On Education.

When I was last here, I had finished my bachelor’s degree in Human Services with a minor in psychology with a 3.90 GPA and I graduated Summa Cum Fucking Laude.

Okay, so I don’t think the “F” word was in there, but for me it was.

I took a summer off and then I went to grad school.  I told myself that I had wanted to finish my bachelor’s degree before I was 40 and I did.  I told myself I wanted to finish my master’s degree before I was 43, and I did.  Barely.  But I did.  No 3.90 GPA.  No Summa Cum Fucking Laude.  All I cared about were those three little letters beside my name.  That’s better than Summa Cum Fucking Laude. I got them, and then I got three more letters after I got licensed.  BOOM.

I graduated at the tail end of 2016, but not exactly.  What I mean is, I elected to go back to school to finish a “minor” (an additional class I needed in some stupid elective cluster) but the main reason I did that was to defer my student loans.  This pushed my technical graduation date, so while even though I was really done, I wasn’t REALLY done.  And this led to some ambiguity on social media that I never bothered to clear up, so for all intents and purposes, I say I graduated in 2016.  Which isn’t totally a lie.

The strategy to defer my loans backfired, btw, so don’t be jealous.  I dropped the class after a certain period of time and ended up having to pay cash for my fucking class.  I mean, I DID defer my student loans for 2 more months, so I guess it was moderately successful.  Beyond that, I got screwed.  Then I couldn’t get my transcript.  Then I couldn’t apply for jobs.  So I got my diploma out of hock, shelled out $1700, and hung it on the wall.

After being out of work for more than a decade, I began to pursue a job, in my field, using the skills I actually learned in school.  Holy fucking shit, that was a kick.  A slow start led me to working at a part time job making THIRTY SIX DOLLARS AN HOUR.

Yeah, okay, so it was part time, shut up.  THIRTY SIX MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS AN HOUR, YO.  Sure it was a half shit job, but part of it was really cool. I got to drive around my county and work with children with special needs.  I didn’t have a boss breathing down my neck and I didn’t work in an office. I could eat Burger King every day and smoke cigarettes between clients in my car.  Alone.  Away from 4 kids.  And people listened to me, because I had six beautiful, well-earned letters beside my name.

Then I tore my ACL.

Or rather, my ACL was TORN.

And I had to stop working.

Just.
Like.
That.

And then there was this part of me…a part I could never articulate quite right (which probably explains those low scores I took on every self-quiz I could find online) that wanted a PhD.  Why?  Why bother with a PhD?  WTF DO I NEED ONE FOR?  I probably don’t.

But I wanted one.  I let it go for months.  Buried myself in my new career, screw that, I don’t need the student loans that I would accrue with a PhD and for what?  So someone can call me Doctor?  WTF am I going to do with it, I am never going to do shit with it, stop thinking about.  

I couldn’t stop thinking about it though.

Googling, researching, reading about different programs, requirements, etc.  What would I write for my dissertation?  Can I even write a dissertation?  WTF actually makes UP a dissertation?  OMG so much math, so much research.  But I like research….

I enrolled in my PhD program.  I told no one except my husband and mother.  And now, dear Diary, you.  As I write this, I am a week away from finishing my first grueling semester. And I still haven’t told anyone, because I think I believe if I don’t say anything and I fail, then no one will know what a failure I am.

I also don’t bother to say because I don’t need those who have some fundamental bias against online education to throw shade on my pursuit.  It won’t matter to them that I am partnered with a local university to help with my research; no.  It matters more than one earns a PhD, preferably at least partially funded, all while sniffing the farts of professors who reside in a building with a door you can go in to, sitting at their knees in awe.

I get it.  I only partially give a shit.  If I truly gave a shit, I wouldn’t even bother to do this.  But if I truly had no shits to give, I’d tell everyone.  And I’m not.

I am 44.  I want to have it before I am 48.

BTW if you’re on the fence about a PhD, it’s fucking HARD as hell.