<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d32473393\x26blogName\x3dbuying+the+flowers+myself\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://iwouldvestolenachillesheart.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://iwouldvestolenachillesheart.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d2077747583534422285', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Lucy had her work cut out for her
.Friday, April 08, 2011 ' 8:02 AM
The Hardest Part of Graduate School

It's not the workload; it's not the dense book chapters of high theory that I have to read. It's not the strict budgeting that I must perform or the very sudden and very scary enforced financial self-reliance. It's not the midwestern weather. It's not even the ridiculous price of avocados. The hardest part of graduate school is believing that I actually belong here. The most difficult thing is believing that I didn't just somehow sneak in, a desperate attempt on the department's part for some half-hearted diversity, the token hispanic in my year.

This kind of self-doubt is rather self-perpetuating. And I'm sure it affects the way that I present myself in my classes; when I speak, I raise my hand slowly as if afraid of danger and then make a statement that sounds more like a question, my voice inflected, my tone apologetic.

I am amazed--always have been, here or anywhere--at people who are self-assured, who have confidence. No matter how many times that I tell myself that I am curvy and that "real women have curves," I feel fat and berate myself cruelly for every snack, every beer, every meal in a restaurant. Regardless of the enthusiasm that I remind myself is going to make me a great teacher, I feel like I deserve to be some receptionist at a vet clinic in order to make room in this PhD program for someone who can speak articulately about Hegel or Marx and who didn't get accepted just because they weren't a minority.

I blog about this now because I was supposed to go to the gym last night but didn't because I was so distraught over something that happened in class and R convinced me over the phone that I deserved a hot bath and to read something for me and not for class. And so I'm also not going to the gym this morning because I didn't do any work last night.

Go figure.

Sigh.

Yesterday's outfit:



shirt: vintage, thrifted
cardigan: JCrew
skirt: American Apparel
belt: thrifted
tights: Sock Dreams
boots: Christmas present
earrings: Coldwater Creek

p.s. thanks to my dear friend Zach for snapping this shot outside Teaspoons for me =)








profile photo
about LNR


I am a displaced Texan turned PhD student in English at the University of Iowa. Follow my adventures in outfits, food, teaching anecdotes, theme songs, book reviews, and other quotidian what-have-yous. I am forever in love with Virginia Woolf, basset hounds, Tex-Mex, and the color yellow.

Currently reading: The Woman in White, Wilkie Collins

frequent stops

26 and Counting
All This Happiness
Amber Blue Bird
A Beautiful Mess
Big Girls, Small Kitchen
Bright Side Dweller
Brokeass Gourmet
The Clothes Horse
Fancy Fine
Happy, Honey and Lark
Homesick Texan
Indie Jane
Kendi Everyday
Let's Go Ride a Bike
The Life Academic
The Magpie Girl
Orchid Grey
Questionable Content
Blogging Academia


credits

original html: x
image hosting: x
fonts: x