After growing up in humble circumstances in St. Lucia, Whitney Henry feels like an imposter in her PhD program at Harvard.
Whitney Henry is originally from the beautiful Caribbean Island of St Lucia. She relocated to the US after receiving a full presidential academic scholarship from Grambling State University where she completed her BS in Biology with a minor in Chemistry. She earned a PhD in Biological and Biomedical Sciences from Harvard University and is currently a postdoctoral associate in the lab of Dr. Robert Weinberg at the Whitehead Institute for Biomedical Research. Her research focuses on identifying biological processes that drive tumor relapse following chemotherapy in ovarian cancer. When she is not engaged in lab, Whitney enjoys mentoring and traditional Caribbean dancing.
This story originally aired on Dec. 8, 2017 in an episode titled “Doubt.”
Story Transcript
I would like to begin with the diary entry from my first year in Boston.
“Today, I feel trapped. Forced to put on a façade, paste on a smile and breathe. I think to myself I can’t let them down. I must be strong. But the day feels unbearable as my walls crumble. Once invisible tears, now visible.”
You see, the first three years of graduate school were some of the most challenging. Yes, intellectually but more so psychologically. I was surrounded by some of the best minds in the world, astute and intellectually groomed for the rigorous coursework that lay ahead. Their confidence was palpable and only served to remind me of my own insecurity. Surely, Harvard must have made a mistake by accepting me. It just didn’t make sense. How could the same girl who once made her bed using a thin piece of yellow foam laid flat against the floor of a wooden house be in such a privileged environment?
I was born the fifth of eleven siblings on the small but beautiful island of St. Lucia. My biological mother was a live-in maid of humble circumstances and my absentee father, let’s just say he was a man who always seemed drunk the few times I saw him. Life was really simple and my resources very limited.
I can remember the smell of the kerosene lamps that lit our house just to save money on electricity and the sound of the static whenever you adjusted the antenna that shot out from the back of our small black-and-white television. Really, my chance of a successful life was slim. But then came the Burt family.
My biological mother worked for the Burt family from the time that I was born and they had grown to love me as their own, eventually adopting me. Now, I love my biological family. The bond that I had with my adoptive family was undeniable, and it was really heartbreaking when my mom left them to pursue another job.
One of the few early childhood memories that I can recall is a scene of my three-year-old self, so, little Whitney, stuffing her few belongings into a washed-out pillowcase insisting that I be returned back to my adoptive family.
My adoptive mom was the epitome of a prayerful woman and, in my eyes, a modern-day Mother Teresa. I've lost count of the number of times that I have bumped into a homeless person voraciously slurping a cup of tea on our front steps or the surprising extra pair of shoes that made it on our shopping list. Really, at heart, I’m still her little princess dressed in frill dresses, socks and stockings and matching satin ribbons.
My adoptive mom truly made my childhood special. I remember how I loved the way she made the words come to life when she read to me. Somehow, it just didn’t sound the same when I heard it. I remember how she used to spend almost twenty dollars a day just to send me to the best high school on the island, which was over an hour away. We would wake up at 5:00 a.m. every day. At that time it’s still dark, the air crisp and cool, and the only people awake are the local bread man and a few older ladies still clad in head ties and roller sets, and, of course, the occasional stray dog. I remember how she used to wait up with me and place a cup of tea and a sandwich on my desk on those long school nights.
You see, from a very early age, I saw and acknowledged the sacrifices that my parents made in order to give me the best opportunities that they could afford. This instilled in me a strong desire to excel academically. Now, don’t get me wrong. Though financially more stable, my adoptive parents only had a high school education. My mom a seamstress and my dad an electrician. But education, discipline, and empathy were staples in our home.
But then our lives changed in 2003 when our house got destroyed. The image of the blazing fire lining the hallways of my house as I rushed out onto the street will forever be burnt into my memory. The fire had devoured every childhood picture, every favorite book or high school memory in an instant. We had lost everything. And to make matters worse, I was almost done with my secondary school education in St. Lucia and it infuriated me that I had no foreseeable plans for the future. While we were not poor, they just did not have the means to send me off to university.
In fact, I had my eyes set on a scholarship to Cuba to study medicine. It was one of the few full scholarships available to St. Lucians to go off to university. But it so happened that when I was done with school and graduated and ready to apply, it was not made available.
So I got a job as a public high school teacher determined to work tirelessly until an opportunity arose. Eventually, one did. I was granted a full academic scholarship to pursue my bachelor of science at Grambling State University in Louisiana in the United States, a place I had never been to.
Crazy as it may sound, I loved being a student. And getting the opportunity to go to college was like a dream come true. One of the advantages of coming to school here was that I was suddenly exposed to the fascinating and intriguing realm of scientific research. With each science class, from analytical chemistry to cellular, molecular biology, my enthusiasm for research began to be significantly peaked. But the uncertainty of my future plagued me once again in my last year of college.
So there I am, seated across my professor’s desk, staring incredulously at the list of acceptances for institutions that I had never dreamt of attending. “Why settle?” he says. “You belong at these schools. Yes, it will be challenging, but give yourself the opportunity.”
So with great trepidation I found myself signing the offer letter from Harvard. But upon arriving at graduate school, my confidence plummeted to an all-time low. Each class was a dreaded brew of anxiety and fear of being found out.
I distinctly remember calling my home at 3:00 a.m. on what felt like the most dreadful day in the late fall of 2010. The phone rang for forever. Finally, my mom picked up. Between uncontrollable sobs and deep breaths, I managed to blurt out that I don’t belong here, that I wanted to go home, and that I was sorry, sorry for disappointing everyone.
I think it broke my mom’s heart to hear me sound so defeated. She truly believed that I had what it took to achieve greatly and that, despite where we came from, I too deserved to be trained among the best. She instilled faith and life into me and she reminded me of the strength and talent that lay within me.
And she was right, although it took me several years before I could really realize that. You see, all the accolades that I accrued in graduate school and all the praises from my peers and mentors just wasn’t enough proof. I think the magnitude of my accomplishments really sunk in on graduation day. And to celebrate with me was one of my biological aunts, my adoptive family, and an old childhood friend from St. Lucia. There they were, beaming proudly, amidst my colleagues on the grounds of Harvard University. In a split second, it felt like my seemingly disparate worlds had finally met. I was part of their world as much as I was part of the Harvard family.
The crowd cheered as I walked across the stage to pick up my doctoral diploma. It didn’t matter where I came from, what I looked like or what I sounded like. For once, I actually felt like I belonged. Despite the sweat and tears, I had made it.
I couldn’t help but remember all the mentors I had, each one strategically placed to help me navigate through life’s journey through each of my worlds. As my mom helped me out of my crimson red regalia, I couldn’t help but feel immensely grateful for her love, her strength and her sacrifices have made me who I am.
Thank you.