Completing a doctoral program is sufficiently difficult on its own. Now add to that parental responsibilities for a newborn child. But if that’s not enough of a challenge for one, consider, perhaps, completing one’s doctoral studies as a single parent. It’s been my experience—both before and after becoming a single parent—that such circumstances and experiences have often flown under the radar of consideration. It’s just one of those things that may not cross one’s mind just as it doesn’t occur to me where the nearest wheelchair-accessible entrance is. It’s not something I’ve needed to know for me to get around in the world given my being able-bodied.
I didn’t recognize the challenges of being a single parent until I became one. Of course, we could conceptually imagine how difficult it must be. Pure reflection would tell us, “Oh, yeah. Raising a child is tough. Now, imagine doing what takes at least two fully committed individuals to do the job and hoist that responsibility onto a single person. Oof. That’s a lot.” Indeed. Like Mary’s leaving the black-and-white-room to experience color for the first time, one come’s to know first-hand something new when becoming a parent (of the many truths, one is how ill-equipped anyone is at any time to be a parent).
I want to share my experience of what it’s been like to progress through my doctoral studies at the University of Connecticut, highlighting an accessibility feature one may take for granted. I’ll note some tips along the way for how a single parent can navigate the doctoral experience, which I don’t intend to be exhaustive as much as a platform for thinking about ways one can better perform one’s duties as a budding scholar and an involved parent. Additionally, I’ll share some of the ways my department, and university, have helped me in my role and capacity as a doctoral student and single father.
First, my experience overall: It’s arduous. Think of any synonymous word or experience that can replace ‘difficult’ and use it. My daughter rightfully demands most of my attention when she’s with me. On days I have my daughter, I am solely responsible for her and getting her needs taken care of. When I go home, it is just me and her. I am on 100% of the time, and I cannot just hand her over to a spouse for help.
Additionally, my daughter is at an age where she doesn’t quite understand that her father has work to do. So, I can’t negotiate with her to carve out an hour of work time in exchange for an ice cream date. All she knows and understands is what’s in front of her: that papa is paying attention, or he isn’t. One has to decide: either one pays attention to one’s child or ignores one’s child. In case it isn’t at all clear, I obviously unreservedly chose the former.
There’s a financial burden, too. A graduate stipend can fund a solo graduate student—depending on the program—decently. But a solo parent and his child? Just barely. I picked up an extra part-time job to afford food and daycare for my daughter. That allows me to get work done, but it comes at a cost: I’m further wearied: Teaching three courses, dissertation writing, working a part-time job, and being a full-time parent by myself. There’s no easy way around it. It’s a balancing act that has left my body feeling limp at the end of the day.
One thing I never thought of prior to having a child was the importance of a family bathroom. Most of the time I’d walk by those large rectangular boxes mounted on the wall of restrooms—the restrooms that had them, anyway. Those things? Changing tables. Never has my frustration been greater at a building’s designer—or whomever is responsible for these features—when my daughter had a contorted face of discomfort as she sat in a soaked diaper while I scurried from bathroom to bathroom looking for a changing station. I recall being at an airport last year—I wish I remembered which so I could avoid it when traveling with my daughter—that had no family restrooms and had no changing stations in the male restrooms. I had to run into the female restroom apologizing out loud to anyone inside so I can change my daughter’s diaper. I can definitely change her diaper anywhere. It’s not a question of my ability to do that. But she requires privacy, and that I cannot give her if there isn’t a space devoted to that.
Now imagine that same scenario in a university. I was relieved to find out that the satellite campus I taught at had changing tables in the male restroom. I had my daughter with me for one of my morning lectures, and I asked one of my students if he knew of a family restroom. His answer instantly relieved my anxiety. I promptly took my daughter to the men’s restroom and changed her. Something seemingly so inconsequential—insofar that it’s ignored—meant the world to me. It meant I could take care of my daughter and her needs. It meant that she could be there with me.
I’m grateful to have a department that welcomes and celebrates family. For instance, our department head, Lewis Gordon (who is also an editor of the Blog’s Black Issues in Philosophy series), often hosts get-togethers at his home with food and live music. Family and children are encouraged to attend, and this is very important towards making me feel welcomed as a family man.
Additionally, one thing COVID has given us is its normalized familial presence in academic settings. My daughter has often made Zoom guest appearances during seminars, colloquia, or even meetings with my advisor. While I am still “at work,” given the nature of working from home, it’s normal and expected to have such disruptions. When academia was taken online during the height of the pandemic, academia experienced radical normalization of family life. And I am grateful for that, and I think that’s beginning to spill over into in-person events.
In fact, I brought my daughter to a departmental End-of-Semester Wrap-Up, where our department head and colleagues administered awards and congratulated both undergraduate students, graduate students, faculty, and staff on a productive and successful semester. It was satisfying and warm to see how welcomed and cherished my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter was. Faculty played with her, shared jewelry with her (Thanks, Tracy Llanera!), took photos with her, and shared their joy of seeing her there (Bill Lycan was particularly impressed with how my daughter sat through forty-five minutes of speech and awards—something I cannot take credit for whatsoever). This experience meant a lot to me. It took me, my role, and my family seriously. It recognized that I cannot always afford or find ways to secure assistance for my daughter apart from bringing her with me. It acknowledges my limitations and extends grace and understanding.
I must say that I agree there needs to be some distinction between work-life and home-life. I am not advocating that work turn into a childcare center. Not at all. I am expected to work. Instead, I am welcoming the softening of that rigid divide, especially for those in circumstances where it’s not always feasible to have such a divide, like when one is a single parent. Sometimes a babysitter or daycare is unavailable, and no family is in the area. I need to bring my daughter with me. I’m fortunate that an academic setting is a bit more amenable to such circumstances as opposed to a nine-to-five job sitting at a cubicle.
I end with two practical tips and a value consideration. Single parenting is difficult, even if you share my circumstance of having a fully involved and committed co-parent. You need all the help you can get. That includes considering the way your workplace contributes to your capacity and role of parent. Here’s what I mean.
Assuming you are in the process of choosing a department—and assuming that you either want or have children—choose a department that shows interest in or celebrates family. If the prospective department does not care, don’t bother with them. Family is an extension of you. It doesn’t fully define you, but it does contribute to that. Not only that, but, as I hopefully painted, albeit crudely, a department that doesn’t acknowledge family won’t understand you or your needs. It won’t recognize that you have priorities other than the academy—maybe over and above the academy. Typically—at least in the past—graduate students come in straight from undergrad. They are young, fresh, bright-eyed, and ready to devote all of their energy and time. Of course, they have time to devote to attending every department event. Expectations will be that because they have the time and because academia is their number one priority, they will be there. But if one has a family, one has other commitments, and if one is viewed in the same light as the young, fresh, bright-eyed single student with no children, your inability to attend everything won’t be understood or accepted. So take that into consideration. You ought to be celebrated for your role as a parent, and your commitment to your family also ought to be celebrated. That makes you no less of an academic or person; Don’t let a department, or academia, tell you otherwise.
Practically, I have three very common-sensical suggestions which probably go without saying. (i) Get a physical planner, (ii) prioritize, and (iii) set boundaries.
Everything I do is scheduled. It’s the only way I can fit everything I need to do. I juggle seminars, teaching, grading, meeting with students, meeting with my doctoral advisor, writing time, paper reviewing, and colloquia. That’s a lot on its own. Now add all the parental responsibilities. Granted, not all of that can be scheduled. My daughter’s random diaper changes, her wanting a peanut butter sandwich after she just had food twenty minutes ago, and so on cannot be planned for. But you can set overall plans with your parenting and work. Having everything scheduled leaves little room for error, and it allows one to be maximally efficient with one’s time. People that tell me they do not have time for the gym just haven’t managed their time properly. You can find time for everything. I’ve done it. I take care of all my doctoral duties (sometimes just scraping by if I am honest), have time for the gym, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, my daughter, working an extra job, church attendance, and research. It just needs to be scheduled out physically. And I argue that doing so with a physical planner, over Google Calendar, is better. It’s for the same reason that studies show that taking notes by hand is preferable to taking notes with an electronic device: you retain and process the information better. If you’d like to take me up on this, I recommend a Hobonichi or a Passion Planner.
(ii) Prioritize what’s important both short term and long term. This requires being honest with yourself. For me, I am unashamed in that my daughter is most important. It trumps my work. If her health required me to drop school, I’d do it. If it’s a publication or her, I’m going to choose her. One needs to be honest with oneself about what one considers most important. Following that, arrange one’s priorities accordingly. Because my daughter is most important, I am sure to schedule out uninterrupted one on one time with her. If students or advisors need to meet, it is scheduled around that time, unless necessary. It’s then, in those situations, where I am grateful for having a welcoming department, because I can just bring my daughter along for the ride.
(iii) Following from (ii), set healthy boundaries that honor your priorities and values. Learn to say no, and do not be ashamed. I’ve been asked to teach classes at a certain time, and I’ve turned it down or asked for a different time because it conflicted with my parenting responsibilities that couldn’t be managed otherwise. I’ve been asked to take on extra work that I’ve had to say no to. Granted, I am still learning my limits, but thus far, I have been exercising my ability to say no. If setting boundaries is something one finds difficult, consider therapy or reading some great books on the topic. I’ve done both, and I’ve been committed to the process, because I know it’s the healthiest for me and for my daughter.
There’s one sentence I’ve kept using throughout: being a parent is difficult. But it’s a wonderful gift and privilege that I’d happily choose over and over. It’s taught me how to get outside of my “fat relentless ego,” as Iris Murdoch puts it (51). Don’t let anyone make you feel like less for being a parent. Find those—including a department—that celebrates you in your entirety, which means your familial role. If you aren’t celebrated in that capacity, then they shouldn’t be honored with your presence.
David J. Rodriguez
David Rodriguez is a PhD student in philosophy at the University of Connecticut where he spends his time thinking about issues in virtue epistemology and virtue theory. He doesn’t drink coffee, sometimes drinks tea, and instead obsesses about his coin collection, batman, drumming, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
