that you actually have so little authority, influence, and governing potential at the university level. Those policies are there to police and protect you. Don’t you know? Don’t question. Just concur. Fly under the radar. Embrace the status quo. It’s safer. And easier.)
Grow a nurturing, lasting relationship between you and your doctoral supervisor. (But keep a professional distance between you and your advisor. Don’t get too close. Or personal. Or familiar with him or her. Are divisive, gendered pronouns still allowed in academe? Don’t let them see that you like them. Or think that you think that they like you.)
Trust your instincts when it comes to research and teaching.(But reflect critically on your actions. And don’t think that your actions are correct. You’re not infallible. Skepticism is important. So is doubt. And vulnerability. Uncertainty. Oh, and confidence.)
Challenge the perspectives and opinions of your professors and advisor. (But don’t dare confront them on their research or findings thereof. They’re the voices of reason. Or authority. They are the masters. The doctors. The ones who are grading your graduate work.)

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Follow your dreams, and pursue your ambitions. (But don’t follow those that aren’t financially lucrative. You need to be able to support yourself financially. Unless you’re happy to have your diploma frames to keep you warm at night.)
Receive constructive criticism gladly, and appreciate helpful comments from others. (But be prepared to be attacked, criticized, and ridiculed for your work. Not everyone’s thoughts and experiences are like yours. Don’t expect any favours or compliments. Your skin needs to be thicker. Stronger. And so does your thesis.)
Your instruction should be firm, friendly, rigorous, and fair. (But don’t be too firm or rigorous in your assessment. You depend on your students’ positive evaluations to get or to keep you employed. And don’t pick favourites. Or pretend to be in your students’ corner. Or try to be their friends. They probably don’t like you that much anyway.)
Read as often as you can, even if you are not currently enrolled in a graduate course. (But don’t read novels or books for pleasure. Put down that new autobiography or best-seller. You should be reading dense, theoretical material that will further your understanding about your research topic. Your literature review is never finished. Just like your lifelong learning.)
Relax, and have some fun. (But don’t have too much fun. Don’t gloat. You can’t make it seem as though you actually have time to yourself while so many others like you are suffering. Sell those concert tickets. Now. And cancel on your friends tonight. You’ll have plenty of free time to chill when if you get tenure.)

While reading the above comprehensive but by no means exhaustive list, you may be able to relate, empathize, and speculate why I still resist and pursue. I cannot explain why. There is no guarantee of permanent—or any—employment or financial security upon graduation. Academe, for me, has become everything and nothing; it is the reason why I want to be here, and why I want to escape. The hope that I cling to is that, to borrow from Grey’s Anatomy, if I hit myself incessantly with a hammer, it will feel so good when I finally stop.

Until then, I continue to hear and ignore the many voices that make up a doctoral student’s life.

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