How many degrees does it take to feel worthy of your success?
We sat across from each other as we ate lunch in NYU’s cafeteria, awaiting the start of our next class. I still remember the nonchalant smile on her face the moment our conversation abruptly shifted. “My high school friends and I know that she only got into Harvard because she’s Black,” she said.
How easy it was for her to rewrite someone else’s narrative to fit the story she wanted to tell. The personal journey of this Harvard student was so deeply entrenched in this NYU student’s rhetoric that she was invisible. Nevertheless, I felt like I knew the Harvard attendee without ever meeting her. Her battles felt like my own. I felt responsible for defending her story. I wanted more than anything to outstretch a hand. However, I was unsure of how, or if I even could.
Every part of my being wanted to scream that to believe someone is unworthy of their success because of the color of their skin not only trivializes their experiences, but also diminishes their hard work and accomplishments. I wanted to scream but I did not expect to be heard. It was clear that the student sitting across from me had been taught to only think about race when convenient. When it can be used as a scapegoat, for protection, for rationalization, for a sleuth of scenarios where race is the guest of honor but knows no one in attendance. She had the privilege of choosing when this construct of race was of relevance to her life. I wanted her to recognize the damaging nature of her thoughts regarding her friend. But the thought alone drained me. It is an unfair expectation that the exhausted sometimes play the role of educator and victim at the exact same time. A position for which none of us have ever applied.
I could only muster a mechanical head nod and an unconvincing smile before abruptly changing the topic. Although the conversation shifted, her words had taken a toll on me. We often do not realize that once words are evicted from mouths, they still yearn for a new home. Her thoughts regarding Black success obtained squatter’s rights in the corners of my mind and resided comfortably in my conscience. They became internalized and I unwillingly carried them around for the rest of my freshman year. They would soon be accompanied by similar sentiments from other students I encountered at NYU.
Throughout my undergraduate career, the lack of faces that looked like mine led to my battle with something I could not yet name. Imposter syndrome is like having a crater for a shadow that you fall into every time the sun hits you. I sat in classrooms with students who not only felt that they deserved to attend this prestigious school, but sometimes felt an entitlement to be there. I constantly encountered students unashamed to remind me that they viewed my presence differently than those who looked like them. There is a privilege in being able to simply exist; devoid of thoughts that question what others think of them solely based on what they look like. I grew accustomed to viewing my worth through the lens of my peers. My mind filled to the brim with non-conducive questions, all stemming from that initial conversation that took place in the dining hall, early in my freshman year.
If she thought the accomplishments of her friend were solely a result of her skin color, how many people thought these same thoughts about me? How many people saw me walk through the halls of NYU and considered me a student accepted through affirmative action that didn’t deserve the opportunities their privilege bought them? How many people took every success I’ve had, every perseverance, every late night study session and relinquished it of significance? How often did my peers alter my truth for the benefit of the story they wanted to tell? Isn’t this how history gets rewritten by those who hold the pen?
I wish I could tell you I put this experience and these thoughts behind me and that they were in the past. I graduated from my undergraduate program in 2014 and recently completed a Masters degree from NYU. Two degrees later, and every now and then, I still feel that familiar slip where I question what others think of me and my abilities. How many degrees, awards, or accolades will it take to feel worthy of my success?
I’m learning that I am the only one who can make myself feel worthy of anything. I’m learning to reframe who I am based on what I know to be true, and not from what others think of me. This may seem trivial to some. However, when the world constantly tries to make decisions about who you are without your consent, it is sometimes easier to believe them than to say no. I’m learning that someone can only take away my self-worth and my confidence if I give them permission.
It is an everyday battle to remind myself that I am someone worth being; that I am worthy of this space, this voice, and these degrees. I’m learning to celebrate small wins because even those hold value and are mine and no one else’s. I’m learning to find a mantra that works for me to stay grounded in my beliefs. I’m learning to find different ways of quieting my thoughts — like playing basketball, biking, and writing poetry. Something that allows me time away from doubt and more time being in full acceptance of where I am on my path. I’m learning that a job defines me only if I give it the power to do so.
Maybe I was asking myself the wrong question all these years when I wondered how many degrees it took to feel worthy of my success. What if it was never meant to be a question, but a mantra?
I am exactly where I am supposed to be to get to my next step. I deserve every success that has come my way, and I am worthy of every success yet to come.
I am shattering glass ceilings and opening doors I was never given keys to.
