A final reflection from Carrie Cleveland as a undergraduate and Women’s Center staff member

In the fall of 1996, I started my college journey at Douglass College at Rutgers University.  I spent a brief three semesters at Rutgers, mostly floundering around and hating my choice of major (pre-business).  In December of 1997, I left college and began working at Starbucks.  I managed to support myself, but barely.  I spent a few years at Starbucks, but knew that this was not what I wanted to do with my life.

When I decided to leave the retail/restaurant world, I had a hard time finding another job that would pay me a living wage.  I was told that my lack of college degree made me “highly unemployable” in the words of one recruiter.   It was then that I tried to get back to school.  I could never figure out how to pay for it and cover my living expenses.  I had no idea what I was doing in terms of financial aid and loans.  I never asked for help. I just kept on working low paying jobs that had no professional opportunities for growth and thought I would go back to school later.

Time passed. I got married and had a baby.  We then picked up and moved from New Jersey to Maryland.  In my new home, I felt isolated with a husband who worked A LOT, a newborn baby to care for, and no nearby family or friends.  I convinced my husband that it would be a good idea for me to go back to school, even if it was just to have some social interaction with people who could form complete sentences.

In the fall of 2007, I re-started my college journey at Anne Arundel Community College.  I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I *grew up* (mind you, I was almost 30 at the time), but I walked through the door thinking I would get my general education credits done and figure it out from there.  In the meantime, I  would go on to have another baby, find my calling (social work), graduate from AACC, and have ANOTHER baby.

While my story is uniquely me, it isn’t necessarily a unique story. More and more students non-traditional students are enrolling in college. In fact, you’ll often hear the phrase that the non-traditional student is the new traditional student. Even though our numbers are increasing, the barriers we face as non-traditional students have yet to be diminished (even though the Women’s Center Returning Women Students Scholars Program is working hard to support us!). The American Association of University Women released a report about women in community colleges a few years ago that outlines the many barriers that non-traditional women students face when returning to school.  One of those barriers is child care which definitely reflects my own experiences.  It was easier to be in school and manage child care at the community college level and I really had no idea how challenging it would get when I would leave community college and transfer to a four-year institution.  Looking back over the past several years, I feel like I spent just as much time arranging child care as I did writing papers…..  But I digress.

That brings me to UMBC.  Four years ago, in the fall of 2012, I started what would be my “last stop” on my undergraduate journey.  I cannot believe that I am standing here today, so close to graduation.  It has taken me 9 years of continuously being enrolled in school to get to this day.  As I think about graduating, it seems unfathomable that my time here is done.  I always knew I would finish school, but it always felt so far away.  Now, it just feels SO real and VERY bittersweet.

When I walk across that stage tomorrow, my three daughters and my husband will see what is the culmination of all of our hard work.  I say “our” because I may have done the academic work but they were all there supporting me.  My kids have no idea what it is like to have a mom who is not in college.  I also have an entire village of other moms who have schlepped my kids across town, or to dance class, swimming or Girl Scouts so I could be in class or field placement or write a paper.  I have friends who have watched my kids on snow days or the inevitable days when their schedule just did not match with mine. I feel like they have all earned this degree. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I say it take a village to get a mom through college.

Thank goodness for talented friends who design your cap so your kids can find you in a sea of graduates!

I had an amazing four years.  I will leave UMBC with not only a degree, but with four years of experiences that I did not think were possible for a non-traditional student.  I was able to become involved with BreakingGround and do work that I really enjoyed.  I found a job at the Women’s Center where my unique experiences were considered an asset as a student staff member.  I made some great friends, both traditional and non-traditional students.  I am going to miss UMBC.  Good thing my daughter has a swim meet here in a few weeks.  That is the life of a mom, right?

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Congrats to all of UMBC’s non-tradiation students graduating on May 19th to include a very special shout out to the graduating students in the Women’s Center’s Returning Women Students Scholars Program!

To read more about Carrie and her experience at UMBC, check out the Baltimore Sun’s Class of 2016 Graduate Profiles! 

Step into the Special Collections at the Albin O. Kuhn Library to view our newest exhibit, Traveling through Photographs: A Glimpse at Photo Souvenirs from 1850-1950, curated by Sidrah Shayiq. 

Beginning May 23, 2016 and running through the end of August, the Women's Center will be operating under limited hours and the Center may be closed during times that UMBC community members need access to the lactation room.

In order to ensure access to this safe and private space for nursing parents, the Women's Center is partnering with the Commons CIC. If you plan on using the lactation room over the summer, please contact Jess Myers (jessm@umbc.edu, 410-455-2714) for details and next steps. 

A reflection written by Women’s Center staff member, MJ Jalloh Jamboria

The following is a little of my experience as a queer Muslim person. I recognize that my experience is not reflective of Islam, nor of the community of people I met at the Interfaith Center.

For the first time since last Eid al-Fitr, a Muslim holy holiday, I went to Jumu’ah (congregational Friday prayer). I met a person on campus who extended a warm hand and invited me to prayer which took place at the Interfaith Center. I was both excited and terrified for a plethora of reasons. I was excited to sit amongst my sisters, to rejoin the community I had left behind me as I entered college, and to listen to the guest Sheik that was invited to give the khutbah, the congregational sermon.

In the days leading up to the Friday prayer, all I could talk about was how excited I was that I finally had a friend to go to Jumu’ah with. I quickly realized, I had no idea how to be practicing Muslim anymore. I was once a Sunday school teacher and was really quite good at incorporating Islamic teachings into my life. However, since the start of college, I hadn’t really thought about being religious. I am not hijabi, a woman who wears hijab full-time. I’m not even a woman! I sometimes eat gelatin (oops!) and I don’t think I own a single piece of ‘modest’ clothing. I am a fat, queer, shorts and T-shirt wearing, ‘you kiss your mother with that mouth?’ swearing, mess of a person! Muslim people can be all of these things, but in prayer there are certain rules we must submit to. The expectation for women is to stand in a section separate from men, covered in appropriate prayer attire and hair and neck wrapped in a veil. The thought of completing some of these actions made me nervous. 

Friday came and I finally decided upon an outfit that was appropriate, picked a hijab and walked over to the Interfaith Center. The prayer went well, I loved the khutbah (the sermon given by the person who leads prayer, usually the Sheik) and I felt like was I finally home. Even though I had only spent an afternoon with these sisters, I knew I found a community of women who understood and loved me. In fact, the khutbah before the prayer was almost serendipitous. The Sheik recited a line about friendship. He reminded the congregation that we should all find friends that we love purely for God’s sake. With the women that surrounded me, I felt I finally found the very friends the Sheik was talking about.

Despite all of the affirmation I felt in the space, I was (and am) still challenged by the fact that a large part of my identity has to be put on hold to enter into this space of prayer. Since high school, simple and arbitrary gender markers have been instrumental in the way that I’ve been able to present my identity. My name, the way I dress and talk, even the way I wear my hair have become the only way I can really be non-normative and express who I am. As I got ready for prayer that morning, I felt like I was hiding and changing who I am. I had to find clothes that weren’t form-fitting and that covered my body. I put on a hijab and while I love what hijab represents, it too plays a role in covering up important parts of my identity. I’ve been growing my locs for the past 2 years and they’ve become a prized familial tradition I don’t want to hide. But, both the hijab and the clothes were material. Whenever I was asked my name, I cringed as I introduced myself as Sister Mariam as opposed to “MJ.” I love my birthname. I love the woman I am named after and I love the religious significance of my name. But, I hate lying. I am no longer Mariam. I am not the pious Sunday school teacher anymore. I’m MJ, a queer, potty-mouth, music-loving, dances in their underwear kind of person who also happens to be Muslim.

While it would be easier to just not stress over being called by my birthname and changing my appearance, I think I owe it to myself to look for a space where all of my identities are acknowledged and valued and allowed to intersect. I’ve previously felt like I had to filter parts of myself to fit into certain spaces. In queer and feminist spaces, I’ve felt a disconnect from my religion. While in Muslim settings I’m forced back into the closet. It’s important to find communities and spaces where all of our identities and embodiments are acknowledged, valued, and perhaps even loved!

I have yet to return to the Interfaith Center. Two weeks have gone by, and instead of joining the congregation, I steal glances as I pass the Center on my way to The Commons. I haven’t decided whether or not I’ll be going to another Friday prayer just yet. I want to be among my sisters again, but not at the cost of other parts of my identity that I’ve worked so hard to be able to express.

For more on practicing and incorporating intersectionality into our lives and feminism, check out Why Our Feminism Must Be Intersectional (And 3 Ways to Practice It) from Everyday Feminism.

And, to read another person’s experience related to intersectional feminism and her Muslim identity, read Maha Saleem’s reflection on AAUW’s blog.