By Joycelyn Moody - JMoody's Musings

Innately, I’m a thinker and planner. As an academic, professor, researcher, author, editor, and entrepreneur—not to mention mate and mother—I’ve designed plans for all sorts of institutions and organizations. I’m also a coach in part because I love saying, “What I/we/you need to do is….”
 
But it turns out I don’t know how to rest. Recently, I happened on Alex Soojung-Kim Pang’s book Rest—OK, OK: “I admit I am powerless over lay productivity studies–that my obsession with happiness psychology and neuroscience for amateurs has become unmanageable.” Until Pang, I didn’t even know one needed to plan to rest. For all my knowledge as a teacher and scholar and as a professional coach, I have to learn how to rest if I’m going to restore my energy. Which I now admit, too, I need to do.
 
I was in the bookstore a few nights before Christmas to buy a Scrabble™ game. A friend had agreed to try out a new ziti recipe for me if I’d also let him beat me at Scrabble. I’m lousy at most board and parlor games, so I’m inured to losing. Stunningly uninspired to fight to win. The ziti was my prize, so getting whupped at Scrabble™, Shit Happens™, Spades, any game—well, yawn.
 
Once upon a time, I was competitive. I’d be like, “C’mon!” and “Bring it!” Once the poster child of high accomplishments, I am worn out. Folks, I am finally what not saying “No” often enough, what being one soldier of a tiny army raging against anti-Blackness, looks like. I couldn’t take on another task if I wanted, and in the haze of this malaise, I don’t want to. I’m shedding responsibilities like nobody’s business (that’s a pun). You couldn’t pay me to _____. If my life depended on it, I couldn’t _____. You get the idea.
 
And now I am even saddled with the work of planning deliberate rest, if I am to follow what seems the common sense—wisdom, really—of Pang’s book, Rest: Why You Get More Done When You Work Less. (Note my critiques, though: Pang, who cites the restoration processes of numerous White, male creative persons, doesn’t seem to have met even one poor or Black person or working woman ever, and throughout Rest, mind-wandering is advocated more than mindfulness; notably, meditation doesn’t appear in the index.) I urgently need to return to the Elohee Center and Bald Mountain and our WellAcademic retreat in the worst way. And I’ll get back there next May.
 
Meanwhile, I am resting and wrestling with Pang’s concepts of “deliberate rest” and “deep play.” Pang defines the latter as sustained rest in scheduled creative activities involving physical movement such as sailing, skiing, landscape painting, foreign traveling, or mountain climbing. Uh-huh, my new hobbies might be more like finally creating a household budget we can stick to and dragging a Black woman friend with me to join the local group meditation center, to recover from over-exertion, to rehabilitate.
 
Deliberate rest takes the less costly form of planned, conscientious, significant time away from whatever constitutes one’s work, again rest being a conscious and active goal. Pang offers one example in Charles Darwin’s afternoon walks of several miles, around his own back yard, after his morning labors. Now that I can do.
 
And I need to, to regenerate not so much to rejoin the too-tiny righteous army but to be able to remember how awful depletion and over-commitment feel. I need deliberate rest now because I am in fact joyless. For my many self-care rituals have proved inadequate against the number of heavy stressors I’ve faced recently. My habits of daily meditation, regular massage and reflexology, acupuncture, sufficient sleep, an 80% vegetarian-Mediterranean diet, investment in hobbies such as reading for pleasure simply haven’t been enough to sustain the physical and emotional power I believe define me.
 
So, I must rest. But first, I must learn how to rest.

Until next time,

By Nichole Guillory (WellAcademic Guest Blogger) - Mothering in Color

This past summer, I received an invitation from a leading scholar in my field to do a keynote address for a conference where other leading scholars showcase their work. He had asked before, and at that time, I said no. I said no, not because I didn’t want to do the keynote, but frankly, I didn’t even think I—or my body of work—was worthy of the ask.

Let me say that again. I did not even think I was worthy of the ask. Sad, right? Like too many other Black women in the academy subjected to consistent devaluation as scholars, I have struggled with/against Impostor Syndrome since I entered the academy as a professor more than twelve years ago.

I am the poster child for what psychologists identify as a condition of self-perceived intellectual phoniness. Doubting my accomplishments, thinking I am not deserving of my achievements, fearing exposure as an intellectual fraud—this is the internal script that has been on constant replay in my head. To this day, when people I meet for the first time ask me what I do for a living, I don’t say “professor.” I say I teach. The next question is invariably about where I teach, and when I tell them my university’s name, they tell me that I’m a professor. Did you catch that? Perfect strangers have to tell me that I’m a professor.

So when I received the invitation to do a keynote this time, my first reply was not just no, but hell no.  Doing a keynote with this group in particular, my closest colleagues in curriculum theory, engendered my worst fears about myself. I do not belong in this space. I am not a real theorist. I work in teacher education, not in a curriculum theory program. What someone else has to say is far more important than I what I have to offer.

I didn’t think that I could stand in front of large room full of scholars whose work I had read and studied. I felt like that they would see me just as I saw myself—an academic fraud, a phony, an impostor. I didn’t send the “regrets” email right away though. I told myself that I would sleep on the invitation and reply the following day.

Some of you reading this who are not Black women scholars may also feel like impostors in your workplaces too, but I just want to make clear that for marginalized groups, feeling like you are fraud and are not deserving of your achievements is often intensified by systemic racism, sexism, cis-genderism, and ableism, to name just a few. Systemic practices in the academy which value us for our service more than our scholarship, for our obedience more than our critiques, for our silence more than our voices are dehumanizing and do real damage to our productivity, not to mention our physical, emotional, and spiritual health and well-being.

So back to my decision about the keynote. I eventually said yes for one reason only. I am trying to teach my son to practice bravery when situations arise where he might be fearful. I don’t want him to allow fear to drive his decision-making like it did (does) mine for a lot of my life. I am not a perfect mother, but I am always an honest one, even when it’s hard. So I figured that I could not say no to the keynote and then turn around and tell him to say yes to doing things he fears. 

Mothering always pushes my boundaries. I’m not always grateful for the nudges, but this time proved differently.
The writing of the keynote—not delivering it in front of an audience—was the hardest part for me, mostly to calm the noisy voices of doubt and fear long enough to produce thoughtful and provocative analysis. I learned that I write best with an academic babysitter, which Roxanne reframes as writing “in community,” and without my writing partners—Roxanne and Megan—the voices would have won. The second hardest part was to quiet my comparison mind because conference organizers sandwiched my talk in between keynotes by two popular big name scholars whose work I admired from afar for all of my career. I told myself that they were the badasses, not me; that people would come to hear what they had to say, not me.

Having given the keynote last week, I now have the space to recognize that saying yes was one of the best decisions I made for myself (and ultimately for my son). Not because what I said was positively received, but because of the lessons I learned about myself and my work.

I am not an impostor after all. The academy has done its best to convince me that I’m not a scholar, but no more. It’s time we step back from the expectation of institutions that don’t value us in the first place and step up on behalf of ourselves.

My institution and all of its problems seem very small now in comparison to the work/writing I have left to do, and I realize that I must center my energy on intellectual work, which is my writing on Black mothering as a resistance practice, both as theory in my academic publications and as praxis in Mothering In Color.

People being moved by the keynote was a humbling experience that highlighted how grateful I am to all who paved a way for me to deliver the keynote in the first place. I was moved even more toward bravery by their very generous support of the work.

I invite others who are suffering through Impostor Syndrome to say yes to something you are fearful of doing. Taking that risk just might quiet those impostorism voices once and for all…or at least quiet them considerably.

Author

Nichole Guillory, PhD, is Professor of Curriculum and Instruction at Kennesaw State University. She publishes on the experiences of women of color in the academy. She is mom to Nicholas, the love of her life. We couldn't be happier that she has agreed to pen a the Mothering in Color series for WellAcademic.

By Joycelyn Moody, JMoody's Musings

Last Sunday I met a radiant sister Black professor who teaches at another university in town (I’ll call her “A” to protect her anonymity). A thrilling oddity in San Antonio (seventh largest US city), where the population of African Americans has remained a constant 4% since I moved here over a decade ago. Sister professor, possibly a new friend. Unlike me, though, this other professor is also an Associate Dean. That position adds a whole other level of stress.
 
Still, Dean A cast a pleasant, vibrant demeanor. When she mentioned having served her institution for over 20 years, my research background and the many, many conversations I’ve had with other women of color in the academy kicked in: she’s undoubtedly suffered from the toxicity of injustices and “interlocking systems of oppression” that relentlessly plague academic sisters. Our conversation proved me correct, unfortunately.
 
My first inclination as a way to sustain connection with Dean A., to help her cultivate a wider network of not only Black academic women’s support but also minoritized educators of all ethnicities, and to envision her having the extraordinary experience I’d had recently among WellAcademic retreat participants: I invited her to attend our 2019 retreats for women of color faculty.
 
More than anything, what Roxanne and I want for those we encounter—as WellAcademic coaching clients, as retreat participants, as newsletter subscribers, as readers of our blog posts, in on-campus workshops—is to share our unique strengths and gifts as feminist scholars of the African diaspora. As our mission statement announces, we have dedicated our own professional lives to providing others, especially academic women of color, with enriched productivity through reduced life stress.
 
Meeting Dean A last weekend, I immediately imagined her as an ideal WellAcademic retreat participant, someone who’d almost certainly experience some of what I had in early October 2018.
 
When Roxanne and I held our first retreat on Bald Mountain at Elohee, I performed two roles: (1) WellAcademic coach and (2) retreat participant. In preparation, 14 retreat participants signed up for 20 to 40 minutes of private coaching with me. At Elohee, heart after heart opened to mine in trust, humbling me. I’ve flattered myself a creative thinker, tactically intuiting when to go deep and rapid fire versus when to work more contemplatively and long-view. Moreover, I’ve savored my research into self-improvement, rereading and applying it through Black feminist theoretical lens.
 
During my WellAcademic coaching sessions, I felt rejuvenated by the individual connection with clients seeking to regain their paths. At the same time, I gained a new solemnity, a serenity, about my skills while coaching clients. With them, I was experiencing both dynamic personal growth through the incremental “Breakthrough Sessions” Roxanne had crafted for us—then gently led us through—and developing the precious intimate group bond emerging in our sister circles.
 
We’d accepted Roxanne’s call to Elohee for insight and renewal, for sisterhood and rejuvenation. Having participated in numerous workshops with my astounding business partner before, I knew the other participants and I would inevitably have an extraordinary experience. Whatever the others expected, my own expectations were truly exceeded. The difference lay in the fact of community: while Roxanne was our indisputable fulcrum, magic lay in our collectivity.
 
I doubt many of us anticipated the powerful experience we’d create together. 
 
Almost each retreat participant arrived with trepidation about WellAcademic’s deliberate timing at institutional midterms. Most divulged the challenge of permitting herself to break away for her own revitalization just when others feel free to demand more from us—make-up midterms at students’ convenience, belated committee meetings on chairs’ timetables, and so on. Even retreat participants “on leave” arrived almost panting, as if we’d run the distances from Cincinnati, Madison, Philadelphia, San Antonio, Miami, doubled over by the demands we make on ourselves and we face (or face down) from others who claim power over us.
 
I’ll close with two short lists.
 
What I expected:

• Loving reunion with Roxanne Donovan, one of my closest friends and also my business partner
• Committed service to the 14 women I’d pledged to coach
• Natural beauty transitioning from summer into fall
• Nutritious, delicious food
• Solitude: no WiFi, a break from school work, a break from infuriating global news
• Reunion with Kennesaw State sisters
• A chance to meet Roxanne’s only biological sister
• More than this list permits.

 
What I gained/Hadn’t imagined receiving:

• A community of minoritized sisters in the academy expressing a similar blend of success, insight, stimulation, curiosity, seclusion, need, grief, fatigue, and hope I feel from day to day
• Deep fortification— cellular memories, science-based exercises, journal and diary entries, workbook sheets, photographs, clean mountain water and air
• A bed I first mistook for clouds
• In-person meeting with the retreat participant with whom I shared the same coach when I was first a client
• One sister, aged 50, lifting her arms over her head to illustrate reclaiming victory over her physical body after setting her own terms as a Black feminist professor and administrator
• Two shooting stars with Roxanne, five minutes apart after the “Firelight Sister Circle,” on a two-person swing uphill of Eucalyptus cabin
• More than this list permits.

​Until next time,

By Nichole Guillory (WellAcademic Guest Blogger) - Mothering in Color

My partner Jerome—a Black man—went for a bike ride that was cut short because of leg cramps. He visited a nearby grocery store, one we frequent a lot, and purchased a banana for 23 cents. He then proceeded to eat the banana in the store to stop his leg cramps as he shopped for our weekly groceries.

Not long after, a store clerk walked by—without stopping—and told him, “Be sure to pay for that banana before you leave.” 

He never stopped to ask if Jerome had already paid or to ask if everything was okay—eating a banana in a grocery store is not a usual occurrence, after all. He just assumed Jerome had already “taken” merchandise he hadn’t paid for and was going to leave the store. He wanted Jerome to know he had been “caught.”

It took a few seconds for Jerome to realize what had happened. Once he did, he went looking for the clerk who had disappeared in the back of the store. He found the manager instead. He explained what happened and asked to see the store clerk. Assuming Jerome couldn’t hear the two of them in the back of the store, the manager told the clerk, “Just apologize. It doesn’t matter.”

It. Doesn’t. Matter.

Jerome is a Black man who has lived in the Deep South all of his life. So the store clerk’s accusation is not new. Two years ago in Louisiana, Jerome brought my mother’s very old faucet into a home improvement store to buy a replacement part, which he did not find. On his way out of the store with the visibly used faucet, a store clerk accused him of shoplifting.

And that’s just one example among many.

These kinds of accusations are exactly why Jerome knew to pay for the 23 cent banana before checking out with all of his other groceries. So when this clerk assumed that he had not paid for something, he was not surprised.

What bothered Jerome the most about the incident, however, was what the manager said about the situation—it doesn’t matter (and hence Jerome didn’t matter).  The manager was more concerned with making Jerome go away than he was with challenging and changing how his employee viewed and treated certain customers. 

Let me pause this story for a moment to say how very fortunate Jerome and I feel—which is also quite sad—that the police were not called.  We are all well aware of the recent calls to the police for our alleged crime of “Breathing While Black,” for going about our daily lives—for eating in a Waffle House, barbecue-ing in a park, moving out of an apartment, checking out of an Airbnb, sleeping in a common study area of an Ivy League university dorm, playing golf at a country club, playing a pick-up game of basketball at a recreation center, buying prom clothes in a department store, selling water on the sidewalk in front of our home, sitting at a Starbuck’s waiting on a friend, using a coupon at a CVS, talking in a Chili’s parking lot after dining there, mowing a neighbor’s lawn, swimming in a neighborhood pool, attending a funeral for a family friend. And it is important to note that this long list is not exhaustive. 

Later in the evening, Jerome and I talked about this situation at the dinner table with our ten-year-old son Nicholas, because he could tell that something was bothering his dad. After Jerome told the basics of the story, we asked Nicholas for his thoughts and feelings. He said the store clerk should have just asked Jerome if he had paid for the banana.

He also wanted to know the race of the store clerk.

Nicholas has been asking this question a lot lately in response to news stories he hears on NPR or in response to conversations we are having about the latest incident of “Breathing While Black.” Nicholas has always been fascinated with finding patterns. So I think he’s recording instances and trying to find a pattern between racist acts and the people who commit them. In the case of the grocery store incident, Jerome chose not to tell him the race of the clerk. Instead, he used Nicholas’s question as an opportunity to explain the systemic nature of racism, that racist structures rather than individuals are the real problem.

I realize now how difficult it must have been for Jerome to stay calm while telling this story to our son, how difficult it must have been not to reveal the race of the store clerk. When I asked Jerome later why he chose to withhold that part of the story, he said that we were not raising Nicholas to hate and to fear and that he wanted him to form his own beliefs, not copy ours. 

This from a Black man who has to struggle against the effects of racism Every. Single. Day. And who does so without the benefit of having a group of supportive friends where we live, like I have, friends with whom he can process and repair racist micro and macro aggressions.

I’m writing this post to publicly acknowledge this brilliant moment of fathering. And not just for our son, but for us, the two adults raising him who grew up without biological fathers, who experience racial traumas of our own within a national context of hate. I live in a constant state of worry about sending both of “my boys”—Nicholas and Jerome—into a very dangerous world unsure whether they’ll always come back safely or undamaged. The grocery store incident reminds me of the difficulties of raising Nicholas so that he does not live in fear but also so that he does not blindly assume that all people in the world will protect him or regard him as we do. 

It’s an amazing gift to watch Jerome’s thoughtfulness as a father, as he shows Nicholas that vulnerability is also a marker for strength, how not to hate so that he can show him how to love, and how to be proud and confident in a world that does not always welcome a proud and confident Black man.

I am thankful to be on this sometimes frightening, always beautiful parenting journey with him.                     

Author

Nichole Guillory, PhD, is Professor of Curriculum and Instruction at Kennesaw State University. She publishes on the experiences of women of color in the academy. She is mom to Nicholas, the love of her life. We couldn't be happier that she has agreed to pen a the Mothering in Color series for WellAcademic.

By Joycelyn Moody - JMoody's Musings

It’s actually still midsummer, but for those of us on the academic clock, time to break away is nigh. A change of scenery, however you can seize it, can bring a vital breath of fresh air. So before your semester starts or kicks into full gear, I’m thinking new inspiring, invigorating scenery is in order.
 
What do you need?
For starters, a public library card. I live in San Antonio—a vast metropolis with a wide network of public library branches, but maybe it’s not exceptional in its offer of digital and virtual as well as print texts including pulp fictions. Check ’em out. Next up to get a new view: a fit-enough body. (More on physical needs below.) Disposable income doesn't hurt, but you probably need less than you think. Essential requirements: self-trust, curiosity, an open heart, appetite and wanderlust, more humility than judgment, a supple—not obstinate—attitude. Just generating that list starts a tug in me.
 
When to go?
As far as I’m concerned, we're already running late. Anyway, it’s always time to go. This disposition is insane for a number of reasons, starting with I have the worst sense of direction of anyone you know. Like really, stepping off an elevator, for example, you know how one direction leads into the hotel lobby and the other to a dead-end mirrored wall? I invariably walk into the mirror. You can bet on it 99 percent of the time. It’s sad, really.
 
So, you would think my wanderlust would be like lukewarm. No. In fact, I’ve recently returned from two states in Brazil—Rio de Janeiro and Minas Gerais. It was my first trip to Latin America—which is saying something given that I currently live three hours from the Mexican border and I grew up on the Gulf of Mexico. It was an extraordinary experience, to say the least, one that’ll take a long time to process what I learned in both formal and informal professional settings. Expect to hear more about it here, from time to time.
 
I went to Brazil to participate in the annual symposium of the International Auto/Biography Association of the Americas. A small conference: about 70 artists, educators, and other intellectuals gathered to speak the same language; in our case, not Portuguese but life writing. A thrill to catch up with long-time colleagues and to meet newbies to our circle. Abstracts shared loud, expanded from the print iteration.
 
Back to the body. Rio de Janeiro and Minas Gerais reminded me vividly of accessibility limits in New York City my vertigo and I negotiated there last June. So, whatever your ability level, I advise calling ahead to make sure your needs are accommodated at each planned site; scope out transportation options beforehand; don’t be afraid to ask for what you need to make your visit stress free; and scour the web for relevant reviews.
 
Can’t get to Brazil or out of town at all? Here are five budget-friendly scenery-changing possibilities.
 
1. Public library card: books on travel, travel writing, transnational and decolonial literature. 

2. Outdoor FaceTime. Call a friend who lives in a different climate or region. Check out the  interior of a friend’s new home in a distant city. 

3. Evening and/or Sunday drives: Sweet Lorraine (my newly irrevocable spouse—gulp) and I drive the 45 minutes to Canyon Lake and eat bad fried food at a seaside café. Sometimes we silently—intuitively—make a pact not to talk much the whole way there and maybe back, too. Glorious time and space to daydream, follow one thought to another. Sure-bet return: harmony and equilibrium restored. 

3. Ditto for a short drive into Texas Hill Country vineyards. Boo and I both sample just enough wines to be able to drive home unless the mood strikes for an impromptu overnight. 

4. Like your library card, most cities and towns offer public transportation to local museums. 

5. Some public transportation routes will also take you to a nearby nature preserve, a city park, or a tourist attraction (think roller coaster or Ferris wheel if a carousel doesn’t shift your gears fast enough). 

Looking ahead to fall travel, I’m crazy-excited about our upcoming WellAcademic Fall Retreat. I know firsthand the rejuvenation that comes from breaking away with other writers and thinkers. Good talk, good food, peace for reflection, stunning scenery all await. Come join us!
 
I’d love to hear about any of your happy travels. Please share in the comments below.
 
Until next time,

By Nichole Guillory (WellAcademic Guest Blogger) - Mothering in Color

I did not realize what an exhausting and stressful academic year I’ve had until I attended a wellness retreat last month with 23 other faculty women of color from my university. It was an entire day of culturally responsive mindfulness activities designed to help us take a pause on our lives, reflect on what is important beyond our work, and learn strategies for calming our minds and taking care of our bodies.

We gave up our phones and spent eight luxurious hours on ourselves and with each other, in conversation and in silence, in stillness and in movement. The day was simultaneously intense and playful, calming and rejuvenating. In all of my years in academe, I have never had an experience like the retreat.

I was honored to be attending a retreat in memory of the brilliant Kathryn Epps, a Black woman leader at our university, and to be in the company of so many badass faculty women of color, to go through one activity together where we laughed so hard we cried and to go through another where we held painful experiences for each other.

I could tell that our laboring—visible, invisible, and too often unpaid—in various departments across the university had taken its toll mentally, physically, and spiritually on many of us. The retreat was an opportunity to fill our depleted tanks. For me in particular, it was a clarion call to center my energy on what I have identified as most important, which includes time with family and friends and work that aligns with my commitment to justice pedagogy.

At the end of the retreat, our lead facilitator and organizer Roxanne Donovan asked us to thank someone who was instrumental in our healing that day. At the time, I did not convey everything I wanted to, so I’m taking an opportunity now to publicly thank my retreat sisters for sharing in an experience that brought me back to center.

Below are my top ten take-aways from the day. I share them as one way to pay forward what I have learned.

1. Many faculty women of color are so busy care-giving in the academy for our colleagues and students and in our personal lives for our families, whether we have biological children or not, that we do not take time to care for ourselves. We deserve to put ourselves first. 

2. Self-care is a form of resistance against the regular dehumanization we often experience in the academy. My self-care regimen includes pedicure therapy, last minute lunches, or cheap bowling Tuesdays with my closest friends.  

3. Bearing witness to each other’s pain is another form of resistance against oppression. Sometimes we hold this pain in sadness and sometimes in rage. Both can be productive because naming injustice is a necessary first step in the fight to end it.

4. Not being ourselves in the academy is exhausting. Performing superwoman strength all the time is also costly. That energy is better spent on ourselves and our families.

5. Silence every now and then may be necessary for self-preservation. But silence all the time is dangerous. Speaking up is sometimes our only form of resistance against oppressive structures, and speaking up today might pave the way for change later. 

6. You are not alone. When oppressive forces take direct aim at us as individuals, it is best that we fight back in solidarity with allies we trust. While defending myself against an attack this year, I learned that I have a solid number of ride-or-die friends, and I could not be more grateful for their support.  

7. It’s past time that universities actually commit resources for faculty wellness that go beyond the usual limited term physical fitness challenges and instead prioritize the retention of faculty women of color, a claim many universities include in their strategic plans but do not resource accordingly.

8. A gratitude mindset, where we practice reframing our day to consider what went right and what we’re grateful for, can set a foundation for improving our relationships and increasing our happiness. It did for me (and those who know me know that I was very skeptical of the possibilities of a “gratitude journal”). 

9. We must never forget to pay it forward because our newest sister colleagues deserve our help and we owe our foremothers a great debt.

10. We deserve joy in our academic spaces. In all our spaces. Go find what brings you joy and do more of that by any means necessary. Period. The end.

Shout out to Roxanne for her leadership and facilitation; to Kami Anderson and Michele DiPietro, our movement teachers; and to everyone who participated in the Kathryn Epps Faculty Wellness Retreat.  

We all deserve a sister circle who loves and cares for us unconditionally, who tells us hard truths even though we don’t want to hear them, and who holds us accountable to what we say we’re going to do. I am humbled by the many women who have paved the way for me to be here—biological and non-biological foremothers—and who continue to build with me a path toward joy. ​For me, that path will include more attention to my overall well-being and fostering connections with other faculty women of color. 

To that end, I’ve already planned my next women of color faculty retreat. This one is through WellAcademic and, not coincidentally, also organized and led by Roxanne. It is October 5-7, 2018, at the Elohee Retreat Center in the foothills of the Georgia mountains. Just like this past retreat, Roxanne will create an intimate sisterly environment where I and the other faculty women of color retreaters can practice strategies that decrease our stress and boost our joy and productivity. There’s yoga, sister circles, and even individualized coaching by accomplished scholar Joycelyn Moody. I can’t wait! 

Author

​​Nichole Guillory, PhD, is Professor of Curriculum and Instruction at Kennesaw State University. She publishes on the experiences of women of color in the academy. She is mom to Nicholas, the love of her life. We couldn't be happier that she has agreed to pen a new series for WellAcademic, Mothering in Color. ​

By Joycelyn Moody - JMoody's Musings

For the longest, I had a teeming stack of textbooks and school papers on my nightstand. Think Harryette Mullen’s enchanting Sleeping with the Dictionary. Then, motivated to write earlier on work-week mornings, I removed all stimulating electronics and books from my bedroom for better sleep hygiene.
 
Gradually, though, I relapsed into bringing in a book or two for night reading. Not inclined toward self-flagellation (well, maybe, but not concerning books), I’m accepting my bibliophile tendencies (euphemism for nerd, or in my case, blerd). Still, I’ve disallowed all work-related books, and paring down can be good. Seems like it’s always all about the balance.
 
I know a lot of y'all reading this love a good book, too, so I thought I’d share my musings about what’s been on my nightstand—and what’s still there as summer arrives.
 
Still there: Roxane Gay’s Difficult Women—you could say I’m a Gay fan. (Hey! That’s a pun. Didn’t intend that, at first, I swear.) Signed by the author, too, after a reading at BookPeople in Austin last July. Fans, eat your hearts out. (But err-- Dr. Gay, if you’re reading this, I was the very cute, Black baby boomer, gushing, purposely at the end of the line.) Thus far, I’ve been fascinated by these particular, and particularly, Difficult Women, so I’m still slowly savoring a story on a random night. Generally, I like to have short fiction on hand, precisely for their conciseness. Who doesn’t love a vivid world that wraps up in less than an hour?
 
I also thrill to quizzes—the kind in women’s magazines and the New York Times that assess the health of your sex life, physical body, productivity, family relations, like that. I’m proudly not yet married, but for nightly browsing, I nonetheless bought John M. Gottman and Nan Silver’s second edition of The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work. It’s full of all manner of soft-to-severe interrogations for couples. My Not (Yet) Wife, a clinical psychologist, looked on with both rolled eyes (which, by the way, Gottman famously cites as a death knoll in romantic relationships) and soothing words: “Buy it if it’ll make you feel safer, dear.” Of course, I quizzed her ad nauseum on our last two-hour drive to the beach in celebration of our 22nd anniversary. What better way to ….?
 
A close friend who died a year ago was always trying to get me to read Zadie Smith. When it first came out, I got halfway through Smith’s White Teeth when Smarter Me sweetly assured Good Student Me I didn’t have to finish reading a novel I wasn’t enjoying, even though, or especially since, I’d devoted so much time to it. But after my friend died, I started listening to an audio version of Smith’s more recent novel Swing Time about Black British Gen X women. Highly recommend, especially for readers who enjoy mentally leaving home, as this contemporary story makes transatlantic and diasporic migrations across multiple continents and into the psyche. On my night stand, I had a library print copy, to take in all the details—visual as well as verbal—one misses with audiobooks. Word to the wise: an audio version runs about 14 hours.
 
Finally, Claire of the Sea Light might prove a quick-read for most, but I’ve been so wiped out by the time I hit the hay each night, I’ve hardly managed to read two paragraphs before dozing off. I closed this Edwidge Danticat novel with more insight into the ways we make decisions for others, often unwittingly. More insight into how we compel others in our sphere to confront and grapple with the proverbial action-reaction-consequences of our own lessons. Luminous, to steal an adjective from the cover blurbs. Claire’s story is set on the Haitian coast, where she is only seven years old. Yet Danticat’s affecting novel surveys primarily adult decisions and the entanglements they activate. Kinda (positive) spoiler alert: Claire of the Sea Light ends happier than other fiction Danticat’s won prizes for. Still, it’s African diasporic feminist teachings are breathlessly powerful. I’m glad I read it. Who knew I am such a sucker for “elsewhere” explorations.
 
Claire retired, my night table presently holds only a coloring book and Difficult Women. Soon, though, I’ll have my turn with the local library’s copy of Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, and the copy of Lonely Planet Rio de Janeiro I ordered for a summer conference should arrive soon. (Yeah, that’s me boasting.) But wait. Would the latter count as a schoolbook? All about the balance.

​Until next time,