I decided to post this unposted journal entry from July (with modifications) because I had a conversation at ASSETS this week with a very senior researcher (who I have looked up to for years) and they remarked that they weren’t sure they belonged. They didn’t know where they felt a sense of community or fit.

I was honestly so surprised to hear this from someone who I absolutely thought of as being part of the community. I look up to them. Their work is stupendous! They’re kind and smart and beloved. But being in community is very different than knowing you are in community. I’ll reflect on a few things about myself in this, and then poke around some stuff I’ve been stewing on for a long time on this topic:

I don’t fit

I wrote a post over on bluesky about fitting in:

One of the smaller reasons that impostor syndrome might be a common experience in academia is simply because you *have* to craft yourself into something, which means that whatever you once were isn't who you are and isn't who you're going to be. Awareness of that can feel self-alienating.

— Frank ⌁ (@frank.computer) October 23, 2024 at 9:52 AM

One of the most brutal self-realizations I’ve had since starting this PhD journey is that nothing, no matter how nobly said or done, will quiet those doubts that I have about whether or not I deserve a space in this world. I feel like I don’t deserve anything because I just don’t feel like I fit.

I desperately want to bring joy into the world. I want to tell my stories. I want to play. I want to take care of the things I love. I want to tend to my people. I want to grow old with my friends.

But I don’t feel like I deserve these things. And part of me thinks that if there was a Frank-sized hole somewhere for me to fit (and I knew about it), then I’d have a good enough reason to keep doing my best and taking all of these chances in life.

I was raised poor, by a single working mother who is disabled. My father has been homeless ever since his mother passed away and he moved out of her apartment and onto the streets about 20 years ago.

I’m a small town, white trash, disabled queer.

The places I’ve been to in my adult life don’t fit the models of where I came from that I’ve built over my life. “Making it” has put me in places where I realize, “oh, this is what good people deserve to have.”

And I’m toying with the word “fit” here, because I understand that “fitting in” is a social act, but also recognize that I don’t feel like I fit in because my mental model is underfitting. I’ve had bad “training data” (my life) and don’t know how to handle new places and opportunities very well.

Surviving does things to your sense of worth

And not only do I have impostor syndrome, feel alienated, and like a poor fit, but I have survivor’s guilt too. This also keeps me from feeling like I belong.

I have always doubted whether I am worthy of taking up space and resources from this world. I’ve always felt a sense of deep shame for continuing to live, waking up every day with indecision about why I am still moving forward. And the fact that I am at a great school, in a great program, with a great advisor all encourage me to pursue my dreams. But this is haunted by the fact that I believe that I stole a seat from someone else who deserved it more. Someone else should have been able to pursue their dreams too. Why did it have to be me?

Surviving a rough childhood, surviving a terrible disease, surviving the dramatic closing of my undergrad institution, surviving various jobs, and then surviving in a PhD all make me feel as though I’ve been given too much. Where I’m at is a place that belongs either to someone who doesn’t need to work so hard to survive or someone who was like me, and needs an opportunity to finally get a break in life.

Why do I get to have a beautiful home, loving wife, perfect dog and cat, friends who love me, and the chance to do work that excites me? Why do I get quiet mornings when I can make a little espresso for the person I love, cortado for myself, and a chance to even write this journal? Why do I get to have these things?

And as an existentialist (and absurdist), the real answer to those questions is that we construct the “why” of life. “Why?” is a question that we craft a posteriori. “Why?” is the essence of life, and “existence precedes essence” as the philosophers say. So perhaps constructivism and absurdism can help us answer all of these impossible questions.

Whether I belong or not, I’m responsible now

And as dark and heavy as this journaling has been, I’ve realized a few things:

• I’ll probably never feel like I belong in the present moments of my life. I’ll probably always have to reflect and recapitulate belonging years later. “Oh, maybe then and there really was a place made for me,” I’ll say 10 years after.
• Right now, other people around me feel the same way I do. If I get out of my solipsism for just a moment, perhaps I can work to make them-shaped holes, so they can feel like they belong with me and in the spaces I inhabit.
• I have the chance to build community (or even communitas) if I want it. I may even be responsible for this in my life now.

One of the luckiest breaks I ever got was getting fired from the pizza shop I worked at when I was 21. That lit a fire that broke my fragile sense of self at the time, but made me desperate enough to apply to college. The next lucky break was getting in. And the lucky break after that was a research experience by the NSF (an “REU”) that made me fall in love with research and data visualization. Then came Northwestern, then Visa, and then my PhD. All largely thanks to luck.

And now I have the power in my life to think about how I can give other people opportunities too. Sure, maybe I still don’t feel like I belong. But maybe there are more important things that I can do now that I’ve never been in a position to do before…

Help people know they belong. The kindest people I know tend to feel like they don’t and those are the ones I want to spend my time with. Those are my people, if anyone is. I don’t feel like I belong either, so we already have something in common.

At ASSETS this year, I put together an impromptu lunch table for anyone who does or is interested in doing data-related accessibility work. And we filled the table.

I truly don’t feel like I belong. And I don’t really know how to make myself feel like I belong somewhere. But everyone who was at that table belonged to be there because I invited them. We have the power to help other people feel like they’re part of something with us. And nothing builds a sense of belonging better than receiving an invitation. And nothing builds community better than an invitation accepted.