"What's meant to be will be"

and other things I tell myself

A few weeks ago, my professor asked us, as a warm-up, to go around and share something we were looking forward to that week. At that point, It had been exactly 10 weeks since I’d submitted three applications to try to “transfer” graduate programs and I knew from spending way too much time analyzing the entries on GradCafe that that was the week I was probably going to hear back from my first school and the one I was looking forward to the most. It could come in at any moment and I was refreshing my email like crazy. So I said, vaguely with hopes that I wouldn’t jinx anything (and that I could somehow will it into existence) “I’m looking forward to hearing good news.”

I put ‘transfer’ in quotes up there because there’s no real way to transfer in grad programs— at least not how you would in undergrad where you can pick up pretty much where you left off at any point during your 4 years. Every program has their differing requirements and sequencing, so you essentially quit one program and begin another from square one, with hopes that they’ll take some of the class credits you’ve already taken. But usually that only covers about one year of study, so if you’re transferring after your second or your third year, you’re looking at going through a lot of milestones again. [Enter in a big long debate about if it’s even worth it to try to switch schools if you’re already so deep in… yada yada yada.]

I’d made the decision to apply to new schools back in October. I’d been thinking about it for months by that point, especially after a tumultuous end to my first year. Without pointing fingers, naming names, and being generous in taking responsibility for my own role in the way things shook out: I felt like all the ways I’d been rewarded for my personality, the way I take up space, how I try to cultivate and invest in community, the grace I try to give others, and the support and mentorship I was able to find in undergrad, were either not appreciated (I came off wrong, I stepped on toes, etc) or weaponized against me (I’m sure I’ll write another blog on grad school/academia politics). It is one thing to understand and accept that not everyone is going to like you or appreciate the things you do. This was different— I was transgressive in ways I’ve never been before, in ways I couldn’t expect or fully understand. Now I was labelled unprofessional, disruptive, etc, when previously I was an activator and a leader.

There’s more behind my experience, but in a nutshell it’s what many grad programs struggle with— honestly probably to an even greater degree: structural unfairness in general, the intentional usage of power to be punitive, and, plain and simple workplace bullying that I would discover I am not even close to being the first Black female student to experience from faculty members who everyone would expect to be people that someone like me, with research interests like mine, could have flourishing mentorship relationships with. Nope.

Whenever I’m feeling frustrated and start daydreaming about making some grand exit that will make everyone rue the day, I hear my mom’s partner’s voice in my head: “Just see it through.” *insert deep sigh* But where is the line between a challenge that is uncomfortable yet manageable and one that is no longer acceptable/tenable? I’d only been in my department for 3 semesters, and I’d already had bad experiences with a literal handful of faculty (more than seemed usual especially compared to my friends in other grad programs who had their fair share of colorful experiences with folks they didn’t vibe right with), I was feeling (what I interpreted as) extreme friction with my graduate community, and I had a number of qualms with my life in this city— was this really going to be my life for the rest of my 20s? What if it didn’t get better? What if I only felt more isolated and even less supported?

So, I coordinated my exit strategy and I gave it my best shot. I applied intentionally, took months to re-write my statements, and edited my Public History Masters thesis. My advisor supported me (though hoped in the end I would choose to stay), I spent the multiple hundreds of dollars that it costs to apply, and then I waited.

I was raised in a new age progressive church and I do believe in what some would critique as woo-woo: I believe, to some extent, in prayer, manifestation, and just plain ol’ luck. You can bet I was writing manifestation paragraphs on every full moon night; wishing on every 11:11 and 333 and 777; trying not to talk too much about what I hoped would come to fruition in case that would cancel it out from happening. I pulled tarot cards trying to see if I could somehow get a glimpse into the future and held them to my chest as I squeezed my eyes shut when Google said the card represented a “clear yes.” I felt good about what I’d submitted and was coming to terms with a fresh start somewhere else. It felt good to imagine myself somewhere new. It felt good thinking about how I would do things differently if I were given the chance. I thought of having to re-do some of my course requirements not as a chore or taking a step backwards, but as a chance to slow-down and commit myself to my studies in more intentional ways than maybe I’d done thus far.

I got the first email in the early afternoon. It was the day after the anniversary of tearing my ligament and somehow I’d pulled something in my other foot and couldn’t walk on it. I wondered how many planets were in retrograde. My heart didn’t beat and I didn’t breathe as I navigated to the application portal. It sounds so dramatic typing it out now. And there it was: “Thank you for applying…” I didn’t need to see the rest. It’s hard to not feel embarrassed now about how devastating an email was to me on this random Wednesday in February. I genuinely felt like someone in my life had died. And I spent a whole week going through stages of grief. There was still hope that one of the other programs I’d applied to would work out, but I think I knew even then that it wouldn’t.

In the weeks leading up to the decisions, I’d began hearing a tiny nagging voice within me. It literally felt like a whisper whenever I’d indulge myself in a daydream about going to a new program: all of the ways in which things were beginning to look up or be more tolerable peppered into my mind. On some level, I did want to stay. I did feel like I was where I was meant to be. And I felt like things were getting better overall. But I was still upset. I felt like many things were unfair and my issues remained unresolved. I did want others to feel a sense of loss upon my absence.

I’ll cut to the chase, as I insinuated before: none of them worked out. There are a number of reasons why this may have been— and probably why if you or someone you know applying to grad school this cycle may have found it unusually and unreasonably competitive for an unusually and unreasonably small amount of spots this year. It simply was. Thanks, Tr*mp!! Grad school admissions are already largely a lottery and you can be a top statistic candidate and still not be selected for one of a very small number of seats. No one usually knows exactly why they’re passed up or why they’re picked. A lot of it comes down to who is in the decision room the year your application is going around. All of this to say: I know there’s no point in trying to come up with any one why and there’s no reason to let the rejections knock my confidence. This is much easier said than done, but it’s an essential skill in a career path like academia, especially in an increasingly uncertain and unstable time period.

No’s will be inevitable and rejection is simply redirection. This is what I’ve been telling myself. Others: “what’s meant for me won’t miss me”, “the grass is greener where you water it”, and “something better is on its way.”

Affirmations are powerful even if they do nothing but soothe our scabbing wounds. As I write this, it has been six weeks since that first “no.” I got the last one two weeks ago after I’d already known it would come back as such. I tried to write about this multiple times, but I felt too unresolved to write a blog which would ultimately end with some kind of conclusion. An optimistic thread to tie it all together. I didn’t have it then, but I’m finding it now:

I’ve accepted that I will stay. My 2025 bingo board with goals and bucketlist to-do’s is incompletable since I can’t check off variants of, “switch PhD programs” or “move to a new state.” Why did I build my board like that?? But I will move this summer to a new apartment (which I just got approved for this week!) a little bit further away from campus so I can feel a bit more independent and create better separation in my day-to-day between work and leisure. I will get to do my first independent research this summer in Greenville and I will be in my last leg of coursework in my PhD (1/3 of the way done!) My friends are all unabashedly giddy I’m sticking around and my advisor is always (confusingly, because I can’t seem to stop bringing him problems!) supportive and optimistic about my progression in the program and the work I will do. I will get to continue investing into relationships that are meaningful and gratifying, exploring a city that is growing on me (now that I have a car and am not being sexually harassed every day!), and I know there will be more than a handful of unexpected delights and opportunities that will find me as I continue finding myself here. It’s really all fine.

Last year I organized a vision board gathering for the grad students in my department. The only people who came were from my cohort and I think it’s mostly because they felt bad I’d organized it and no one else was interested in investing in community in this way (even though I’d surveyed everyone and people said they were down, but whatever!) I made my vision board regardless, dammit! And now it is pinned at my desk in the shared grad offices. Even before many of my problems came to the surface, looking at this vision board makes me feel like somehow I knew the kind of challenges I’d be facing and the strategies needed for dealing with them. “Pushing through discomfort, searching for belonging” could easily be the title of this chapter of my life. Tending to the garden of my life and cutting off withering leaves for new growth is an easy metaphor to apply. Finding my way back to art and creative pursuits within my academic development is life-giving and creates many opportunities for unexpected surprises.

A low quality scan of the top of my 2025 bingo board which I used as a kind of mini-vision board

We’re nowhere near the end of 2025 but maybe some of my vision board/bingo is coming true, or already was true. I still had a decision at the end of the day and I have chosen to stay and to tend to the patchy ass grass I’ve been given. Maybe this is my perfect fit after all. I celebrate the blessings in my life and hold myself to the high standards in living the kind of life that I can be, will be, and am proud to live. Optimism, though difficult at times to summon, allows me to find healing.

None of what I’m experiencing and feeling is a completely new experience or feeling. I’m reminded frequently that I am so human, and how lucky to never really be alone in any of my worries, insecurities, delights, awes, etc. Most people turn out alright, so long as they don’t let their wounds hold them hostage or their fears consume them. So that’s my goal moving forward: let neither of those things be true. Set boundaries and don’t feel bad about them. Go for a walk and then send that email or don’t respond at all. Complain when necessary but be generous with “thank you’s”. Say sorry, mean it, and move on. When feeling small or lost, circle back to purpose. Let rejection brew optimism. Just see it through.

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Before I let you all go, I should say very clearly without meaning to be too sappy: thank you to my family and friends who uplift me with love and care seemingly endlessly and unconditionally even though I am not always my best self. Thank you for your unwavering optimism and belief in me no matter what I’m doing and no matter how things shake out. Love you! <3