Dying to Succeed: Unveiling the (Un)Hidden Toll of Academic Advancement for Black Women

As a Black woman recovering engineer, I shine a light on the damaging effects of racial stereotypes in academia, notably on Black women scholars. The unchecked emphasis on relentless pursuit of traditional academic excellence often results in profound negative consequences. Drawing from personal experiences and illuminating case studies of high-achieving Black women who met tragic ends prematurely, I underscore the pervasive systemic educational disparities, with a specific lens on STEM fields. My work pushes for an overhaul of the system, aimed at creating nurturing spaces where marginalized communities can thrive with dignity and respect. We need to shift the burden of battling systemic racism endured by Black women scholars. It’s time we transition from an unhealthy emphasis on relentless individual resilience to a systemic reorientation that prioritizes fostering inclusive academic environments. An intentional recognition and confrontation of overlapping identities is the key to cultivating intersectionality and eradicating gendered racism in education. This vital transformation holds the promise of creating an academia that truly values and benefits from Black women academics.

Growing up on the South Side of Chicago, I was constantly confronted with statistics that negatively framed the lives and educational journeys of Black children and adults. As a proud alumna of Chicago public schools, I was poignantly conscious of the risks that Black students commonly encounter. Yet, the protective factors that significantly shape our paths, often more than the risk factors, are infrequently discussed. “Me-search,” or research rooted in one’s own lived experiences, serves as a powerful instrument to identify these protective forces while simultaneously challenging the prevailing narratives.

During my primary and secondary education, one powerful protective factor was my mother’s unwavering belief in the transformative power of mathematics education. She enrolled me in every possible STEM after-school and summer academic program. The journey through my high school years saw me transition from a high-performing institution (Kenwood Academy) to a lower-performing one (Corliss High School)—a switch that caught many of my peers off guard. However, it was in Corliss where I encountered Black educators who ardently believed in my potential and a group of exceptional Black peers equally determined to demonstrate their worth.

On Saturdays, my mother, who was passionate about both racial justice and education, firmly nudged me (or rather, insisted) to participate in Operation PUSH (PUSH stands for People United to Serve Humanity). It is an organization founded in 1971 to improve the economic status of African Americans and other disadvantaged communities in the United States. After just a few weeks, I found myself deeply attracted to the activism and positive energy that the experience cultivated. One week, you might spot Barack Obama and his family in the front row; the next week, you could see cast members from the show “In Living Color.” My association with Operation PUSH, pioneered by Reverend Jesse Jackson, steered me toward applying to North Carolina Agricultural & Technical State University in Greensboro, NC, his alma mater, sight unseen. As a historically black college or university (HBCU), this institution provided a racially affirming atmosphere that proved to be instrumental for my personal and academic evolution. By deciding to major in and graduate with a degree in electrical engineering, I sought to establish an academic foothold in an institution that would assess my capabilities without racial bias.

Upon leaving Greensboro, I immediately pursued a master’s degree in industrial engineering and subsequently joined the STEM competitive intelligence team at Hewlett Packard. Despite the competitive pay and the challenging nature of the job, I experienced constant reminders of not fitting in, which made me feel like an impostor. I found myself battling fatigue and depression, as a result of the toxic and racially dismissive work environment. When I was laid off in 2001 following the September 11th attacks, I was engulfed by a profound sense of humiliation and disappointment, mainly because I felt I had failed my Operation PUSH mentors and my mother.

Emerging from the abyss of despair and insecurity, I made the decision to embark on a PhD program. My research revolved around individuals who resonated with my own experience: high-achieving Black and Brown scholars in the STEM field who, despite their triumphs, consistently grapple with racial prejudices. These biases can wreak havoc on their mental and physical health, potentially throwing their ultimate victories off course. Instead of focusing on those failing to reach their ambitions—a subject already copiously explored—I dedicated my efforts to understanding the journey of those who had reached their objectives, as evidenced by conventional indicators of achievement such as stellar grade point averages (GPAs) and a plethora of job offers post-graduation. Amid the narratives of success, I found an urgent question emerging: What is the hidden price behind this success?

I will discuss how I first began my “me-search” with the negative health experiences of Black women scholars. Then I will present the conceptual framework of the “Black Pink Tax” to ground my research and present the statistical basis for understanding the structural barriers these scholars face. I will explore the health consequences that arise from these barriers and discuss my own “me-search,” including my exploration of the lives of extraordinary Black women who have thrived through adversity. I will argue for the necessity for self-care and community care and then, finally, I will give some advice for young Black women in the Academy.

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