Permanent Head Damage (AKA, PhD)

On May 13, 2022, I was awarded my PhD in English. But for me, the letters PHD mean much more than a degree: they equate three types of Permanent Head Damage.

Permanent=no going back

Head=brain chemistry has been changed by mental, physical, or emotional trauma

Damage=what happened hurts. It may continue to hurt the rest of your life

PHD.

Brain Damage Type 1: Trauma

As I mentioned, I did a PhD in English during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. My areas of research were composition pedagogy, writing as healing, and life writing. Just like it sounds, Life Writing is an umbrella term for all kinds of personal writing; it also covers the kind of writing I’ve done for a long time. Through my research, I made exciting discoveries about the therapeutic functions of life writing; and for my dissertation, I wrote about the benefits of including life writing in the college classroom. For one, I argued that life writing was especially important now, given the increased rates of mental illness these days.

Although my PhD committee directed me to keep my dissertation professional, I very much personalized the topic. How could I not? All throughout my PhD, I struggled with my mental health, as did much of the world. You can read more about that in my only post from 2020.

After researching life writing and healing, I have learned that the root of my anxiety and depression is probably trauma. My brain and my nervous system have never quite forgotten the trauma of earlier life. This is one type of head damage I can speak to: the long-lasting effects of trauma. I still deal with anxiety almost daily, but I’m thankful for many tools I didn’t always have that are helping me through. One of those tools continues to be life writing.

Brain Damage Type 2: the Academic Degree (PhD)

Another type of head damage I can now appreciate is that of doing a PhD. An old joke among academics is that PhDs cause Permanent Head Damage. Now I can attest. Brains change permanently after years of information overload.

Previously a stay-at-home mom, previously a lady who didn’t turn on the news, and previously a high school English teacher who did not understand that sex and gender were two different things (which obviously complicates teaching pronoun usage), I had no idea of the sledgehammers of enlightenment that were about to drop. Entering grad school in 2019, I soon stumbled out of a sheltered forest into the raging streets of Minneapolis post George Floyd (not literally, but through angry class discussions), and the contentious election of 2020. Lots of crazy things were happening in the country and the world–not entirely unprecedented–but my attention to the events was unprecedented.

How thankful I am that my family started visiting a new church in February 2020, several weeks before COVID hit, where my pastor, Philip Sizemore, spoke plainly and directly about world events, and related these events to the Christian life. Now that I was hearing the secular side of the issues in grad school, I needed help making sense of things. It didn’t take writing a dissertation to figure out that our country had turned some drastic corners, from which there would be no going back.

Speaking of dissertations, while I was outwardly writing about life writing in the classroom, I realized I was also writing through numerous personal issues related to media. No, not the news media, but the popular culture I consumed for much of my life through books, movies, music, etc. Throughout my dissertation process, I came to realize that such media consumption can constitute another type of brain damage. I’m not sure what to call this one, but Pastor Sizemore once used the phrase “a seared conscience.”

Brain Damage Type 3: A Seared Conscience

Much of my life has been spent consuming popular culture through classic literature and other media. My mom was an English major who filled our lives with books and library visits. My dad was an avid music lover and movie watcher. There was no shortage of things to watch, read, or listen to in my childhood home, though we were poor in other ways. I grew to love reading and music, and then I completed a BA in English literature, followed by an MA and then a PhD in English.

However, now at the end of it all, I have concluded the following: over these many years of consuming media, I damaged my brain. I would have been much better off without a lot of what is considered “good” media by much of the world.

Okay, you say. So what? What’s the bottom line of this dreary exposition on brain damage?

Takeaways for the Brain Damaged Among Us

The first conclusion I’ve come to is that I can treat and negate brain damage somewhat, but I cannot totally fix it. It will be permanent until Jesus comes back to give the world a new start. And that leads to takeaway number two.

Namely, while we’re still on this earth, it’s good and healthy to talk about permanent brain damage. By that, I mean it’s healthy to talk about life’s hurts. One thing I gained from grad school was many diverse perspectives of others. Oppression, racism, sexism, and similar terms were constant topics of discussion. Through many readings and class discussions, I learned much about traumatic experiences I have not personally lived, and I’m grateful for that broadening, and I will carry those perspectives with me.

I’ll say it again: Everyone’s story deserves to be heard. We don’t often get to choose our stories, and stories that include trauma especially need to be talked about and heard–that’s how healing happens! Sometimes issues even need to be addressed at a societal level, even need to be honored with righteous anger–amen for justice!

But then, after honoring the story, after angering at the appropriate targets, if we actually want healing, a shift must occur.

The third takeaway I have from my PhD is that it’s not healthy to stay angry. It’s not wise to resist healing and reconciliation. However, the mindset I encountered while completing my degree–I’m referring to the mindset of many intellectuals–resists reconciliation. This mindset wants to stay angry, and I contend that this mindset points to some very deep hurts that many will not admit. Rather than looking inward at the pain–a brave and difficult thing to do–this mindset deflects the personal introspection that would actually heal, and instead points fingers at systems and histories and other humans. Sadly, this mindset wants to insist that if there’s a problem, it’s not with me, it’s with somebody else.

While there are a lot of somebodies to blame–and sometimes rightly so–I think the healthiest, wisest line of attack must also include humility. True intellectuals will embrace a healthy skepticism both of the world and of themselves; they will accept that “I” am not beyond criticism. True intellectuals will realize that, even though the world may be an unjust place (of course it is!), perhaps I might need to do some personal growing and changing and healing along with everyone else.

Sadly, this is not an attitude many in our world seem willing to adopt these days–perhaps because this requires submission to a higher power, and admission that we are not ultimately in charge of our own lives (nor are we capable of fixing the world’s problems). Far from it. Sadly, when we don’t submit to a higher power, we cannot ultimately help ourselves with our brain damage. Worse yet, by not getting help for our pain, we often perpetuate the damage in others.

After my Permanent Head Damage, I have emerged with a final conclusion: a person can look really smart in the eyes of the world, yet still miss out on the only knowledge that really matters–knowledge of the Author of Universe. Personally speaking, I hope that conclusion never applies to me. Now that I am a “professional intellectual,” I hope and pray I will always use my hard-earned knowledge to serve and obey Him. After all, He’s the only one who can permanently heal my, and your, and the world’s damage (Revelation 20). Now that sounds way better than any solutions I’ve heard down here.

The Day after Disappointment

What do you do after you pour your heart and soul into something—only to fail?

“I’m confused,” I wrote yesterday to Jim, my former thesis advisor. I had promised to let him know the outcome of my applications, both the MFA and the PhD.

Both outcomes were the same.

“I thought I’d be getting a terminal degree and teaching college for my life’s work,” I wrote. But it seems God has other plans.

So, what do you do the day after disappointment?

Well, after a little weeping and gnashing of teeth, I sat at my computer and got down to business. I have an almost-finished magazine article I’ve been putting off for over a year—and I have known where I can get it published—but I just haven’t finished it. Today I will finish and submit it.

This week I am also going to get back to the “before-thirty” manuscript I’ve been putting off. And lying in bed this morning I was hit with the possibilities of e-publishing some even older work.

It was like some barrier had been removed; some permission given to just do it, damn it—stop waiting for someone to wipe my nose and just move on, already!

A cocoon was what I wanted, I think. Just a few more years before I grew up. But even with the benefit of one night’s sleep, now it seems kinda silly.

I’m almost twenty-nine. I’ve been in school for about six of my eight years of marriage. I already have a book forthcoming with a co-author. I’ve been published in three magazines. And already for several years I’ve been learning about creative writing on my own.

Oh, and just one more thing. Time will tell, but was it a coincidence that yesterday, after opening my mail, and after crying my tears, my queasiness didn’t go away? Was it a coincidence that I also woke up feeling nauseated again this morning, and that I’ve felt that way for the past four days?

If it’s what I think it might be…well, that would be just too clear—and it would carry the kind of poetry this writer delights in—an extra special way for God to tell me that, even in the wake of disappointment, He knows the plans He has for me (Jer. 29:11).

Note: On the day after the day after, I find it was just a false alarm. Oh well. God gave me a distraction to numb the blow. In any case, I still believe He knows the plans He has for me!

The Question Every Young Couple Must Answer

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“When are you having kids?” my high school students always used to ask. Why they were so interested in this detail of my life I never understood—much like I didn’t understand when family members or anyone else asked. The question used to come frequently when we were first married, and then, as year after year slid by with no child, but only new feats such as a bachelor’s degree, teaching job, and master’s degree, the question all but went away, and with it, my child consciousness.

But when I got to my first semester of grad school in 2010, I had an epiphany. Sitting in class at that time as both student and teacher, I was to finally understand why students and so many others wonder that question.           

It happened one night in literary theory class, when my professor, trying to explain the infant stages of Freudian development admitted, “Well, the research says this [insert windy explanation of anal and oral stages]; but I don’t have kids, so I don’t really know firsthand.” That’s all. One comment. Then he continued his lecture on Freud. But I was stopped.

Before that night, he’d been Mr. Know-It-All.

Now, he was just a man out of touch with reality…who, perhaps, had never changed a diaper.

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(Photo from giftsfordadtobe.com)

What did my professor have? He had his books and his scholarly journals and his research (and with those, late night library visits while bedecked in baseball caps [to blend with students, he’d told us]), but what, beyond that? He didn’t have a wife. Or kids. Or religion. (Lots of grad students and professors end up losing their religion, I was also to find out.) The closest relationships he had seemed to be with us, his students. And he was great with us, very gentle and caring, and genuinely concerned for our welfare.

But in general…in general, I had to ask myself that night: Is this really the life? And more importantly, is this the life I want for myself? Do I want to be like this professor someday, standing before a class of adults (or high school kids, for that matter), in my forties or above, with no life experience to share with them, besides what I had read in books?

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This was a profound moment for me. I journaled at length about it the very next day. And I talked to my husband. Was I missing something here? Was I about to embark on the wrong path, this path to the PhD? What did it mean that I was having all of these questions?

Mind you, I was hardly ready to toss the birth control, quit teaching, and/or withdraw from my graduate classes. Just then I wouldn’t admit that I wanted kids. Because I wasn’t actually sure I wanted them.

But one thing I now understood: If I had kids, I would become a more interesting professor…and a more interesting person. I would become more credible. More human. And that alone was something worth considering.