Managing identity in higher education: a Black woman’s experience pursuing a master’s degree

Blog post by Heather Poke, Michigan State University, USA
 
In this blog, Heather Poke, a second-year master’s student in the School of Criminal Justice at Michigan State University, reflects on what it means to navigate higher education as a first-generation Black woman from a low-income, rural community in Alabama.
 
I remember watching the different road signs pass by through the window in my U-Haul, and reality kicked in: I’m really moving 12 hours away from home. My first day of class at the School of Criminal Justice at Michigan State University was terrifying, yet a proud moment. I was the first of my family to move hours away from home ‘just for school’, as my parents stated. And the only thing I kept repeating to myself was: ‘You’re too country for the north’.
 
Despite moving to a slightly better environment, I had to leave behind things that shaped me, like my hometown. I grew up in a rural town in Alabama, called York, a predominantly Black community with limited resources. Not only were the resources limited for my community (health), but also academically.
My community placed my high school basketball team on a pedestal, and the idea of relying on higher education was considered a shadow or often viewed as a dream rather than a reality. Observing my loved ones struggle to make ends meet while still being classified as ‘lower class’ inspired me to seek education as a means of achieving stability and opportunity. This is what motivated me to further my education. 

I am now a first-generation Black woman from a low-income community pursuing a master’s degree. So, how does the concept of identity influence the experience of pursuing higher education? Black women’s experiences are moulded by the intersections of race, gender, class and place, as scholars like Patricia Hill Collins have demonstrated. These dynamics have a significant impact on journeys like mine into higher education, and so I’d like to share my personal experience while reflecting on extensive social and academic dynamics.
 
Maturing and getting there
Growing up in the Black Belt region of Alabama, the idea of being successful meant maintaining a job to cover expenses, having a home and creating a healthier and smoother lifestyle compared to your parents. But before doing this, many have stated that you have to get out of York, Alabama first to attain success. My mom, older cousins and high school teacher all encouraged me to be one of the many people who leave my community and make something of myself. Their belief in me was the push I needed in overcoming the unknown, even when resources and mentors representing higher education were limited.
 
I wasn’t a star athlete, music prodigy or expert in the blue-collar field. Education was the only thing I knew; education was my only path to success. Looking around my neglected environment, I constantly questioned the what-ifs, hows and whys of the inequalities around me. My curiosity about systemic criminalization and how certain systems affect the lives I know led me to the field of criminal justice.
 
My experiences in York weren’t personal failure, but reflected what a well-known expert such as Vanessa Siddle Walker described as prolonged educational disparities experienced by Black communities in the south. Walker’s work showed how Black rural communities, before and after segregation, have long been subjected to structural underfunding and unequal educational resources, and constrained by state laws that limited students’ academic careers. Her work demonstrated how these systemic disparities affect young people’s routes and readiness before entering college. Students from underprivileged communities face cumulative disadvantages that accompany them into higher education, which is indicative of larger patterns of educational inequality. These realities shaped the academic foundation I carried with me.
 
Once I got to graduate school, being a ‘first-gen’ was heavier than I anticipated. Even the format of prolonged graduate courses and implicit expectations served as a reminder that I was in an unfamiliar environment: an environment that students from places like York, Alabama are rarely ready for, due to institutional obstacles rather than aptitude.
 
Overcoming identity, belonging and isolation in higher education
The first several months of my master’s programme were dreadful. Despite the happiness of being accepted to one of the top ten schools for criminal justice, I was easily consumed by depression, hopelessness and imposter syndrome. Surrounded by peers who seemed more connected and more knowledgeable, I wondered if being there was a mistake. I thought a lot about whether theory and research aligned with my future.
 
Of course, there were times I wanted to move back home – I felt most noticed, supported and confident there. However, I knew turning back was out of the question; I had come too far. This motivated me to get out there, seek help and regain my self-assurance. I realized that managing my identity meant accepting the loneliness and acknowledging that I was ‘the only one’ in many spaces. These difficulties were not coincidental – they were cultural, structural and deeply rooted. However, these same experiences began to strengthen me. I viewed these interactions as a source of power, and not a deficit.
 
Community and purpose
A significant turning point in my life occurred when I began forming connections with prominent figures in Black organizations within white communities. These mentors, professionals and advocates looked like me and had similar paths. These interactions proved to me that representation was more life-changing than inspiring.
 
Every conversation I had with Black mentors and community leaders made me realize how crucial Black women's viewpoints are to the development of the criminal justice system. They spoke on the importance of navigating professional spaces and code switching without watering down my personality or true self. Not only did they teach me to preserve my personality, but also how to take control of my story, and how to turn my doubt into determination. My internships were another milestone; these experiences strengthened my resume and reinforced my feeling of purpose. I realized that my academic work was strengthened, not hindered, by my lived experience: I had a first-hand grasp of systemic inequality rather than an intellectual one. I had witnessed and experienced it, and now I was studying it from within, rather than from a distance. The difficulties weren't eliminated by finding community, but were reframed, reminding me that perseverance and purpose are more important for success than perfection.
 
Reimagining success
Being up north and in graduate school made me rethink the definition of success. For the majority of my life, I knew being successful meant getting by, silently overcoming obstacles and demonstrating my abilities. But as I matured, I realized that success also entails relaxation, contemplation and choosing to live up to expectations that weren’t intended for people like me.
 
Being a first-generation Black woman in academia means that I must simultaneously hold multiple identities at once. Yes, I am a student, daughter, mentor and reminder that advancement is achievable. This entails discovering ways to not only survive but also flourish in systems that weren't created with my experience in mind. Black feminist researchers like Kimberlé Crenshaw serve as a reminder that these identities don't function independently; rather, they interact in ways that specifically influence how Black women interact with institutions. In my situation, performance in academic settings is influenced by a combination of factors such as ethnicity, gender, class and first-generation status. This entails learning how to thrive in systems that weren't created with my experiences in mind.
 
My insecurities, background and distance from home are what I had viewed as obstacles, but I’ve now noticed that these qualities gave me depth and empathy. I’m not telling my story about a Black woman earning a degree; my story has to do with the larger struggle for equity and visibility in higher education.
 
Claiming space
As I get closer to my graduation date, I sometimes catch myself reminiscing about how far I’ve come. This journey has been emotional, but transformative. It’s not easy to go from a small, low-income town to earning my second degree at a major university.
 
I've discovered that maintaining your identity in college doesn't mean trying to fit in; rather, it means being true to who you are despite what the outside world may say. It's about establishing a sense of belonging, overcoming obstacles and paving the road for others to follow. My story is not just about leaving home; it is about redefining what is possible for those who come after me.
 
I want this message to reverberate with other first-generation students: You are not out of place. This is especially important for Black women who feel invisible in academic settings. You are proof of advancement. Your identity is your basis, not a barrier. Every action you take, every classroom you visit, and every area you occupy is an act of rebirth and resistance.

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Heather Poke is a second-year master’s student in the School of Criminal Justice at Michigan State University. As a first-generation Black woman from a low-income rural community, her work delves into identity, persistence and visibility in higher education and the criminal justice system. She is passionate about creating community and inspiring others to overcome systemic barriers.

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Image credit: Author's own.

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