Fight or Flight

-- By JulieIreneNkodo - 04 Apr 2016

I can acutely remember my conversation with my linesister Esther (see: historically black greek life) when I told her I was going to law school. I had just come back from dance class, my clothes sticky from the mixture of sweat and the rainy London weather. “Law school has a way of magnifying your insecurities. Be careful” she warned.

The Beginning: Chapter I.

I’ve always been insecure. Growing up, my mom routinely scolded me for never being able to make my own choices and caring too much about others’ opinions. I can remember crying because I desperately wanted a Tamagotchi and when my mom pressed me on why, I responded “Because Francois has one.” Not because I wanted one. Not because they were particularly intriguing or fascinating. But because other people had them.

As the child of francophone Cameroonian immigrants, I spent my early childhood at the French International School in Washington, DC. Naturally, this made my transition to an American high school painful. I had never been around people that weren’t also “immigrants,” that thought natural hair was “nappy,” that had never heard of Cameroon. I was made fun of daily. I still have my high school yearbook "fresh off the boat" scribbled across my picture with arrows pointing to my kinky afro. For some reason, my sophomore year my history teacher decided to play "Roots" in class...that ended with me running out of the room crying. My high school experience did nothing to help quiet my insecurities. Instead, it triggered fight or flight syndrome.

And unfortunately, I can't remember a time where I've chosen to fight.

College: Chapter II.

I attended Princeton University for college. I had never stepped foot on campus. I did not know a soul. No one in my family had ever been to an ivy league, I could(can) count the number of extended family members I have in this country on one hand. But I was so desperate not to deal with my own insecurities, I jumped at the opportunity to get away.

Socially, emotionally, mentally, and physically, college took a toll on me. It destroyed my confidence. My ignorance on how to navigate college at Princeton, my cultural and familial background, the at-times racist environment (don’t get me started on my French Professor who insinuated that as a Cameroonian my French was sub-par and subsequently refused to give me an A in a course in which I had received nothing less than 95% on all exams #gradedeflation), culminated in a general lack of confidence in my abilities, my intelligence, my physical person.

Instead of trying to fit in, I dove straight into the arts. Dance became “my flight.” Instead of thinking about my insecurity, I choreographed. I helped produce on campus dance shows, I became Artistic Director of the Black Arts Company: Dance. But, I never dealt with my issues, quieting them by dedicating myself fully to something else.

Law School: Chapter III

After college, I hopped around. I moved to Chicago but that didn’t last. I had joined professional dance companies and was beginning to doubt myself. Was I not getting cast because I wasn’t good enough? Pretty enough? Skinny enough? So I fled to DC. My bosses at the American Historical Association made me feel insignificant. So I fled to London. But now, I am here. A 1L at Columbia Law.

I’m antsy.

I’m panicking.

Esther was right.

Law school is meant to be an endurance test. How long can you handle being made to feel like an idiot? The whole system is set up to make us feel like we’re not good enough, like we’re lucky to be in the presence of x firms, x professors, x opportunity. I can’t reconcile this structure with myself. It’s not reflective of who I am, of what I believe, of why I came. And all of the insecurities that I’ve tried to hush away have flooded back. Am I smart enough? What do people think of me? Do I fit in? I find myself crying every day in an attempt to deal with my two selves. How am I to be present, when succeeding here requires the absence of my true self.

And I find myself doing it again. Every fiber in my body is telling me to flee.

Where to next?

It doesn't appear to me so much as flight as the attachment difficulty which the children of immigrants often experience. I think you're fine, and I think you can feel that it would be possible to feel that you are fine, if only people would stop telling you things that make you feel you're not. Don't go to EIP: you'll get a fine summer job in the course of the year. Leave others to go to humiliation ceremonies that wouldn't be good for you. Think about what you'd like to be part of making happen in society using words. Write a very little bit about that.