“I knew what I was signing up for.”

My first year as a doctoral student has been punctuated by moments where I stop myself, worried that it sounds like I’m whining, and add that sentence. I’ve had several conversations with friends where we’re talking confidentially about our struggles (I’m having a hard time communicating with my advisor; my collaborators aren’t showing up for their part; my disability is making my job impossible…), and we have to pause to acknowledge the imposter-syndrome-colored elephant in the room. Isn’t this your dream job? Why are you complaining about your dream job?

Throughout the process of applying and transitioning into graduate school, I’ve gotten very good at singing the praises of it, particularly to folks not in academia. I know why I wanted this job; I know why I still want it. Reasons why I love my job are my gratitude list every day.

So why are we so quick to act like our pain and struggles are symptoms or signs of ingratitude? Why do we feel like we shouldn’t “complain”? In my head, the same philosophy I apply to political issues applies here: critique is care. I do not complain about aspects of my work because I do not want to do my work; I complain because I love it and the world it’s a part of, and I want that world to be better. And, on a less grandiose level, I need to be a human being before I’m any other thing, even an employee at a job I love.

In a job where folks regularly work at all hours of the day, take on others’ commitments, devote themselves to unpaid passion projects, and are expected to perform service that could take every spare moment if we let it, the discussion around balance and self-care can feel deeply performative. We espouse boundaries like logging off for the weekend, but we reward passion that overflows without acknowledging the toll that even wanted work takes on our bodies. Maybe you think you’re not beholden to publication pressure, but you are still inundated with the message that good academics have their toes in many different projects. We hear that we should have hobbies outside of work, but we are praised for our innovation and uniqueness when we make every skill we have marketable. That is not at all to say that when more experienced academics tell people like me (fresh, green, beginner, et cetera) that we should prioritize self care, they are being disingenuous or deceitful. I sincerely believe that we care about each other in this community. We’re just not always willing to confront the parts of care that make us uncomfortable.

One of those parts is disability. Many of us have visible, invisible, and variably visible disabilities and illnesses. Some of us have turned this into a marketable skill, capitalism-style, by using our experience with disability as a part of our work in some way. Some of us try to create intentional separation. I think many of us are constantly adjusting to the way that these parts inevitably get in each other’s way.

At times, to me it feels like the only way to be a disabled person with a job is to pretend not to be disabled when working, or to make being disabled part of your brand. What happens in the middle ground, where your joint pain is so bad you can’t type for the third day in a row, or your brain fog has you re-reading the same paragraph over and over, or your meds were more expensive this month and you can’t afford parking, or your doctor can only see you this month at the same time as an important meeting you already scheduled? Those times when all you want is for this to be easier, for your body to work better, to be able to just rest, to be able to just do your work, to to not have to explain yourself, to not have to make hard choices. Why is it, that in the good, bad, ugly, and neutral of being human beings with bodies, health, experiences, passions, wants, and needs, we burden ourselves with additional guilt and shame about “not being grateful enough”?

I hope part of the positive effect I have on the world is releasing myself and others from that guilt and shame. If nobody’s told you today: No, it isn’t fair. Yes, I believe you. No, it’s not your fault. You deserve to feel safe and productive. You deserve rest and this work, no matter whether you read that fifth paper today or if you spent the past 48 hours only getting up to pee or if you think your disability is starting to be really inconvenient for other people. You belong in this community. Let’s talk about it.