Saturday, December 10, 2016

Becoming DR. Morales

Despite obtaining my Ed.D. in May of 2014, I only began using my academic title this summer.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

For two years, I shied away from using the title because
- It was important for me to remain humble
- it felt pretentious
- I didn't want to be judged or held to a different standard
- I didn't want to be on the receiving end of jealousy or pettiness
- I thought it distanced me from the community I served
- I thought it made me less relatable
- I didn't want to alienate anyone
- "Dr. Morales" didn't feel like me

"It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us."

Some of my friends and colleagues insisted on using my title, as they said it was inspiring. They encouraged me to have students refer to me by my title, saying that it was important for our students to see a Latina "Doctor." I heard from many women, who said that they used their academic title purposefully and politically, as a way of anchoring themselves in otherwise misogynistic spaces.

"We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?"

Still, I was uncomfortable. I didn't want to stand out. At my students' graduation ceremonies, I wore the same black robe that all my colleagues wore, despite having my own doctoral robe.

"Actually, who are you not to be?"

I decided to let some of my sparkle shine, and this June I sat on stage at my students' graduation, wearing my bright red puffy doctoral hat. I felt confident and accomplished, and received a lot of love from colleagues and students, who told me "It makes me want to cry (in a good way) to see you wearing that," and "you make me so proud!"

"Your playing small does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you."

I decided that it was time to be unapologetically me. Hiding my accomplishments to ease others' egos wasn't really working, as it didn't feel like people were fully seeing me or allowing me to contribute in all the ways I knew I could. 

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

This July, I began my career in school administration, introducing myself to students, parents, and staff as "Dr. Morales." I shared my personal narrative and academic and professional trajectory, and I encouraged students and teachers to pursue opportunities that would open the world to them. "Apply to this National Geographic fellowship - here are some pictures of my experience as a fellow in Iceland!" "Apply to this Earthwatch fellowship - I was once able to go to Brazil and hold an anaconda!"

I previously downplayed these experiences, but by talking about them, I was able to help others dream and pursue their own passions. Students and staff reached out for support with their endeavors, calling me inspiring, a role model, and a mentor.

I am committed to the personal, professional, and academic development of the students and staff I work with, and I've learned to allow myself to shine, to set an example for the generations of leaders that will come after me. 

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