Identification

It’s a given that any major life even will cause you to reexamine your own life, where you are in it, where you want to be, etc.

How easily I forget this. After the major life event of having a baby, I find myself surprised that I forgot I’d be having some sort of identity crisis (again(?)).

Who am I? 

Well, the first word that comes to mind is failure. 

I went to graduate school and failed.

My relationship with B failed.  Whatever. This doesn’t bother me any more.

Lots packed into those. Let’s unpack…a bit. (Not too much, don’t get scared!)

Concerning my failing at graduate school: more truthfully and objectively, the system failed me. A serial sexual harasser was allowed to stay in a position of power, and I was forced out of the doctoral program with a master’s degree.

There are no etiquette books on sexual harassment (maybe because it’s a bit of a breach of etiquette to sexually harass a person--?), but I often think about writing one. I could have used one. “Sexual harassment: etiquette and survival”—something like that would be an honest title.  One chapter would be devoted to “how do you ask for a letter of recommendation from your sexual harasser?”

Of course, I still haven’t any idea how to do this. Some people have asked, “Do you really need his recommendation?”  More than HALF my courses in graduate school were taught by him. I did special studies with him, he was my doctoral advisor. It’s like you work a 40-hour job, and 38  of those hours are supervised by one person. Two hours are supervised by another person. “Ask the person who supervised those two hours.”

So I know the system failed me. And more concretely, it’s become evident that serial sexual harassment in philosophy is a massive issue across the field.

But that’s of no comfort.

After some transgressions, there is healing. There are answers to be found.

I doubt I will ever have all my questions answered. I doubt I will ever fully be at peace about this. It’s rare for me to stay upset for this long. We’re talking years, now.

And it still stings.

I guess, I’m learning that I DO define myself in terms of my professional successes and failures.

And at this point in time, I am miserably—or brilliantly—failing.

How did I forget I’d undergo this painful, stupid-ass not-quite-identity crisis after having another child? 

This isn’t as bad as it was with C, and that, I suspect, is because I’ve already merged “Me” with “Being a mom.”

I suppose now I’m trying to merge “me/being a mom” with “going to law school.”

Or trying to be somewhat successful at something.

Okay, enough unpacking for now. Back into the box, up on the not-so-dusty shelf in my mind.