Grad Student Blooper Reel
Whether you're scrolling through social media, listening to chatter in the math department lounge, or talking to an old friend you haven’t seen in a while, you are most likely pointing out the highlights of your life and career. You hardly ever hear anyone gloating about their struggles. Well, this is because it's a natural instinct for people to want to put their best foot forward, especially when talking to others. However, sometimes we do need to talk about the not-so-great stuff, the things we hold in either out of embarrassment, judgment, or in some cases, even shame. I am definitely guilty of this, which is what inspired this post in the first place. I believe sharing the “hard stuff” is what can help people connect and humanize the mathematical experience, especially in a space that can be so sterile and robotic. In an effort to do just that, here is what I like to call my “Grad Student Blooper Reel,” a compilation of my worst moments. Spoiler alert: it has a happy “ending.”
Every grad student, no matter the discipline, can agree that dedicating 5+ years to studying a niche topic (and all the other things in between) is one of the hardest journeys to embark upon. Graduate students juggle research, teaching, service work, and countless other responsibilities, each with its own challenges that can be especially daunting for first-generation students like me. Starting graduate school remotely in the fall of 2020 was a challenging experience. The isolation and uncertainty of that time made it difficult to find my footing, both mentally and emotionally. Without the typical opportunities to build connections with peers and faculty in person, I often felt adrift. I leaned heavily on my community from home for support, which was a lifeline during those tough days. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being left behind academically.
The summer following my first year, I took my qualifying exams in algebra and analysis and was not successful in crossing those milestones. Grad school was already an uphill battle, and failing both of my exams early on felt like hitting a wall. I was already grappling with deep insecurities about whether I belonged, and this experience only made those feelings worse. For a while, I wanted to give up. I kept reminding myself of my motivation; while I wanted to succeed for my family, I realized that more than anything, I wanted this for myself. I wasn’t ready to let go of a dream I’d been working toward for so long. With the support of my department and a renewed determination, I tried again and passed.
That victory felt hard-earned, but it was followed by another hurdle: my oral qualifying exam in algebraic geometry. The first attempt ended in failure. I told myself I’d try again, even as some people around me suggested it might be futile. When I failed a second time, their doubts felt validated, and mine only deepened. I thought this was it, that I’d reached the end of my journey. During this time, my relationship with math was beginning to suffer. Suddenly, it became an enemy. It wasn’t just the exams, it felt personal, like math itself was rejecting me. Despite my efforts, it felt like academia was telling me “You don’t belong here.” I couldn’t deny that my confidence was eroding, and with it, my ability to see myself as capable and worthy of succeeding in this field.
Following my second unsuccessful attempt (which should have been my last), a small possibility remained: I could request a third attempt, though I knew it would be a long shot with various other factors out of my control playing a role. I leaned on the support system I had built and threw myself into the work like never before, working to rebuild my toxic relationship with math. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of uncertainty, I passed. That moment was not just a turning point in my academic career, it was a testament to the power of persistence and the importance of finding strength in community, even when self-doubt is at its peak. I was able to rebuild my relationship with math and my confidence. I was surrounded by people who believed in me, but most importantly, I believed in myself. Finally.
Looking back, I see how these hurdles shaped my resilience. It was painful, but it taught me just how much I can endure and overcome. I am proud of myself. I did it. I accomplished something I once thought was impossible for me. Now, I’m in a place where I feel inspired every day. I love the research I’m doing, and I am surrounded by the best support system I could ask for in my advisors, my mentors, and my personal life. One day, I’ll be Dr. Jasmine Camero and I can’t wait to celebrate that day, as a Latina in a male-dominated field, knowing just how hard I fought to get there.
Jasmine Camero is a Ph.D. candidate studying arithmetic geometry. In her spare time, she loves watching reality TV, reading, and going on long walks.