Let’s write about that overbearingly large elephant in the room: the one that has been occupying increasingly more space the more breaths I take. And there have been many, many breaths since September 6, 2020—the date of my last blog entry. What happened to my blog? What happened to me?
Oh, where to begin? That seems to be the phrase I start with in so many different daily contexts:
“Where has time gone?” Oh, where to begin?
“What?! You are a mother?” Oh, where to begin?
“Your homepage no longer shows scenes from New York City...” Oh, where to begin?
“How’s the job search going?” Oh, where to begin?
“Wait, you are already on the job market?! Not academia, right?” Oh, where to begin?
“What are the findings from your dissertation?” Oh, where to begin?
“What will you write about for your blog?” Ah! Okay, that’s where I will begin…
I have decided to stop thinking about writing on my blog—a very active endeavor, indeed!—and start writing. Period. Writing what’s on my mind. Writing to process. Writing to speak. Writing to become. If you can write it, you can become it—these are the words from a wise life mentor from my Wellesley days—a mentor whom I reconnected with recently. So, enough of self-surveillance, a habit I developed and really honed in my doctoral journey, for better or worse. Enough of critical voices in my head about how I need to make up for the lack of activity on my blog by writing a lot, and producing some really good writing. The pressure was too great and kept building the longer I remained absent and, well, eventually I imploded. I stopped writing all together.
To be fair, that’s not entirely true. Between September 6, 2020 and now, I have done some substantial writing. I wrote my dissertation proposal (!!!). It ended up being 100+ pages but not too much more than that because I was doing my best to adhere to the 100-page informal page limit (for everyone’s sanity, especially those on my committee). That writing process was brutal and there were moments I thought I couldn’t do it. I quite literally cut up my proposal—scissors and all—took out highlighters and pens, and tried to start again. And then something clicked. Something happened in my brain by the very act of doing something with my writing, of making something with my hands. I actually have a photo of part of this process and I’ll dig it up for this post. After that cutting session, I saw an opening in my writing and I pushed forward to maintain momentum. It also helped that I was in my third trimester: I’m pushing out this baby before I push out the actual baby. This is what I told myself in 2021. Baby Niki joined my world in January of 2022.
At some point this year, I’ll write more about Niki and my not-at-all-inspiring journey of becoming a parent. First-time motherhood was nothing I expected it to be. I was unprepared (and trust me, I informed myself with lots of Instagram reels and TikTok videos and motherhood and lifestyle blogs…). My transition into this new identity was anything but smooth. It was unglamorous and daunting. The feminist in me died—or, rather, I felt like I was going backwards in time, to the 1930s? 1940s? When many more women stayed at home and didn’t pursue a professional career? In any case, I felt like I was in a whole different world, one that I did not recognize. One that didn’t understand me, my needs, my wants, my anxieties. Maybe I’ll write that post one day, when I’m ready, because to this day, I’m still healing from 2022. Maybe I’ll write it in the form of a letter to myself, from the point of view of a mother-scholar, a student-parent, a ‘non-breadwinner',’ a graduate student of color navigating complex interpersonal dynamics, and, and, and…
Presenting at AERA in Chicago with the Multimodal Scholarship Working Group
For now, back to writing about writing. I did produce some additional writing after I defended my proposal in December of 2021. I co-authored a “Reflections on/from the Field” manuscript (under review now) with a brilliant and—importantly—kind group of peers that I got to know deeply and remotely through the pandemic. We recently met up in person at AERA (which, for non-education folks, refers to the annual American Educational Research Association conference), which took place in Chicago in the spring. I have to admit, I felt so awkward meeting people in the flesh, not knowing what to do with my arms and my legs, being so used to just showing up as a floating square on Zoom. But I survived, and actually had a really great time reconnecting with folks and meeting new people. It was energizing. I was getting in touch with the ‘old me,’ the academic me, the one I felt I had shed when becoming a first-time mom.
Moving forward with this blog, I want to return to some unfinished projects. For example, I have a whole tab on home design and there is absolutely nothing there. That will change, because I’m now a first-time homeowner and I’ve got stories. Stories of renovations gone wrong. Stories of renovations done right. Stories, in general, of what I’ve learned and what I’ve experienced as a homeowner, as it intersects with all of my other identities. Additionally, there’s also a whole tab on fashion or dressing the part that I have ignored for years. Before the pandemic, when I was still in New York City, I met up with a former biology student at Dear Mama Cafe (the one by the 125th station). She was studying art at one of the prestigious art institutes in the city and we were discussing fashion (wardrobe staples, turtlenecks, blazers, etc.) among other things. I told myself, after that conversation, that I was going to write a piece about my teaching wardrobe, because a lot of thought went into how and why I dressed myself the way I did. It was never about the clothes itself—it was about wanting to be taken seriously as a new classroom teacher, as a petite Asian American woman in her early 20s. It was about passing and following societal scripts, it was about trying to put myself together and figuring out my teacher identity, and it was about looking and feeling confident, inside and out.
First “Photo booth selfie” with Niki back in June of 2022
At the same time, I hope to make some changes. Beginning in 2023, I have been trying to be more intentional about letting go of the things that no longer serve me, the relationships and dynamics that drain me, the habitual ways of thinking that hold me back. I’m still working on (and still failing at) saying no to people, to projects, to favors. It is something I want to keep improving at because every tine I say no to someone else, I am also saying yes to myself. And this is an important lesson to learn. I am always still learning, especially as an adult.
On this note of learning, my blog will remain focused on learning (in all the ways it manifests), on being a student, on being a lifelong learner. Still, I hope to also take some risks and maybe venture into other territories as the inspiration comes to me. As a close people watcher by nature and an ethnographer by training, I enjoy paying attention and noticing. Perhaps there will be a place for those noticings in my blog moving forward. I will also continue to share projects I am working on under “Book Smarts” and I hope to revisit some of the “Street Smarts” topics in my draft folder: on moving across state lines, on legally changing my last name, on AI (just kidding, I don’t know enough about navigating AI to write about it, though I recently got to explore Midjourney and, let me tell you, it is fascinating!).
I have more to say, there is more I want to say, but it’s 4:19pm*, and I need at least five minutes to make it on time to daycare pickup without getting fined. So that means, until next time!
And there, that’s my equally not-so-grand ending to this comeback blog post :)
Warmly,
Catherine
*In a typical Catherine-life-fashion, while I had drafted this post in its entirety on May 17, it took nearly two weeks later to get it out there. At least it’s out there. No turning back.