(September 16, 2010)
So I turned 29, and Howard University thought it not robbery to give me class...ALL DAY! While I initially did not feel excited about having to celebrate most of the day in school, it actually turned out to be pretty eventful.
In the morning, in lieu of class, I got to attend a conference on trauma and the brain where I learned some pretty amazing things about our human makeup. I know this does not sound like exciting birthday fun, but the things I learned will really help build a solid foundation for the work that I intend to do. Trust me.
In the afternoon, while I was bracing myself for the return of last week's dreaded paper, I got gift number two: she didn't grade them and won't return them until next week! Happy birthday to me! On top of that we got to spend half of our class attending a lecture in the law school by Shirley Sherrod! Mrs. Sherood discussed her recent experience of injustice at the hands of the USDA and talked about her history of activism. Her inspirational testimony about leadership and determination really encouraged me to keep pressing my way through.
After a very intellectually stimulating morning, I did spend the evening having some more typical birthday fun. I got treated to a lovely birthday dinner and topped the night off enjoying live music in DC (thanks L-boogie!).
Keeping in the tradition of my Aunt Kim who encourages us to celebrate our birthdays all month long, I continued into Friday by attending a conference at the Congressional Black Caucus where Susan Taylor and Malaak Compton Rock were among the panel of guests talking about creating safe communities for our young girls...and then I had an exam Saturday morning! Back to reality!
While I was sad about not being at home for my traditional celebration with the family, God definitely gave me a special day (and had me in DC where I was able to dodge the horrific tornado that tore through Brooklyn, sorry BK!). Big shout out to my family and friends who sent lots of long distance love and presents!
In the midst of it all, it is tremendously important to celebrate life and give thanks.
To The Creator: You gave me life. Reflecting on this truth alone makes me well up with tears of gratitude. You formed me in thought then molded a plan for me to be here in flesh; strategically placed the people and experiences that would contribute to making me, ME. Indebted gratitude-eternally. Thanks Creator for my BIRTH...DAY!
BTW...that paper I was stressing about...just got it back today (9/23/10)...I GOT AN A!!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEEEEE!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Writer's Block
So last week I pulled my first all-nighter! It was my first doctoral level paper for my History and Philosophy of Social Welfare class. I think a mix of anxiety and trying to do way too much got the best of me. All the paper asked was for me to give my opinion about the English Poor Laws. MY OPINION! I froze; could not string together a simple few paragraphs of coherent thought.
This feeling brought me back to a couple of places. For one thing, I always go through this same drama in school when it comes to papers. It seems like an instantaneous physical blockage just wells up in my throat when its time to articulate my thoughts, especially if someone will be grading me.
I remember having this feeling for the first time when I was in high school. At twelve years old, I went away to boarding school in Massachusetts with a few thousand other students from around the world. While I had graduated valedictorian from my junior high school, and had been a high honors student my entire early academic career, I struggled to find my voice. I was used to getting good grades through memorizing and regurgitating information, but I had not spent much time really learning how to think critically and come up with my own ideas about things. It was new and challenging to me to learn to flex this muscle, especially amongst classrooms full of other kids who made it look so easy. High school was definitely the start of a struggle with writing; my first English paper at school had me in the same knots I had this past week, only that time I was trying to organize my opinion about the book "The Giver".
I remember vividly having a conversation with my high school physics teacher who kindly informed me that my academic achievements were not due to natural intellect, but to working twice as hard as my peers. While I knew clearly that his comments were an ill-intentioned attempt to discredit the 96 average that I had in his class, I cannot say that this conversation did not further encourage the "I'm not good enough" mantra that I've often played for myself; somewhere along this journey I began to fertilize the thought that my academic success was predicated on grave struggle, not natural gifts. This week I clearly saw how badly I need to transform this thinking.
At around 12am the Wednesday before my Philosophy paper was due, I definitely felt that surge of inadequacy. No matter how hard I tried, I could not produce a document that I thought would qualify as a doctoral level paper. I really felt like I didn't have it in me, and I was embarrassed that what I would hand in at 2pm would leave my professor feeling the same way.
After a shower and a series of short naps, I broke dawn. As the sun crept up I pieced together whatever I had, put a title and reference page on it, and set out the door to face the wrath.
My first class was at 9:30 that morning and I just knew I was going to be late. I made it to the door of the building where my class was being held at 9:34 am, ready for my walk of shame. I opened the creaky door in the old school building, and to my surprise, there was NO ONE in the class; no students or professor. I just knew I screwed up. I was convinced that everyone else had arrived on time and I was missing out on an important field trip. I frantically started making phone calls to see if there was an email or something that I missed, but before long the sound of the door announced the arrival of my professor.
Turned out that this same paper that had me a wreck, contributed to some variation of challenges for the rest of my classmates as well. I ended up being in my first class with the professor alone for at least an hour before my colleagues showed.
Over lunch my classmates and I discussed the challenges we ALL had with the Poor Laws project. I definitely wasn't alone.
While I still handed in a paper that I didn't stand behind 100%, it definitely did not mean that I was a failure or incapable. I had my moment, and I'm sure it won't be the last, but I'm still standing.
For now, I'm just bracing myself for the dreaded return.
This feeling brought me back to a couple of places. For one thing, I always go through this same drama in school when it comes to papers. It seems like an instantaneous physical blockage just wells up in my throat when its time to articulate my thoughts, especially if someone will be grading me.
I remember having this feeling for the first time when I was in high school. At twelve years old, I went away to boarding school in Massachusetts with a few thousand other students from around the world. While I had graduated valedictorian from my junior high school, and had been a high honors student my entire early academic career, I struggled to find my voice. I was used to getting good grades through memorizing and regurgitating information, but I had not spent much time really learning how to think critically and come up with my own ideas about things. It was new and challenging to me to learn to flex this muscle, especially amongst classrooms full of other kids who made it look so easy. High school was definitely the start of a struggle with writing; my first English paper at school had me in the same knots I had this past week, only that time I was trying to organize my opinion about the book "The Giver".
I remember vividly having a conversation with my high school physics teacher who kindly informed me that my academic achievements were not due to natural intellect, but to working twice as hard as my peers. While I knew clearly that his comments were an ill-intentioned attempt to discredit the 96 average that I had in his class, I cannot say that this conversation did not further encourage the "I'm not good enough" mantra that I've often played for myself; somewhere along this journey I began to fertilize the thought that my academic success was predicated on grave struggle, not natural gifts. This week I clearly saw how badly I need to transform this thinking.
At around 12am the Wednesday before my Philosophy paper was due, I definitely felt that surge of inadequacy. No matter how hard I tried, I could not produce a document that I thought would qualify as a doctoral level paper. I really felt like I didn't have it in me, and I was embarrassed that what I would hand in at 2pm would leave my professor feeling the same way.
After a shower and a series of short naps, I broke dawn. As the sun crept up I pieced together whatever I had, put a title and reference page on it, and set out the door to face the wrath.
My first class was at 9:30 that morning and I just knew I was going to be late. I made it to the door of the building where my class was being held at 9:34 am, ready for my walk of shame. I opened the creaky door in the old school building, and to my surprise, there was NO ONE in the class; no students or professor. I just knew I screwed up. I was convinced that everyone else had arrived on time and I was missing out on an important field trip. I frantically started making phone calls to see if there was an email or something that I missed, but before long the sound of the door announced the arrival of my professor.
Turned out that this same paper that had me a wreck, contributed to some variation of challenges for the rest of my classmates as well. I ended up being in my first class with the professor alone for at least an hour before my colleagues showed.
Over lunch my classmates and I discussed the challenges we ALL had with the Poor Laws project. I definitely wasn't alone.
While I still handed in a paper that I didn't stand behind 100%, it definitely did not mean that I was a failure or incapable. I had my moment, and I'm sure it won't be the last, but I'm still standing.
For now, I'm just bracing myself for the dreaded return.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Make Them Hear You!
So, I have a few posts that I need to make so this can be a comprehensive journal. My bad on being delayed, yall. It's been a busy two weeks....So let's just date this one...September 2, 2010.
So, it's Wednesday about 1:30 pm or so, and I'm home because I don't have class. Of course I have five piles of schoolwork around me. While I'm reading, I start hearing a set of sirens. Now, I'm from Brooklyn, so sirens sometimes seem just like a part of nature's music - I pay no further attention. About an hour later, I notice that I'm still hearing sirens. They might have been going on the whole time, but, again, I'm from Brooklyn, didn't notice. About two hours later, I'm like, wait, something must be going on. Initially, I get excited because I just know that what I'm hearing is probably a sign that the man himself, Mr. President Obama, is rolling through my neighborhood. I rush to my window, ready to see the motorcade...and it's just regular cop cars...but like 80 of them! Uh, oh! I turn on CNN and see images that look way too familiar...IT'S MY NEIGHBORHOOD! At the bottom of the screen I learn that there is a hostage situation happening just down the block from me. Go figure. I haven't even been here a month!
Apparently someone was VERY unhappy with the Discovery Channel, so he took over their building...
It's very interesting the different ways that people choose to take a stand for something. While I in no way endorse this man's behavior, and definitely believe there were grave mental health issues, I considered that, in some way, he might have thought that his actions would be the best way to draw attention to environmental issues and encourage Discovery to reconsider the way it does programming.
In class the other day we were talking about how you make an impact in the Social Work profession. In particular, we were discussing how dependence on theories can help and hinder progress in the profession. We explored the ways that theory provides a framework for understanding phenomenon, and we talked about how reliance on antiquated theories, based on research that has not included oppressed and marginalized populations, can stunt the progress of the profession. We looked at this article that my professor wrote about domestic violence as an example. In her research she posed the idea that traditional frameworks for understanding and researching domestic violence often exclude the voices and experiences of women of color. After conducting research using focus groups with African American women from Harlem, she was able to demonstrate that because African American women perceive and define domestic violence different than other populations, it is likely that existing research and treatment modalities will not reflect the experience of this population and therefore would not lead to the development of effective interventions. I thought about how critical this perspective is to the healing work that needs to happen in our communities. I wondered, and asked, what it would take for work like that of my professor to penetrate the existing body of work that people in this profession acknowledge as critical theory? How long before our experiences become part of the main dialogue instead of a peripheral afterthought?
I thought about the stand that this professor and many others like her take often as they conduct rigorous research in effort to give voice to the voiceless and lay the groundwork for effective practice in our communities. While her research article did not draw a parade of cop cars and distracting sirens, I hope that it will make a loud enough noise to cause others to pay attention.
So, it's Wednesday about 1:30 pm or so, and I'm home because I don't have class. Of course I have five piles of schoolwork around me. While I'm reading, I start hearing a set of sirens. Now, I'm from Brooklyn, so sirens sometimes seem just like a part of nature's music - I pay no further attention. About an hour later, I notice that I'm still hearing sirens. They might have been going on the whole time, but, again, I'm from Brooklyn, didn't notice. About two hours later, I'm like, wait, something must be going on. Initially, I get excited because I just know that what I'm hearing is probably a sign that the man himself, Mr. President Obama, is rolling through my neighborhood. I rush to my window, ready to see the motorcade...and it's just regular cop cars...but like 80 of them! Uh, oh! I turn on CNN and see images that look way too familiar...IT'S MY NEIGHBORHOOD! At the bottom of the screen I learn that there is a hostage situation happening just down the block from me. Go figure. I haven't even been here a month!
Apparently someone was VERY unhappy with the Discovery Channel, so he took over their building...
It's very interesting the different ways that people choose to take a stand for something. While I in no way endorse this man's behavior, and definitely believe there were grave mental health issues, I considered that, in some way, he might have thought that his actions would be the best way to draw attention to environmental issues and encourage Discovery to reconsider the way it does programming.
In class the other day we were talking about how you make an impact in the Social Work profession. In particular, we were discussing how dependence on theories can help and hinder progress in the profession. We explored the ways that theory provides a framework for understanding phenomenon, and we talked about how reliance on antiquated theories, based on research that has not included oppressed and marginalized populations, can stunt the progress of the profession. We looked at this article that my professor wrote about domestic violence as an example. In her research she posed the idea that traditional frameworks for understanding and researching domestic violence often exclude the voices and experiences of women of color. After conducting research using focus groups with African American women from Harlem, she was able to demonstrate that because African American women perceive and define domestic violence different than other populations, it is likely that existing research and treatment modalities will not reflect the experience of this population and therefore would not lead to the development of effective interventions. I thought about how critical this perspective is to the healing work that needs to happen in our communities. I wondered, and asked, what it would take for work like that of my professor to penetrate the existing body of work that people in this profession acknowledge as critical theory? How long before our experiences become part of the main dialogue instead of a peripheral afterthought?
I thought about the stand that this professor and many others like her take often as they conduct rigorous research in effort to give voice to the voiceless and lay the groundwork for effective practice in our communities. While her research article did not draw a parade of cop cars and distracting sirens, I hope that it will make a loud enough noise to cause others to pay attention.
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