I don’t belong here: Thoughts of a first-generation academic

As a university student working towards my bachelor’s degree, I didn’t even know what it would mean to add “Dr.” to my name. Six months into my postdoc, I regularly catch myself having forgotten that I have a PhD. If you spend all your life thinking you must prove yourself, then you risk becoming trapped in a perpetual grind, unable to accept your accomplishments.

In recent years, the burdens that first-generation students face in higher education and academia have received an increased amount of attention. As a first-generation academic who is very outspoken about this part of my identity, on several occasions colleagues have asked me to name the exact difficulties this has caused. This is not as easy as it might seem. The challenge frequently lies within the identification of what the actual additional hurdles are. Put simply: “You don’t know what you don’t know.” Thus, I have recently sought out resources that specifically handle this topic, which has helped the contextualization of my personal experiences and the bigger systematic challenges of first-generation students and academics.

Pursuing a university degree is not an easy feat for most people, regardless of one’s socio-economic background and parental career paths. Studying at university commonly differs from prior school experiences with higher workloads and less direct supervision and guidance. Simultaneously, someone’s time as a university student often coincides with attempting to finding answers to bigger questions: “Who am I and what do I want to do with my life?” While these challenges are shared amongst university students, they can feel particularly difficult for first-generation students. It can feel particularly disorienting when the people in one’s personal life put you up on a pedestal all the while you can’t keep up with the most basic lectures, homework assignments and exams. Other first-generation students may have people in their personal life who tell them to “just get a normal job”, as learning a trade, for example, may seem like a more secure option compared to an extended time in the education system with unclear work prospects. At the same time, your peers always seem to be a step ahead of you: They have found laboratory placements, summer internships, and applied for graduate schools before you even realized those were options. While this is by no means an all-encompassing list, these experiences stack up and lead to an overwhelming sense of “not fitting in” – in addition to those times when someone actually tells you so.

Some brave first-generation students may reach for postgraduate education, like master’s and PhD degrees, or even continue down the academic route and aim for postdoctoral and faculty positions. The barriers for first-generation students do not magically disappear when reaching for these next steps. Rather, they can become more obvious the further you go. As you climb the academic career ladder, the percentage of first-generation academics around you decreases. I found that it is especially those that seem to struggle with severe imposter syndrome, although exceptions of course do exist. This feeling of not actually deserving your position, that you were somehow just lucky, and that someone will reveal your identity as an “imposter” can lead to intense negative thoughts and feelings about yourself if not actively combatted. As a first-generation academic seeking to overcome, you may try to overcorrect by harshly submitting yourself to the “publish or perish” culture and pouring everything you have into your academic work. Nonetheless, nothing seems to be enough to satisfy the “imposter” inside your brain when the repeated exposure to these negative feelings are reinforced by the constant reminders that people like you don’t belong here. You convince yourself this is true, and it strongly overlaps with your internalization of classist world views. It is unsurprising then that someone might prefer to opt out and choose a different life eventually. Particularly when people around your age are beginning their “real adult lives”, e.g. receiving promotions, buying property, starting families, or even just manage to afford international vacations on a regular basis. It is difficult to stick it out in academia while you feel like a child stuck in school with your parents still asking when your summer break starts and everything seems to scream “you shouldn’t be here”.

Oftentimes, it is perceived as being obnoxious when someone insists on the recognition of their academic titles. Of course, my PhD doesn’t make me a better person by any means. Nonetheless, I do think that the lacking representation of first-generation academics contributed to my not wanting to attend my PhD graduation. I believe it is the reason I didn’t take the time to properly celebrate this accomplishment, and why I now have to be reminded of this achievement on a regular basis. While I have luckily only been told a handful of times that I “should leave academia to those who actually belong”, I feel that the lack of tangible role models and my own negative self-talk is what leads me to question my career choices the most – on top of the larger systemic issues pushing out or not letting in first-generation academics in the first place, of course.

While I internalize and blame myself for every failed step of an experiment, no matter how small, I simultaneously ignore all my accomplishments. Instead of being proud of myself for receiving the inaugural “Best Thesis Award” at my PhD institute, I tell myself that this could just be awarded to me out of pity because one of my PhD supervisors died. Instead of celebrating the acceptance of my second PhD paper, I am focusing on the negative genotyping results I got the same day. Instead of being proud of myself for submitting four separate postdoctoral fellowship applications within six months, I am focusing on the one single rejection (so far). Looking at these words written down, I am appalled by what is going on inside my head. And when my lab mates tell me about similar feelings, I give them a minutes-long pep talk, not letting up until they seem to have accepted their wins instead of focusing on their losses. Yet, it is much harder to combat the internalized classism and imposter syndrome that have settled in quite comfortably into my own brain.

Now, I am taking small steps to actively combat these thoughts and feelings. At the forefront of it all, I am working on appreciating my accomplishments. In addition, I have to combat the toxicity of academic hustle culture that reinforces me to tie my own self-worth to my research output. While I would never judge someone else based on their experimental outcomes, number of papers, or degrees accomplished, I tend to be quick to do so with myself. This plays into me having to start taking time for things outside of science again. Academic research certainly does not follow a typical 9-to-5-job: While days can sometimes be shorter, they can also be much longer. Importantly, I am now having to tell myself that this does not mean that every single day must be a 10-hour workday just because there is more that could be done. So, I actively remind myself and plan to pursue other interests outside of the lab, which is contributing to better mental health and re-energizes my brain. Lastly, I am seeking out resources in which other people in similar shoes talk about their experiences. Especially learning about the intersectionality of barriers within and outside of academia has helped me tremendously to understand the challenges I have faced throughout my own life. Simultaneously, I feel like there is still not enough representation of historically underrepresented minorities in science, which is why I intend to share my own experiences loudly and proudly, for example by writing and publishing this very piece! I can only hope that this will help others understand that we as first-generation students and academics do in fact belong here and that you are not the only one who struggles.