Why I'm Here

When people ask me about my “why,” I honestly still struggle to put it into words.

My first instinct is always to say: I like school. And that sounds simple, but it’s deeper than that. School was one of the first things I felt genuinely good at. I liked the structure, the schedule, and the predictability of it. I liked learning. I liked understanding things. When it came to school purely as a place of learning, that’s where I thrived.

But while I enjoyed school growing up, it never really felt comfortable or even fully safe for me.

There were too many layers to navigate and too many things I felt like I had to understand socially, emotionally, and culturally just to exist in those spaces. I think that’s something a lot of Black students, especially Black girls, experience. There’s often an awareness you carry in school spaces that goes beyond academics.

And I think those experiences shaped me more than I realized at the time.

A lot of my research interests now are directly connected to my experiences both inside and outside of school. Growing up, I was often either in spaces where I was surrounded by Black people or in spaces where I was one of very few Black people there. Moving between those environments constantly changes the way you understand belonging, identity, safety, and community. I think those experiences absolutely shaped the questions I ask now and the work I want to do moving forward.

At the same time, some of my earliest positive feelings about schools actually came from my mom.

She’s worked in schools for as long as I can remember, and I always loved going to work with her. I loved hearing about her day, hearing stories about students, and hearing about the relationships she built. Looking back, I think a lot of my feelings toward schools came less from my own experiences and more from hearing about hers. Through her, schools sounded like places where people could care deeply about students and make a real difference in their lives.

And then there’s my grandmother.

One of the things that inspires me most about her is that she just kept going to school. She continued pursuing education during a time when that was not always encouraged, accepted, or accessible for Black women in the ways it should have been. Even while people were pushing for progress, there were still barriers everywhere. I think watching both my mom and my grandmother shaped my understanding of representation long before I had language for it.

If I’m being completely honest, part of what keeps me going now is representation, and part of it is spite.

The representation piece is obvious to me. There are so many Black students — especially Black girls — who are trying to figure out who they are and what their future can look like. Sometimes just seeing someone who looks like you in certain spaces changes what feels possible. I want students to know that these spaces are attainable for them too, even if nobody around them has done it before.

But the other part is harder to explain.

There is something deeply meaningful to me about being able to say that I am a Black woman pursuing a doctorate degree, especially in the current social and political climate. I think about what my ancestors, my family, and the people before me had to survive just for opportunities like this to exist. So sometimes my motivation comes from passion and purpose, but sometimes it also comes from refusing to let systems, stereotypes, or expectations determine what I’m capable of becoming.

And then there’s my family.

My family has always been incredibly proud of me and supportive of the work I’m doing. On difficult days, that matters more than I can explain. Knowing the people I love believe in me keeps me grounded when things feel overwhelming.

What keeps me going now is the belief that this work matters.

Whether it’s through research, practice, advocacy, or simply existing in spaces where Black women have historically been excluded, I want my work to help create environments where people feel seen, affirmed, and supported. Even if it only impacts one student, one family, or one person who finally feels like they belong, that matters to me.

And I think that’s my why.

A version of me that loved learning but was still trying to figure out where I belonged.