The first time I attended ACPA’s Annual Convention for higher education and student affairs professionals, I was taken aback by the spaces cultivated by other femme of color scholar-practitioners, from students to senior-level administrators. Organic spaces and identity-based formal coalitions were intended to support others for things like article publishing, becoming tenure-track faculty or socials for mentoring connections. From the claps, laughs and “mhmms” in the "Unveiling the Hidden Curriculum: Strategies for Black Women in Higher Education & Student Affairs" workshop, or the hugs and relationship-building in ACPA's Coalition for Women’s Identities POC Social and Dialogue Space—my soul became full. The celebration of enriching other femmes and black folx was incredibly powerful.

This year, as I returned to another convention as an entry-level professional, I highly anticipated engaging in these spaces to get fuel to return to the demands of everyday worklife. Rather, I depended on the cultural space to be there, as it is now my safe haven.

As a high school dropout raised on the rough edges of the east coast, I saw getting a G.E.D. and a college degree as an answer to a happier life, than that which my community had. I found the field of student affairs during my undergrad years, and quickly committed to completing a Master’s and joining the field. The degrees have afforded me the privilege of upward mobility and establishing security in my social class—although, I didn’t always recognize upward mobility would cost more than the initial price tag. Distance from my family, a mountain of private loans and fatigue from the hostile environment during my academic program were just some of the largest expenses. Now, closing my first year as an entry-level professional, I realize this has only fortified me for what is to come.

Today, processing national trauma as a result of our current political climate, processing racial injustice to black folks like Sandra Bland, Natasha McKenna and Philando Castile, while coping with everyday racism requires a considerable amount of mental energy from staff, faculty and students nationwide. Institutions are not void of the issues surrounding them, and academia carries additional disparities that disproportionately impact people of color, and all carrying historically marginalized identities.

In her 2016 article in The Atlantic, Adrienne Greene explained:

For minorities on campus, surviving and thriving despite multiple encounters with racism or stereotyping may require a different type of approach than do typical college struggles like balancing work and class. W.E.B. Du Bois coined the concept of “double consciousness,” whereby black people are essentially forced to have two identities and pressured to view themselves as they’re perceived by their non-black peers. That psychology can create a unique circumstance for black people in higher education today—a psychology some researchers argue may even lead to mental-health problems that go unnoticed.

Race conscious people in higher education may need to live a “double life” to somewhat dissociate from perceptions and stereotypes. It wasn’t always evident to me that an extensive amount of work needs to be spent on modifying how I show up within academic spaces-—to protect myself.

In addition, implications are likely for those who aren’t successful at navigating institutional politics and bureaucracy. Currently under review with NASPA Journal about Women in Higher Education, Shawna Patterson-Stephens’ Operationalizing Influence and Effective Change suggests that black women require levels of influence while navigating academic politics to avoid professional isolation. As a first-generation, Afro-Caribbean, femme, queer, entry-level scholar-practitioner, with PTSD, the additional intellectual, emotional, financial, mental, and social aspects of labor I need to spend in the field isn’t often seen.

Toward the end of ACPA’s Annual Convention this past March, incoming ACPA President Stephen Quaye made his responsive and powerful presidential address. Quaye spoke of centering part of his work on the healing and trauma of scholar-practitioners, acknowledging the real-life effects of racism in and out of the field of higher education. An example is #EverydayBlackness, an initiative to unsilence the fear and journey of those impacted by "racial battle fatigue". In that moment, I felt heard in a way that I haven’t in a long while. My eyes began to water, so I went to the back of the exhibit hall away from others to let them fall. To my right, someone who I perceived to be black, gravitated toward the back as well, and began to wipe their eyes.

What do we do with this?

Fulfilling domains of wellness as a femme of color in higher education and student affairs is ultimately critical. Here are some ways I try to take care of myself:

  • Engaging in affinity groups on campus, locally, nationally and through the web. In addition, being in community with, and supporting the development of students with historically marginalized identities or students experiencing difficulty continues to make an impact on me. In addition, continuing to center my pedagogy, research and focus on culturally-responsive theories.
  • Recognizing the people who’ve come before me. Remembering my parents sacrificed much themselves, including leaving Jamaica so their children could access a better education. I also have to thank my ancestors, who paved the way, and made it easier for me to access and navigate spaces like academia. In addition, seeking continuous support, feedback and guidance from mentors.
  • Taking advantage of university employee resources. From healthcare to state-employee programs, I have access to counselors who use culturally-relevant practice, and many forms of support, through our Employee Assistance Program. One result was informed support for supplemental income, leading me to sell homemade products.
  • Loving on myself. In the process of unlearning to put others before myself, I focus on the things that make me happy, and figuring out new things that make me happy. This could look like quality time with people I care about, building community, hobbies that get me out of the house or a good “black cosplay” search on Tumblr.
CollegeMental healthMONEYrace and health