Two months into my Ph.D. program, I attended a focus group to discuss health and disability in graduate school. I asked a professor what accommodations were available to students taking their qualifying exams, the oral tests that are a crucial hurdle in many graduate programs. “I don’t know if we offer any,” they responded. I was startled. As someone with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), I had always received accommodations when taking exams. The qualifying exam wasn’t something I could fail. I soon realized if I wanted to succeed in graduate school as a student with a disability, I would need to speak up for the support I needed.
When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with PTSD, the result of traumatic events during my childhood. A hallmark of the condition is memory problems, so when I was a senior in high school a teacher suggested I may be eligible to receive accommodations when taking exams. After an evaluation by my school’s administration, I was granted extra time and a quiet space. The extra time allowed me to think through my answers, and the space freed me to cry if I needed to, which sometimes happened when I got overwhelmed by anxiety during exams.
At first, I worried I was somehow defective for needing accommodations. But over time I learned to reframe the situation: The exam modifications didn’t mean I was weaker or lesser than other students; they simply removed barriers that shouldn’t have been there in the first place.
During my undergraduate studies, I continued to receive similar accommodations. When I started graduate school, the focus group helped me realize I needed to think about what would help me get through my new program because the work would be different. Some of my studies involved coursework and written exams, but the bulk of my time would be spent doing research. During my second year, I would also need to pass the 3-hour oral qualifying exam, administered by a committee of faculty members.
Choosing the right thesis adviser would be crucial. My program offered rotations in my first year, so I was able to experience different mentorship styles before making a decision. I didn’t shy away from disclosing my disability. During each rotation I told the professor how PTSD impacts my life and asked them, “If I continue on in your lab, are you able to support me?”
That helped me select a caring adviser who was willing to help. With his support, I met with one of my school’s graduate disability specialists to talk about how best to approach the qualifying exam.
Because I was concerned about recalling facts, the specialist and I discussed ways I could jog my memory without bringing in materials that would give me an unfair advantage. She proposed that I take in a barebones outline of the talk I would be giving about my research. She also suggested I be given time to write down the examiners’ questions and the option of asking for the questions to be repeated. Once approved by the exam chair, her list of accommodations was sent to my committee.
When exam day finally came, tears began to well up in my eyes from anxiety. I decided to warn the committee that I might get a bit emotional. Thankfully, they were supportive. And after giving myself a moment to calm down, I did my best to focus on what they were asking me.
I was unable to answer a few questions because of memory problems. One question was particularly frustrating because it was on a topic I had taught to undergraduates earlier that semester, and I knew the answer. Still, I passed, and was able to breathe a sigh of relief that I could continue with my program.
Now, I’m on a mission to let fellow students know that accommodations for disabilities during graduate school do exist. Every student with a disability is unique, and all deserve to get the help they need. I wrote an essay for my department’s graduate school handbook about how to start the process with our school’s disability center. I also plan to keep advocating for my own needs as I progress through my program. Learning to stand up for myself has been an important part of my academic journey.
