...and it still doesn't feel real!
It was a busy Friday afternoon. The psychology department was hosting a day-long diversity colloquium with three incredible speakers from across the US. At lunch, I sat down at a long table with other attendees and one of the speakers. Both of us postdocs, me and the speaker lamented about the state of the academic job market. The speaker told me they were looking into options in and out of academia. Their friend, who had landed a job with Amazon, was making three times as much as a typical assistant professor's starting salary. "I'm happy to share what I've learned about navigating the alt-ac job market," they said to me. I thanked them politely, but in my head I was thinking: "Wow, I really hope I get a job offer." As cool as it would be to make some real money, I wasn't ready to jump into another industry.
What I didn't know was that while I was discussing the woes of the academic job market over lunch, sitting in my inbox was a job offer.
After lunch, I met with the undergraduate student I'd been mentoring for the past several months. While they were working, I quickly opened my email--I hadn't checked my inbox in hours. Immediately, I saw the name of chair for the department where I had just interviewed.
I froze. Should I check it? Maybe I should wait. I'm pretty good at regulating my emotions in front of people, but was I really in the mood to expend that kind of energy? What am I thinking? Of course I'm going to check it. I opened the e-mail. The chair cut right to the chase: "The PSYCD department is delighted to offer you a tenure-track position as Assistant Professor in Child Development starting Fall 2023."
O.
M.
G.
My heart was racing. I stood up calmly, put my hands behind my back, suppressed my smile, and started pacing awkwardly in my lab's computer room. The undergraduate I was working with glanced over at me and laughed politely, clearly confused. I looked at them and then whispered enthusiastically, "I got the job!" The undergrad cheered for me. "Congratulations!" they said enthusiastically while clapping. I peeked into the hallway. My mentor was in her office. Should I say something? I have a tendency to NOT share my successes; to NOT update people on what's going on in my life. I reflected on this briefly. This is good news worth sharing.
I told my mentor. She shouted, jumped out of her chair, and gave me a big hug.
Wow. I did a thing. And people are happy for me. I should be happy for me.
The lab staff heard the commotion and curiously asked what was up as I walked back into the computer room. I told them and they cheered for me, too.
Listen. I do not like to be the center of attention. It makes me uncomfortable. And when I am the person drawing the attention toward myself, I am even more uncomfortable. I don't want to come off as self-righteous. I don't want people to think I'm full of myself. I've accomplished something, but so have other people. I've accomplished something, but others have accomplished far greater. I tend to put myself down so that I can stay humble and grounded. It's like, I want to tell people, "I know this isn't that great" just in case someone else was going to say it. For whatever reason, I have convinced myself that this is the best way to handle my accomplishments. In reality, it is a terrible way to handle my accomplishments. It doesn't signal to people that I'm a wonderful and humble person. It only signals to me that I am not worth celebrating. And that is a terrible feeling.
So on this day, when I finally achieved the goal I had set out to achieve 10 freakin years ago when I applied to PhD programs, I let myself feel joy. I let myself feel proud. And I let others celebrate me, too.
I immediately told my husband and I insisted we go out to dinner to celebrate.
Going out to dinner was a big deal. Do you know what I did when I got my first research publication? When I was awarded a T32 fellowship, a grant from a private foundation, an NSF fellowship? When I landed my first job interview?
Nothing. I did absolutely nothing.
But not this time. I worked way too hard for this. Five years of graduate school. Five challenging and confusing years of postdoc. Three brutal years on the academic job market. I did it. I've landed a tenure track position.
Top row: Natasha the day she defended her dissertation
Bottom row, left to right: Natasha during her first year of graduate school, Natasha at her first research conference as a graduate student, Natasha on her first day of postdoc.
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