As a doctoral student finishing up my last year of coursework, I thought most of my concerns – comprehensive exams, the prospectus defense, my thesis – were a year away. I made an appointment with my new advisor in September, hoping she would approve my plan of study and I could focus on assembling my thesis committee. We went through the plan of study document together. She said everything was good to go except I needed to arrange an internship or work experience for my last semester of coursework. As a grad student with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Depression during Covid-19, I thought I had already faced the toughest parts of grad school. Little did I know how hard the job search would be on me. 

Am I More than a Teacher?

Before I pursued my graduate degrees, I completed a single-subject teaching credential program and taught high school English for a couple years. I thought that would make the typical work experience of students in my graduate program, which consisted of being a teaching assistant for a graduate-level course, redundant if not boring. I taught my own classes since 2017 and did not like the idea of going back to being an unpaid worker. 

When my advisor told me I needed that internship or work experience, I didn’t want to sound negative. I love teaching; I just wanted to see what else I could learn before completing my coursework. And I wanted to be paid for my work, too. I spent the last two years teaching as a graduate assistant for little money. I was on food stamps and Medicaid. I volunteered for so many unpaid service opportunities and clubs on campus. All my time was taken up by stress over school and stress over survival in a place far from home. There had to be some opportunity that would pay me, whether it was minimum wage or 50 bucks an hour. I wasn’t picky if I would be paid. 

Six Weeks of Rejection

I thought that three months would be enough time to find a paid internship or work experience.  Time quickly passed by, and I found myself writing and rewriting cover letters and resumes for any related position I could find on Indeed, LinkedIn, Handshake or Facebook. I attended multiple job fairs and attempted to network. I begged my contacts for any connections outside of academia. I lost count of how many places I had applied to after it passed 60. By the time six weeks passed, I went to 20 interviews for positions I never got. 

Every rejection weighed heavier and heavier on me. I could try everything described as “best practices” during the job search and still leave empty-handed. Some interviewers even had the nerve to call me a week after my interview to say they were still interested in me and not to take any other opportunity. Then, I would never hear from them again or I’d get an email a month later about how they chose one of the last people they interviewed because they had more experience in the field or because I was overqualified to be an intern after all my experience. 

I was beginning to lose hope and my anxiety worsened. How could I be underqualified and overqualified for similar positions? What if every interviewer secretly hated me for some unknowable reason and hid that reason under me “just not being the right fit?” What if everybody in my life had been right to pigeon-hole me into teaching when I decided to major in English composition? What if I would never get a position outside of teaching? What would happen to me a year later when I planned to finish my PhD and apply for one of the few tenure-track positions available in my field? Would I have to go back to bagging groceries or teaching high school? I wasn’t prepared for how much rejection I received when I felt so confident after every interview ended.  Every time, just when I thought I had finally found the perfect position, I would receive another rejection.

Rejection Sensitivity 

At the two-month mark, I regretted keeping track of how many interviews I attended.  My advisor encouraged me to not give up. It stung worse when people in my department checked in on my job search and predicted that I’d soon receive so many job offers that I’d have to reject multiple decent-paying jobs. That never happened, unfortunately. I’d spend every minute not focused on my classes crying. I’d cry in the counselling center. I’d cry at church. I’d cry on my partner’s shoulder. I’d cry while trying to drown out the pain by binge-eating ice cream and watching Netflix. I couldn’t continue to live like this. 

It’s difficult living with mental illness symptoms you can recognize but not fix. I’ve known people with PTSD, Depression, and other mental illnesses are more prone to rejection sensitivity for a couple years by now Deep down, I knew me not getting any of the jobs I interviewed for wasn’t anything personal, but I couldn’t help but feel worthless. That’s what rejection sensitivity causes: a shift from reality to one’s own worst fears. My partner tried to protect me by keeping me away from my phone, which I constantly checked for missed calls, emails, and new job postings. I tried to fight my mental illness with the logic of rejections weren’t personal and I mean more than my job. Every day became a battle of hope versus Depression. I fought valiantly for success with every interview, pretending that I was as enthusiastic as I had been after the first couple of interviews even when I felt worn out from performing as a job candidate.

Eventually, interview 21 was scheduled. I kept my hopes low, aware that I might not get the job for a perfectly logical reason. Still, I felt the need to ruthlessly prepare myself like I had for every other job interview. I researched the company and its values, practiced examples of my success and reflections from past experiences, and tried to come off as hopeful and positive. I couldn’t feel confident during the interview if I didn’t. 

The Importance of Persistence 

Job interview 21, which occurred in the very last week of November, was my saving grace. I interviewed for a temporary technical writer position at a local facility that helped manufacture vaccines. 40 minutes after the Zoom interview ended, I received the text: “Congrats! We’d like to hire you for the technical writer position.” The weight was lifted from my shoulders. I’d be making $23/hour and gaining experience outside of academia, just as I hoped for. 

While my advisor, partner, and colleagues all congratulated me, the biggest congratulations I received was from myself.  Now, I know that I am valued outside of academia, I can do great work, and I deserve to be paid a liveable wage. I wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t keep motivating myself to attend each job interview with passion, enthusiasm, and preparedness.

Conclusion

Looking back, I learned a lot from this experience. While the job hunt is hard, it helps to surround yourself with people who support you, continue therapy when you notice the signs of mental illness creeping up on you, and never give up. The next one may be the best one. It seems especially corny, I’m sure, but that’s what you have to hope for. If I gave up after interview 10 or 20, I wouldn’t have come across the job opportunity that gave me what I needed and longed for.

As I mentally prepare myself for my future job search after I complete my PhD program, I hope this experience will remind me of the patience and determination it took to find a temporary job. I’m sure the search for a full-time, permanent position will be even more difficult and time-consuming. However, there is hope when you don’t give up after each unexpected rejection. 

As I write this blog post, I recently completed my first month as a technical writer. I’m getting paid to learn how to use my skills outside of teaching and I’m loving every second of it. 

S.J. is a PhD student and English instructor at North Dakota State University. Their research interests include dis/ability studies, medical rhetoric, writing pedagogy, and religious studies. You can find them on Twitter/X: @atypicalSJW

This blog is kindly sponsored by G-Research