The Exhaustion of Belonging Nowhere

I have two voices.

There's my professional voice, the one I use in faculty meetings and conference presentations. It's measured, articulate, carefully constructed. It knows the right academic jargon, the proper way to frame arguments, the appropriate level of deference to show senior colleagues.

Then there's my real voice, the one I use with my family, the one that slips out when I'm tired or angry or caught off guard. It's more direct, more emotional, more honest. It carries the accent of my childhood, the rhythms of my community, the authenticity of my roots.

The constant switching between these voices is exhausting.

At work, I'm Dr. Professional, discussing pedagogy over artisanal coffee. At home, I'm still just me, listening to my family's struggles and feeling the weight of being the one who "made it out." I never quite belong in either world completely.

My academic colleagues see me as their working-class mascot, the one who brings "real-world perspective" to their discussions. They love having me around when they want to talk about diversity and inclusion, but they don't want to hear about why their conferences cost more than my family makes in a month.

My family is proud of me, but they don't really understand what I do. They see me as the one who escaped, who found a better life. They don't understand that I'm still struggling, just in different ways.

The worst part is feeling like I have to choose. Like I have to abandon my background to succeed in academia, or like I have to constantly perform my authenticity to prove I haven't forgotten where I came from.

But I'm learning that I don't have to choose. I can be both the kid who grew up in a working-class family and the professor who challenges students to think critically. I can honor my past while building my future.

I'm letting my real voice slip through more often. I'm sharing stories that matter, even when they make colleagues uncomfortable. I'm refusing to translate my experiences into academic language when the raw truth is more powerful.

The code-switching will probably never stop completely. But I'm learning to be more intentional about when and why I do it. I'm learning to value both of my voices, to see them as strengths rather than contradictions.

I'm tired of performing respectability. I'm tired of making myself smaller to make others more comfortable. I'm tired of hiding parts of myself to fit into spaces that weren't designed for people like me.

My voice has value. My perspective is necessary. My authentic and unfiltered presence is important.

So I'm going to keep speaking, in whatever voice feels right in the moment. Because the academy needs to hear all of us, not just the parts of us that make them comfortable.

A silhouette of a person with a megaphone set against a clear blue sky, symbolizing the power of voice and communication.