Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Violet
“Exciting news. I think I figured out a way to get you out of having to TA.” Bethany exclaims, taking a sip of coffee from her mug. While most PhD students worked as teaching assistants so they could have some source of income, teaching often came at the expense of sacrificing time that ideally would be dedicated toward our research and completing degree milestones. In my program, labs with more grant money could pay students directly so they could stay focused on their research, which created an uneven playing field.
“The department just received a very generous donation and the faculty have decided to take some of that money and use it to fund a fellowship program. If you get the award it should cover you for about three years and allow you to focus on your research. ”
If you get the award. Academia was a constant cycle of applying to things, getting rejected, dusting yourself off, and trying again. I’d become more or less numb to the rejection, but it’s also made me much less optimistic about things working out in my favor. “Do you know what the application process will look like?”
“Yes! Students will be asked to draft a personal statement and research proposal, very similar to the other fellowships you’ve applied to before.” And didn’t get. “Each year the department will choose a specific area of research they give priority to. This year they want to focus on the relationship between maternal mental health and infant development.”
Wait a minute. “That’s literally what my dissertation is going to be on.” Is this what hope feels like?
“I know! Violet, I really think you have a good chance at getting this, and you know I’m not the type to just say that.”
It was true and one of the things I appreciated most about Bethany. While she was always very supportive, she also did a great job at tempering expectations. A lot of people are super qualified in our field, and most don’t get the grants they apply to.
“So, you really think I have a shot?”
“Beyond your qualifications, you’re one of the only students in the department with an active project that focuses on all aspects of what they’re looking for. Also, when the fellowship topic was revealed, a few faculty immediately brought your name up and mentioned you should apply.” Her eyes lit up the way a proud mother’s would. “Obviously I have to recuse myself from voting as your adviser, but I have a good feeling about this.”
“Amazing. Do you mind sending me the official details?”
“Absolutely.” She glances at the clock hung up on the wall. “I have to run to another meeting, which frankly really could’ve been an email. ”
“The day people learn that most meetings could just be an email will be the day in which the universe truly heals.”
We both pack up our belongings and head off in different directions. Waiting for the elevator, I debate whether to go down to my office or to the Beanery to get some work done. Given the Beanery has windows and lattes whereas my office has neither of those things, it was the clear winner. The ding of the elevator brings me back to the current moment. I’m suddenly face-to-face with the one person I want to avoid more than Mason. The one person who brought me to such a dark point my first year that, had it not been for Bethany I would have dropped out. Would have given up on all my dreams that I had worked so hard to achieve.
Dr. Darlene Atkins was one of the most senior faculty in the psychology department and the impact of her research on our field couldn’t be understated. It was both her seniority and her reputation that allowed her to get away with years of mistreatment, exploitation, and the verbal and emotional abuse of her students. For decades, a handful of professors had a vague sense that her behavior was problematic but kept it hidden from the heads of the department. They never wanted to address how one of the most influential scientists in the world, in a field dedicated to helping people, could be so cruel to her mentees. This fueled a long cycle of hopeful candidates accepting offers to join her lab and then realizing soon the truth behind the saying “Never meet your heroes.” I had been one of the na?ve and hopeful candidates.
In the beginning, I thought it had been just me. Figured I was an imposter among my classmates and that everything she had said about me was true. Until one of her former students reached out to check in on me, and I realized how far back her mistreatment stemmed. No one had ever been brave enough to report Dr. Atkins to her superiors, until me. To this day I wasn’t sure if it really had been bravery or just plain stupidity.
“Violet.” The sound of my name coming out of her mouth was enough to make me wince. “I haven’t seen you since…well since you quit my lab.” She purses her lips. “A true shame that whole ordeal was. I hope you’re not causing as much trouble for Bethany as you did when you were with me.”
She walks away with her nose held high before I can think of a response. My heart is pounding so hard I swear it’s a few beats away from jumping out of my chest. I try to take a few deep breaths to center myself, but my throat is a vice, constricting my breathing. I didn’t even realize how badly my hands had been shaking until I entered the elevator. It takes me a few attempts to press the button for the first floor. I knew at some point I would run into her again, I just didn’t realize how visceral of a reaction my body would have. Didn’t think I’d be on the verge of a full panic attack. I’m brought back to how often I would have to fight them off when I was working for her. They used to happen daily back then.
Walking outside always helped. I take the long way to the Beanery, letting the shock of the cold air hit my face and cool my body. Eventually, I calm my heartbeat down enough to enter the cafe, but I have a feeling I’m going to be on edge for the rest of the day. You’re okay Violet. You’re okay. I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, hoping it will drown out the memories of my first year. Every meeting we had where she tore me apart, every late-night email filled with threatening language, every idea of mine she stole and claimed as her own.
The first few months her criticisms and demands started off subtle enough that I had defended her behavior. ‘This is what happens when you work with someone who is very established. Of course, she’s going to be hard on me.’ The following months it became more and more apparent how wrong I had been. The second I fulfilled one of her demands, tasks that no one else would think to ask of their first-year graduate student, the more liberties Dr. Atkins took with her role as my adviser.
I think to survive, even for a little bit, I had to convince myself that it was all normal. That I was supposed to leave every meeting in tears, or only sleep three hours a night to meet my mentor’s unrelenting demands. Even though she never really was a mentor to me. No matter what I did, it was never good enough. Day by day my resolve was chipped away until I was just a shell. Over time I lost so many pieces of myself I forgot who I was before I was broken.