I write this aware of my privilege of having a tenure track job.
I gave birth to my second child in November 2020. I took a parental/maternity leave that enabled me to take a leave from teaching but didn’t feel like much of a leave from anything else, especially, anxiety. Although I was well aware that I could use my leave and the pandemic as reasons to ask for a one-year extension for my tenure and promotion application, I felt like I really needed a sabbatical to catch up on my research – which I can only get if I got tenure (a process that I was very anxious about). I was already feeling like an impostor, and I was worried that I would possibly be the worst Canada Research Chair ever. But I don’t think that I was able to clearly articulate these feelings until one early morning in February 2021 after a series of sleepless nights and pumping mishaps. I laughed a little – which eased some of the tension that I had been feeling and decided to write about my feelings while I continued to pump (after I solved the pumping failure mystery):
Postnatal confessions:
It’s 1:38am. I’m feeling like an imposter. And I’m headachy and exhausted. I just tried pumping without a flange. I seem to be having these pumping /breast related incidents lately. The other time I tried pumping without a bottle. And just a few days ago, I caught myself about to rub nipple cream on my face.
This is my state of mind. The exhaustion and almost mishaps. Yet, I’m stressed about being an imposter. I’m stressed about work and I’m supposed to be on leave. I can’t stop myself from giggling because I’m still trying to advise students and evaluate work. Do you really want a woman who can’t tell the difference between face lotion and nipple cream reading your PhD proposal and providing feedback? Well. Just less than 24 hours ago, I tried reading a proposal. To say that I barely understood what I was reading would be an understatement. I complained to my partner that I was just wasting my time and that I couldn’t read and couldn’t understand. My seven-year-old, overhearing me, looked at me and gasped. At best he was perplexed. His mother who always gets on his case about the importance of reading and comprehension can’t read and understand? I looked at him and suppressed my laughter but was way too discombobulated to even explain what I meant by my comment.
I also feel a little hopeless because I had hoped to revise a paper and finally draft a chapter that was due one year ago. I can’t help but shake my head…I try to suppress a wave of despair. But I can’t help it. Will I be able to write any time soon? I quickly wonder if there’s another job I could get that didn’t require things that I felt like I could no longer do. My body has rebelled. If I’m to be honest it’s been at least five years. If it’s not exhaustion, it’s carpal tunnel, or vengeful migraines. Once, my doctor even suspected arthritis. Arthritis? Then it’s high blood pressure. Needless to say, sitting down to read and write has been difficult. But I also wonder if I’m lazy. Maybe unmotivated. I do certainly know that I’m tired though.
I finally have the right pump parts but I’m not sure if I’m able to quite work out the pieces of the puzzle that’s supposed to be my career. They all seem to be wrong pieces. And yet they all seem to have something in common. I can almost hear them shouting imposter. I’m sitting here…it’s 1:55am now. On my phone writing, pumping and wondering whether I should unveil myself. Or should I just keep faking it? I’m exhausted.
After writing the piece, I decided to share it with a few of my friends because I had been working very hard on not bottling up my feelings and allowing myself to be vulnerable. I’ve come to realize the importance of letting others know the challenges we face because this openness has helped me find a community of support (And this community has been so essential to me, especially, over the past year). I talked through the pros and cons of asking for an extension with the people in my support network. In the end, I decided against asking for an extension. The anxiety didn’t go away, but it certainly helped to have people in my corner, cheering me on, and some sharing their tenure and promotion application with me. Seven months after writing postnatal confessions, I submitted my tenure and promotion application. And now, I’m waiting to hear back; still anxious, but feeling a little lighter and sleeping a little better…