It was a cold day in late February when I took a flight from New York to Los Angeles to meet with my friend and colleague Michael Bloomberg, a psychologist and author who is also a professor of psychology at the University of California at Berkeley.
He had been hired as an intern to run a research project about the ways students who don’t belong in classrooms are more likely to drop out.
We were to meet in a dimly lit conference room at the Beverly Hilton, the most expensive hotel in Los Angeles, on a Wednesday afternoon in late March.
The air smelled like a dirty room, and the room was dark.
Bloomberg was dressed in an old-fashioned white shirt and jeans, with a white cap and a black scarf covering his face.
He was in a steely, blue-and-white polo shirt with a red bow tie and a pair of cowboy boots.
He wore a white hat, black sunglasses, and a white head scarf, a sign of his deep commitment to the study of education.
The conversation was on the subject of what it means to be an American today, and Bloomberg and I discussed how he felt about our nation’s future, how he had spent his career researching students who have been excluded from their colleges and universities, and why it was important to examine our racial and ethnic disparities in educational attainment.
We discussed how we could all do better, and I felt as though I was sitting on a goldmine of information.
I had come to Berkeley to see what the future looked like.
A few weeks earlier, I had learned that I had been rejected from my last two interviews at UCLA.
When I had arrived at the university, I was accepted for the psychology program, but then the school had to rescind my application because I hadn’t received a “good enough” score from the admissions office.
The rejection letter also had a line about “racial/ethnic diversity,” which made me feel like a fraud.
It was only a few months later that I realized how little I understood about what race and ethnicity are.
I thought it was all about race.
And I was told that I was a fraud because I wasn’t white enough.
In this image made from video, a man wearing a jacket with a gold medal, the star of the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) is seen.
The man was wearing a coat with a star on the back.
The coat was white, but the star was black.
This image was taken from video that shows a white man with the words, “White Man of the Year,” at the bottom.
It is from March 9, 2016, the day after the White House issued a statement condemning white supremacists for allegedly shooting an African-American teenager.
This picture was taken in June 2017.
This is a still from a video of a protester demonstrating against President Trump.
At the time, I didn’t have any idea that this experience had led to a diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
In the years since, I have spent time learning about the effects of racism, racism, and racism on students, and about how racism can impact our health and well-being.
I have been trying to understand why, even when it’s been so long since the racism, we feel so vulnerable.
I am a white woman.
I came to Berkeley with the hope of becoming a psychology professor.
I started my tenure at UC Berkeley with this goal in mind.
I wanted to do what I could to help students feel more confident and connected to their experiences.
But what I found out was that when I told my students about the experience of being rejected from school, they were not accepting.
They were not even interested in listening to me.
In one class, students asked me to repeat what I had said before, but this time with a different context: They were saying that they were disappointed that I did not take a “white” course.
They felt that they had been excluded, and that they felt unsafe.
This was the first time in my life that I heard students say, “I felt like I had to say this to them,” which was really upsetting.
And that’s what triggered my PTSD diagnosis.
After the first day of my first year as a professor, I knew that I needed to change the way I taught.
I decided to take a job in the department of education, and after a year and a half of working as an adjunct professor, the school hired me full-time.
In a way, my career trajectory had already been determined.
I became an adjunct, but not before I had spent four years at the helm of my own organization, the Institute for Research on Adolescence and Adulthood, or RIAA.
This new job provided me with a very different set of responsibilities.
I was responsible for recruiting, developing, and staffing the department. And