How did I end up here?

I am a young female science professor in a tenure track job at a major research university.  That in itself is both a major accomplishment, and a very rare thing.  I look my age, or maybe a bit younger, and people who don’t know me usually assume I am a student.  New students who enter my office usually cannot hide their surprise upon meeting me, and some people have even asked me where the professor is.  When I first moved into the office, the department asked someone to come clean it after the recently retired prof who used to have the office moved out.  I happened to be there when the cleaning person came by, and she helpfully informed me that “a new professor is moving in” clearly thinking I could not possibly be that person despite being in that office.

Moving around the wider world, I don’t often mention my profession, but it sometimes happens that I meet a new person or strike up a conversation with a stranger, and my profession comes up.  People react with surprise, every time.  Sometimes, with extreme surprise and disbelief, even thinking I am joking.  I am now purposefully vague unless asked specifically about what I do.

All I did was follow what seemed to be the most obvious path at just about every decision point in my life.  I was smart and did well in high school, so I went to college and majored in my favorite subject (a science).  I did well there and liked it, so I went on to grad school.  I did well there and still enjoyed it, so I went off to an academic postdoc, then a faculty job.  I never skipped any grades, spent 4 years in college, 5.5 years getting my Ph.D., and 2 years as a postdoc.  Not so weird for someone who always wanted to be a scientist.

And yet, it’s very lonely where I am now.  My colleagues in my department, while nice people, are almost all men much older than I am.  There is only one other woman besides me in the department, and we are decades apart in age.  The professor closest to me in age in 8 years my senior, and while friendly, we aren’t particularly close.  How did I become such an anomaly, when all I did was follow what seemed like a straight-forward path?

Happy News of the Day

I almost cried on my way to work today because of a story I heard on the radio.  Not about something terrible going on in the world, although there’s plenty of that. No, the story that brought tears to my eyes was about Sesame Street.  Yes, that Sesame Street.

Sesame Street has added a new muppet to the permanent cast, something that doesn’t happen all that often.  The new character is a girl muppet with autism named Julia, who is portrayed as about 4 years old.  She has many of the same characteristics my daughter has, including hand-flapping, echolalia, and other characters have some difficulty getting her attention (for example, they say her name multiple times).  And they made her a GIRL! Most people with autism are male, and while they might not be as happy as I am about this, the idea of having a girl character with autism is just great for my daughter.

More important than the fact that my daughter will now have a muppet on sesame street just like her is the fact that the other kids in her class will see it too.  The show is going to model how to treat children with autism using the new muppet, modeling inclusion and acceptance of typical autism differences.  So I hope this will encourage other children not to make fun of my daughter and children like her, and demystify autism a bit for everyone.

New episodes of Sesame Street featuring Julia will be out in April, and of course my daughter will watch them.  For more info, see the print version of the radio story I heard here: http://www.npr.org/2017/03/20/520577117/julia-a-muppet-with-autism-joins-the-cast-of-sesame-street.

Terrible policies

This week has for me been a week of frustration with policies that clearly don’t make any sense, and that make my situation even more difficult than it already is.

First, I’ve been periodically getting in touch with the university parking office since I started my job to ask for parking reassignment.  I have been assigned a spot in a parking garage that is about a 7 minute walk from my office.  Like most university garages, it seems to have been competing for a “most inefficient” design award, and it can easily take 10 minutes or more to wind up or down the darn thing.  And, the location of the garage adds about 5 blocks of congested downtown driving to my commute each way.

About half of the faculty and staff in my department have permits for the lot just outside our building, which I will call the good parking lot.  The university charges less for these permits than for my garage permit.  This week I complained a bit more loudly to the parking office, including pointing out that because I have a toddler with autism, I sometimes have to leave midday for appointments or urgent issues.  This time I was escalated to the head of university parking – who told me there is nothing they can do.  University policy assigns good parking lot permits based on seniority, and once assigned, they are never revoked.  If a faculty member retires, they can choose to keep their permit – at a retiree price of $24 per year, or essentially free.  We have two retirees in our department who sit on these permits and only use them very rarely – but with pricing like that, why give it up?  I’m 8th in seniority order for a permit currently, in a lot with something like 10 spots.  So I’ll be stuck paying a lot more to park in a ridiculously inconvenient garage while the retired professors get to park right next to the building on the rare occasions they chose to grace us with their presence.  What a wonderful university policy that is.

Second, Husband and I have been preparing for a while for our daughter to turn the big Three-Oh (3.0, that is) because she ages out of the state early intervention program and ages into the public school early childhood program.  The transition is going to bring a lot of changes and stress for all involved.  This week I learned that, like all public schools, the early childhood program that serves toddlers with disabilities is out of session during the summer.  And their summer, for some reason, begins May 8.  So she’ll start this program, be in it for 1.5 months, and then for 3.5 months she’ll get nothing.  No supports, no services, nada, and we’re on our own to arrange care for her.  What preschool wants to take an autistic toddler just for the summer?!  The early intervention program for children under 3 is year-round for obvious reasons, so I was genuinely surprised to learn that the public school program isn’t.  Does my child somehow magically not need autism services over the summer?!  It just doesn’t make sense to me.

 

Liberal elitism and fear of being different

I haven’t written here in a while, not since the 2016 US Presidential election. I was originally a Bernie supporter and then later a Hillary supporter, and I, like many others, felt immense fear at the election of Donald Trump. On election night I sat in bed shaking uncontrollably as it became clear Trump would win. I was terrified but less surprised than most because I had been following FiveThirtyEight’s election coverage for weeks, and they gave Trump roughly a 30% chance of winning.

Trump’s presidency makes me afraid for many, many reasons, not least of which is the fact that he’ll undo the precarious progress made in addressing climate change – progress that was already too little too late. I also fear his clearly bigoted, sexist, Islamophobic, homophobic rhetoric. But the reason I want to write about here is my autistic daughter. Remember when Trump mocked (or did a bad impression of, if you are a Trump supporter) New York Times reporter Serge F. Kovaleski? Mr. Kovaleski has a physical disability that does not affect his brain. Imagine how Mr. Trump or one of his loyal supporters might treat someone with Autism then. I fear that in this new world, people will feel more prejudiced towards those with autism and similar disabilities, as well as more comfortable saying and doing rude things to them, because we no longer need to be “politically correct” or worry about the hurting the “special snowflakes.”

I truly believe my daughter has a lot to contribute to this world. She is delayed in language, and certainly has issues with communication and social interaction. She has sensory meltdowns. But she is also brilliant and is already, at age 2.5, surprising adults with her intelligence and her ability to put ideas together in novel ways. I can’t wait to see what she can do as an adult, because I expect her to be a very out-of-the-box thinker, and people like her have the potential to create big change. But only if society will accept them, only if people will listen instead of dismiss her and make fun of her differences. I’m not asking people to give her lots of special treatment, only to consider my daughter and people like her worthy of being listened to, not made fun of, and yes, treated a bit differently (as much as is required to be polite – for example, not making snide comments about strange sensory behavior in public). It’s not a big request, or at least it wasn’t, but it’s starting to feel less and less likely in a Trump world. I am afraid for her because she is different and being different is now, more than ever, very scary.

I’m also afraid for myself because I am one of the “liberal elites” who is “out of touch” in my “ivory tower.” So I want to use this space to explain that point of view a little bit. I am a scientist and a professor at a flagship state university in the midwest. I spend about half of my time doing scientific research, including training and mentoring the next generation of scientists. I spend the other half of my time teaching, including teaching undergraduate courses and doing public outreach such as radio and magazine interviews, and public lectures and demos at science museums. The research I do is aimed at better understanding certain natural hazards, mainly earthquakes. The end goal, if my career is a successful one, is to make advances in understanding earthquake physics that directly inform earthquake hazard forecasts. These forecasts tell engineers and emergency planners how much shaking to plan for in the event of an earthquake and whether or not to plan for the possibility of a large tsunami. Though I will never (I think) be on the ground pulling survivors from the ruble after a large quake, I nevertheless hope and expect my work to contribute to saving thousands or even millions of lives. But scientific progress is often slow and incremental, and only occasionally flashy enough to make the news. So while it might seem like I, and people like me, are disconnected from the concerns of “regular” people, the reality is I’m working very hard on a project that takes a lot of smart people working hard for a very long time, but our end goal is and always has been saving lives.

I think most “ivory tower” academics could similarly argue that their work is aimed at either saving or improving lives. Even theoretical physicists, because advances in theoretical physics eventually lead, down the line, to life changing inventions (for example, the microwave oven). I hate when people ask theoretical physicists what the practical applications of their work are, because we couldn’t possibly know the practical applications of physics we haven’t even discovered yet. But the biggest, best advances come discovering new physics, even though no one could have told you what they would be ahead of time. Even people in the humanities are largely concerned with saving or improving human lives (I don’t want to spend tons of space here giving examples, and others are more qualified than I am to give humanities examples, but I am confident you can find them if you look). Climate scientists are another great example – they are literally trying to give us the information we need to save the environment, our cities, and many human lives but many in power refuse to listen and many scientists are personally attacked and threatened for it.

As academics, our jobs are very stressful. At best, we get our first permanent jobs around age 30 (referring to a tenure track assistant professorship, optimistic scenario) with the option to fire us unless we hit very difficult targets in 5-7 years. These jobs don’t pay a super high wage, either. In fact academics at the very best universities, many of whom are visionaries in their fields, can’t afford to own homes within communting distance (this is true for Harvard, MIT, Stanford, Oxford, and CalTech to name a few). For state universities like mine, our salaries are public information. I challenge anyone who thinks professors are very highly paid to take a look. We’re (almost) all PhDs, and in private industry, most PhDs are hired with six figure salaries. At my university, new assistant professors are hired in the $50-75k range, and only more senior professors (age 55+ usually) make over $100k. Certainly most of us do OK to well money-wise, but we’re not exactly swimming in wealth and we worked really hard to get where we are. These salaries may seem pretty high to someone in the working class, and I’m not trying to complain that I am paid too little (I’m fine with what I am paid). Rather, I am trying to challenge the notion that academics are among the super elite in terms of income. Most of us are solidly middle to upper-middle class. And that’s only counting those of us who actually got tenure-track or tenured jobs. Many, many more never landed those dream jobs and spend years or even decades serving as very poorly paid adjuncts with no job security whatsoever. (To be fair, these numbers assume no “summer salary”, meaning these numbers are 9 month salaries. Professors can obtain research grants and pay themselves for the summer months, but usually are only paid for 1 or 2 of them. And it’s a myth that we don’t have university work to do over the summer, we all do things like prepare our course materials, advise students, and serve on committees, we’re just not paid to do it. Many, if not most, new professors go without any summer support for the first few years.) For more info on salaries at a variety of universities, see https://data.chronicle.com/.

We’re all intelligent people, and with some exceptions, we’re well-meaning people. We chose to devote our lives to academic study and teaching not because it’s easy, and certainly not because we get paid a ton of money, but because we thought it was important. We do it because we believe we are making significant contributions to society, and because we enjoy the work (largely due to the feeling of making important contributions). So when people dismiss us as “out of touch” and “liberal elites” who don’t care about the “regular people” it’s very disheartening.

When people complain about jobs opportunities shrinking, pay going down, etc., I know those are real concerns that Mr. Trump tapped into with his campaign. I know these problems are real in part because we have them in academia too. Getting a tenure-track job now is more difficult than ever, and in real dollars (adjusted for inflation and local cost of living) academic salaries in many places have gone down. The competition for jobs is so tough that people with truly exceptional qualifications (e.g PhD from Harvard, published 10+ original scientific papers, some highly cited by others) have a hard time landing one of these $60k/year gigs. Many of the academic jobs are increasingly going to immigrants, too, many of whom come to the U.S. on student visas as undergraduate or graduate students. (For the record I am in no way anti-immigration, nor do I have any problem with foreigners getting academic jobs in the U.S., because I think we should hire the best regardless of origin, I am just trying to draw the parallel between the situation in academics and the situation of working class whites). So no, we’re not as out of touch as many people think. Rather, we experience the same issues of increased competition and decreased job opportunities. We’re all in this together, and people really need to stop seeing professors as out of touch liberal elites, because we’re anything but.

Scientific Travel

This week I’ve been attending a scientific meeting.  It’s been a very good meeting both in terms of the things shown and discussed, and in terms of the networking opportunities and collaborative conversations I have had.  But it’s brought to the forefront of my mind the issue of travel when I have an autistic toddler.

I try to reduce how many meetings I go to every year, because it’s always hard on my daughter and husband.  This year, it’ll end up being 3 meetings, all of which will be 1 week or less.  At least in my field, this is fairly low.  An informal survey of colleagues gave numbers in the range of 3-6 trips/year, with some of those being multi-week long workshops or scientific expeditions.

Meeting travel is fundamental to my job in a few ways.  It’s key to keeping up with the current research, to getting my own research out there, and to building and maintaining collaborative relationships.  Reputation really matters in science, especially as I contemplate going up for tenure in a few years.  And reputation is largely built at meetings.  Meetings are also the place where I get to concentrate on just science for a few intense days.  95% or more of my original scientific ideas come to me during meetings as I absorb other people’s results and have in-depth scientific conversations.  I always come home re-invigorated and excited to do new research.

On the personal front though, it’s difficult.  People sometimes to say to me “just bring your husband and daughter along with you!”  Some people do this, and in fact, we did try it once.  But as anyone with a kid knows, travel with your kid is hard.  Travel with an autistic kid is really really hard.  She can’t sleep in strange spaces.  She melts down in loud, crowded environments.  She stops eating pretty much entirely when she travels.  It’s bad enough that we’ve contemplated refusing to travel with her at all, even to visit relatives.  So bringing the kiddo is not an option.  At home, she and daddy get along OK without me for a few days.  But of course it’s much harder on daddy doing it all by himself.  And for the first day or two, there are usually more meltdowns and more defiance as she realizes mommy isn’t around.

So there is a clear personal-professional tension that comes up every time there’s a meeting in my field.  Like all things, it’s about priorities and balance.  I do wonder if meeting travel will get easier (ha) or harder (probably) as my kiddo gets older.  If any readers out there have any advice or personal experiences balancing these issues, I would love to hear it.

Letting the diagnosis sink in

Even though my daughter was diagnosed with autism almost 8 months ago, I find that I am still processing the news.  Despite creating this blog, and despite the post I wrote for Break the Parenting Mold in which I complained about others trying to convince me my daughter doesn’t have autism, I sometimes doubt the diagnosis myself.  Sometimes I think maybe she really isn’t autistic, that she’s just a late bloomer, and it’s all a mistake.  Or that she’ll be one of those kids with “optimal outcomes” who lose the autism diagnosis.   After all, she has made huge strides since beginning intensive ABA, and her therapists say she is the fastest learner they have ever seen.  I’ve had doctors comment that she is “clearly very intelligent.”

But inevitably, just as I’m thinking that maybe my child doesn’t have autism but is really just a smart late bloomer, something reminds me that she is in fact autistic.  She might start rocking back and forth or flapping her hands in excitement, or refuse to respond to her name, or refuse to get out of the car in the driveway when we usually do that in the garage, or insist her milk is served correctly or there will be a major meltdown.  (It’s often unclear to me what’s incorrect about the milk being served, leading to a frustrated, super mad toddler screaming at me and throwing the milk, and a confused mommy knowing that she in fact really does want it, and trying different ways of serving it until one works.  Most recently, the thing that worked was putting the milk in the lowest part of the fridge door and leaving the fridge open so she could get it.)

So my daughter has autism, and probably always will.  Therapy has certainly been a huge help, but her stimming behaviors are still prominent, she still has problems with social interaction, she still melts down when routines are changed.

I think a lot of the difficulty in processing the diagnosis is confusion over what it really means to begin with.  I’ve read the DSM-V definition, and my daughter certainly fits.  But what really is autism, other than just some checklist?  Autism is different for everyone so generalized descriptions are hard.  Because of that it’s easy to wonder if there really even is a definition, if it’s even really a “thing.”  It’s difficult to wrap my mind around what this diagnosis actually means in terms of what my child experiences, how to best parent her, and what her long-term outlook looks like.  The parenting one is especially hard, because we are first time parents and there’s no book for autistic parenting.  Or rather, there are plenty of books, but as every case of autism is different, they aren’t necessarily applicable to us.  I wonder if my guesses about what the best parenting methods are might make the difference between a child prodigy and someone who needs round the clock care as an adult.  I am at once grateful to live in a time when autism is recognized and some effective treatments are available, but also disappointed that there isn’t more progress in explaining autism, wider variety of treatments available, and more knowledge about how to tailor treatments to specific children.

I suspect I’ll still be processing the diagnosis and figuring out what autism really means for my family for a while to come.

Maternity Leave

As I mentioned in a previous post, my husband and I are thinking of having a second child.  It’s been coming up in conversation between us more and more lately, and we’ve both caught ourselves aww-ing over stranger’s babies a lot.  We even have an extra bedroom in our home that we refer to as the nursery or the “baby’s room” in anticipation of baby #2.  For various personal and professional reasons we aren’t planning to get pregnant until early 2017, but clearly we are thinking about it a lot.

On Friday I was discussing this a bit with a colleague and friend, who is also currently the only other female professor in my department.  I realized that since she doesn’t have kids, there was a good chance this department has never had a faculty member be pregnant and take maternity leave.  There have been other female faculty members in the past, but none was here more than a few years.  So I asked and yup, if I become pregnant it will be a department first.  There have been female grad students who had babies, but not faculty.

I don’t expect any issues surrounding this however.  The university has a good maternity leave policy for faculty, and our current department head is very supportive of work-family balance issues.  I am entitled to 12 weeks paid leave, and knowing my colleagues I don’t think anyone would really complain about it.  But it’s strange to think I would be something of a trailblazer just for having a baby.  Newsflash to science departments: young women can be science professors AND have babies too.

I already went through this with my first baby. I was a postdoc, one of very few women in that department.  They had never had a pregnant postdoc before.  I had a prestigious postdoctoral fellowship paid from an endowed fund.  I caused some headaches for the department and many meetings of committee that was in charge of the fund, which included the department head, just to discuss how to handle my case.  It apparently had never occurred to anyone that a postdoc brought in under this fund might become, gasppregnant!  In the end they decided to give me up to 4 months unpaid leave, since by university policy they had to.  Then they suggested I use my short-term disability insurance in order to get 55% pay for 6 weeks, and suggested I could take my 4 weeks of combined vacation and sick leave (paid at 100%) as well.  So no real maternity leave, but it was something anyway.  Luckily my postdoc advisor was also very understanding and supportive, and really didn’t mind if I needed to take a little bit of extra time off here and there.

All-in-all, my experiences haven’t been that bad.  Certainly it could have been much worse and likely is for many academic women.  But it’s just a bit mind-boggling that just having children causes me to set a bunch of new precedents within my departments.  Being a trailblazer in this area was never my intention, but if I’m the first, so be it.  Hopefully my forcing these departments to deal with this issue will help others who come along after me.

 

Probabilities

This post is going to be more philosophical.  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about probabilities and how it seems like a lot of events with a probability of roughly 1-3% keep happening.  For example, my daughter was born early due to PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membranes; my water broke at 33.5 weeks).  I had no risk factors or warning signs for this, making my risk for sudden PPROM roughly 2%.

My daughter has autism.  We have absolutely no family history of autism, and she is a girl (autism is much more common in boys).  The probability that she would have autism given this profile is roughly 1%.

A few other things I don’t want to write about have also happened recently with similar nominal odds attached to them.  It’s made me think that it isn’t so crazy to worry about things that have a 1% chance of occurring, since in my experience plenty of them occur.  A 99% chance no longer seems like a sure thing.

I realized though that we all take many, many 1% or less gambles every day and usually we win, meaning usually we are in the 99% (about, say, 99% of the time!).  Once I started thinking about all the thing that could have happened but didn’t, I realized that maybe it’s not that strange that I “lost” two 1-3% chances.  After all, there is probably at least a 1% chance that I would get in a car accident sometime in the last year.  Didn’t happen.  Many other pregnancy complications that didn’t happen to me had 1% or higher chances of occurring.  There’s probably a roughly 1-3% chance that my husband or I would have developed cancer by this time in our lives, and that hasn’t happened.

For every real-life gamble lost, every disaster or bad diagnosis, there are many more gambles won and disasters averted.  When something bad happens, it’s easy to ask “why me?” but maybe it’s better to remember the things that didn’t happen instead.  For every 100 1% chances you take, you should expect to lose one.  Most of the 1% chances we take we don’t even realize we’re taking, so it always seems like a shock when that 1% thing happens to us.  But we all have to lose sometime.  Really, these things should come as a shock, because if we spent all our time anticipating all the 1% gambles we could lose we’d all go crazy.  I guess we just have to expect the occasional shock in life.

When I look at things this way, having PPROM and a chid with high-functioning autism seems pretty good, compared to all the other disasters that could have happened.

Stimming

Stimming is autism terminology for self-stimulatory behavior, or anything that autistic people do to stimulate the senses that they find soothing or enjoyable.

My daughter has a number of stimming behaviors that we see on a daily basis.  For example, she often spins in circles reciting the alphabet, or bounces up and down on her heels while counting.  When excited, she rocks back and forth rapidly.  When sitting down, it looks like she is energetically rowing an invisible boat.

My husband and I very much subscribe to the idea that stimming is not to be discouraged, but rather accepted as part of who our daughter is and even celebrated.  Stimming helps her calm down when she is bombarded with too much sensory input.  A common misconception about ABA therapy is that the therapists will punish or prevent stimming, but our experience has been that the therapists accept and wait out stimming behaviors.  Her therapy team is completely on board with our attitude.

The exception to the rule is when stimming becomes self-harming, which is unfortunately common.  In my daughter’s case, she used to bang her head against the wall when she was tired.  We did discourage that behavior and it has since naturally stopped.  In the past few weeks, a new behavior has emerged.  She now smacks herself in the face, usually in the forehead area.  She even leans into the hits.  I am torn about this, because she doesn’t seem to be causing any viable damage (skin looks normal) and I doubt she is hitting herself hard enough to cause any internal injury.  But if I allow this to continue, who knows what it might turn into, plus it’s just disturbing to see your child repeatedly hit themselves.  She also has a very high pain tolerance, seeming to not even notice falls and scrapes that would have other toddlers bawling, so I worry she may hurt herself and not notice.  I’m going to ask her doctor about this at her next appointment, but it’s a month away.

Kiddo also enjoys makes lines out her toys, like many autistic children.  I’m not sure if this counts as stimming but I’m including it here because she made some nice lines this weekend and I thought it was cute.  Notice how the boats have been given their own line, and all the airplanes are sorted out in a pile at the back.

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Keeping it all going

No one expects that being a professor and a mom to an autistic toddler is easy.  It really isn’t, but not always in the ways people might expect.

Caring for the autistic kid is actually probably easier than most people think, at least in our case.  Our daughter is very high functioning, and other than some sensory related meltdowns, is a fairly happy kid.  She gets frustrated when she can’t communicate something she wants, but so does every toddler.  In fact, every weekday evening from 5:30-7:00 PM we have our ABA implementers around to help out.  Lately kiddo has wanted to do her ABA therapy in her basement playroom – which is wonderful.  She and the implementer stay down there and husband and I can make dinner and eat together in peace.  This is a recent development, it used to be that kiddo was constantly running away from therapy to me and demanding to be picked up.  So things on that front have gotten easier.

On the work front, it’s summer, so that means no teaching at the moment.  But stress levels are still very high.  As my mother keeps reminding me, I have a proposal deadline coming up. Seriously, when do parents stop nagging you about homework?  Apparently not when you become a professor, at least in my case.  Note to other profs: Do not tell your parents about impending proposal deadlines.  I don’t know why I ever did.

Of course I also have to prep my fall class, get a paper out, advise a student, and a few other things.  Oh, and I’ve recently had my own health scare that is most likely nothing, but has resulted in me having a TON of doctor’s appointments and tests.  Last week I had a cardiologist appointment, a kidney ultrasound, and a cardiac MRI, all of which showed me to be perfectly healthy.  But it’s an extra drain on my time and stress levels, and the docs want me to do more tests, ugh.

So with all this, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that some things slip through the cracks occasionally.  This week, I managed to annoy the front office staff of my department because I was supposed to sign a form by a specific date and I went to sign it the day after the deadline.  The deadline was pretty much the same day we got the forms because of the end of the fiscal year.  Apparently they were looking for me on Tuesday to get this signature, but I had some other stuff to take care of on Tuesday and wasn’t around.  So when I talked to them on Wednesday I got comments like “No one ever knows where you are, you’re not around.”  And other annoyed comments.  At first I was embarrassed but then I realized a few things: 1) I’m a professor.  I don’t work for or report to the office staff.  and 2) It’s summer, which means the university isn’t paying me for my time.  Many people may not know this, but professors actually aren’t paid for the summer months unless we find our own money through grants.  So I feel like they can’t really fault me for not being around for a day, after all, I’m still working for the university over the summer without pay from them.  (I did have 1 month of pay from a grant, but 2 months are completely unpaid for me).

Perhaps part of the problem is imposter syndrome, and I certainly have some of that.  It probably doesn’t help that I am female and younger than both of our front office employees, by a decent margin.  In fact I’m younger than some of the graduate students, which can make it a bit awkward if I try to exercise my professorial authority.  Also, I am someone who is very easily embarrassed and I suffer from a high level of anxiety, for which I take medication but it’s still a problem for me.  So for now, as silly as it is, I’m avoiding the front office completely.