Hiding Your Emotions at Work

I'm not a big fan of hiding or suppressing your emotions, because I think emotions serve as important guides, and they are just going to eventually leak out anyway.  But sometimes when we are going through the difficult process of figuring out what we want we stir up a lot of feelings and emotions that don't come out at the most opportune of times.

About six months before I quit my grad program I ran into one of my committee members at a coffee shop.  All he said was "hi, how are you doing?"  It was just a toss off social pleasantry, but I became an unhinged sniveling ugly cry mess. Granted, I had a friend dying of cancer at the time, but I was also doing a lot of soul searching about whether I should stay. The mere suggestion that I check in with how I was doing emotionally was enough to unleash everything I had been holding back. I apologized, but couldn't stop weeping and ended up walking off crying.   It totally freaked him out, and I was slightly mortified, but by the end of my program I had cried in front of just about every Professor I had. That should probably have been a sign, because I am normally not a super easy to cry person.  Eventually we laughed about it the next fall when I finally quit, but I try to pay attention to emotional outbursts because they tend to indicate something is not working for me.  

So what to do?  Sometimes you just have to let it run its course. It's not the end of the world if your advisor or a fellow grad sees you crying, because it let's them know there is an issue. Plus, I guarantee they've seen worse (we do teach undergrads after all). Even if it is socially uncomfortable you have a right to excuse yourself and leave to find a safe space. You can minimize the after affects of your crying jag by remembering to breathe, dabbing (not rubbing your face with cold water), and for flair you can always fake a sneeze as you reenter a room to hide your red eyes.

If you are really a hot mess you might want to review these more extended tips, which include faking reading a magazine (though I tried this and tears and snot are pretty hard to control when you are looking down), or pretending to nap if you are on the bus (this happened to me).  I ended many a session in the bathroom where I splashed some cold water on my face, reapplied some make up, and slipped on my sunglasses.

Whatever you do, don't beat yourself up.  Promise yourself you'll let it all out when you get home, and recognize that you may need to spend some extra time paying attention to your feelings.

What Graduate School is Like

As a recovering graduate student I suppose it made sense for me to include a survey on this blog.  Not very many of you have taken it in the few years it's been up, but thankfully I included some open ends (qual nerd here!) so I at least have some entertaining answers.

My favorite question:

Forest Gump said "Life is like a box of chocolates." What is graduate school like? 

Some of you compared graduate school to a cult.  One of you said you felt like a mouse in a maze.

Then there was this great quote:

Grad school is like a searching for gold in the 1800s. The promise of a better life only leads you to hardship and living in squalor, and all you get out of it is a few nuggets that are actually useful.

#Burn. 

I always loved metaphor analysis. Stories are universal to the human condition and our brains seem uniquely suited for metaphorical descriptions. Metaphors reveal fundamental assumptions and understandings that might otherwise remain obscured.  That and they are hilarious.  

Metaphors are also about perspective.  The person who described graduate school as mice lost in the maze also helpfully pointed out that "there is always a way out."  It might be graduating, or it might be quitting, but a maze by definition has an exit. 

What do you think graduate school is like?  Your response may be the answer that helps guide your path out. 

You Will Do Impulsive Things--and that is OK!

When I reflect on the last month of deciding to leave graduate school, I realize I did some impulsive things.  I recognized it at the time.  In fact, I encouraged myself.  I had stayed in part out of a sense of inertia, so it seemed logical that if I was going to leave, I needed to shake up my life and do things differently.

Sometimes this has meant staying up late to watch a movie with my husband.  I also signed up on impulse for a five day online writing course that starts tonight, which while it cost some money got me excited.  This weekend, it involved putting off the grading of over 50 papers until Sunday night. Being impulsive has even been as simple as blogging (like right now) when I should be writing a paper that is past its due date. And recently, it has involved buying a sex toy.

See, I had a dream a few weeks ago in which a good friend casually gave me a carefully wrapped present that she told me "was just what you need:"  inside was a collection of sex toys.  It wasn't a sexual dream so much as a sort of to do list.  When I woke up, I puzzled over the symbolic meaning, then told my essential self, "Ok, I hear you."  I needed to get out of my comfort zone and do something different. I needed to let loose, and not be so uptight.  And apparently my brain was worried I wouldn't get an abstract message, so it  needed to hit me over the head in a literal way.  I decided that if I did what my dreams told me to do, I might have more dreams with equally practical instructions, on hopefully more helpful things like getting a job, or figuring out what I wanted out of life.  It seemed like a win win situation.

So I marched down to town and into my local lingerie shop.  I told her I needed a stocking stuffer, and examined the mini toys at the front check out.  When I didn't see anything I wanted I went up stairs.  The lady who worked there, all prim and proper,  realized “Oh, you meant a naughty stocking stuffer.”  Yes I did, I replied.  “Let me know if you want any advice,” she offered.  There were rows of huge vibrators and anal beads, and things I couldn't even figure out where they went, but I decided I would not be that bold.   I tried to see if I recognized any of them from my dream, and read the backs of the packages.  Phaltate free! They exclaimed.  I grabbed two contenders and marched back downstairs.  “Which one do you recommend?” I asked, “Well, that one has five settings, and that one is just the one.”  Great, ever practical I took the value pack. 

While this may seem weird, there's no one path to leaving graduate school. If it's by way of the sex shop, so be it. 

Spiritual Emergency

I haven't been blogging much in the last week, mainly because I haven't had anything to say.  The holiday and visiting family served as its own form of distraction, but I also have been struggling with how I feel about leaving. In the last few days I've vacillated between feeling trapped, angry, anxious, and upset.  Several nights I experienced full on panic attacks.  

I seem to have hit the bump in the road that some refer to as a spiritual emergency.  Despite expecting such set backs, they are strikingly disruptive.  In searching online, I stumbled across a post I thought really did a good job of giving voice to this crisis.   He also recommends a book by the name of Spirtual Emergency, a phrase that resonates with this stage in the journey. 

It can be tempting to view set backs as a sign you're on the wrong track, that life won't work out, and you are destined for failure.  Instead, I am trying to view this moment as a realization that my current stage is highly uncertain: whether I will have a job and be able to leave before next semester, whether I will have to sit for comp exams, and even whether I am truly ready to walk away are highly stressful to deal with.  Of course I am going to feel like having a nervous breakdown in the face of these challenges, but they are part of a process toward a a new life.  

As Jayson Gaddis wrote, "Yet, for the few of us who see a massive identity breakdown as a step toward wholeness, instead of illness, we can take the view that this is a natural stage toward genuine human health and expanded consciousness."

I like that sentiment, even if it is hard to remember in the grips of my panic. 

Listening to Myself

Regardless of what the future holds for me, I'm working on listening to myself.  It's not always easy.  One way I'm trying is by meditating.  I used to meditate when I was in college, but never very consistently, and I found it a hard habit to form and a difficult one to practice.

My new solution is both innovative and a bit weird   You see, I have decided the best place to meditate is on  the toilet.  Not while going to the bathroom (though it sounds like it works for this guy), but with the lid down seated in full lotus on the lid.  It's the one place in the house that people expect to be left alone, and it is not somewhere I routinely hang out with a wifi connection. The bathroom also offers the advantage that no matter where you go, a hotel on a trip, the in-laws, there is one waiting for you.  This helps considerably with consistency. 

So far I have been pretty successful over the past two days this method has been under review.  It really brings new meaning to the phrase "praying to the porcelain God."  

Leaving Graduate School--the Soundtrack

So one way I have been trying to reconnect with my interests, passion, and sense of self is through music.  My favorite song right now is "I am not a Robot," by Marina and the Diamonds.  It speaks to the ways in which I have walled off my emotions to get through the day.  Very robot-like!

Some of the lyrics I can really relate to... 

You're vulnerable, you're vulnerable
You are not a robot
You're lovable, so lovable
But you're just troubled

Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot
Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot

The video is kind of cool, too.   You can watch it here. 

In fact, her star body paint reminds me of sparkle pony, so for good measure I'm linking to that awesome clip from Portlandia, too.

A Little Passion for a Project

Now that I have starting moving toward the exit, I find it harder and harder to focus on the work I need to finish up.  Realizing you have no passion for the majority of what  you do makes it difficult to keep slogging forward.  There's one project on my plate that I took on when I still thought I wanted to go the research route, and I am actively avoiding it. Today I cleared my schedule to work on it, and I just can't concentrate.

Part of the challenge is that I spent all day yesterday grading undergraduate essays. That kills both brain cells and soul cells--it's all I can do to mark margins in an exercise I no longer believe in. More and more my comments veer toward: 1) general, useful writing advice that will carry students beyond a course assignment (two page paragraphs, really?); 2) elaborate drawing illustrating my comments, such as "hit me over the head with your argument," complete with stick figure and mallet (will my point get through?).  This can't be my only creative outlet.

Things got so bad regarding my inability to concentrate on grading that I resorted to writing my essential self a letter:

Dear Essential Self,
I hear you loud and clear--and I totally GET IT!  You hate school, and you want out. While I facilitate our exit (escape?), please have some patience.  We really need to finish this damn grading!  We need to walk away from school into gainful employment, not slink off with a box full of our office belongs and a big fat FIRED stamped across future references.  Health insurance remains a valuable tool to access all those mental health services we need!