Adventures in CES Land

I have approximately 38 hours to turn in a paper I absolutely should’ve started weeks ago. I should be neck-deep in Emotionally Focused Therapy citations right now, but instead, I’m here writing this blog post, which, let’s be honest, is definitely procrastination.

Here’s the thing: life in a doctoral program is a bit like trying to bake five cakes at once in a kitchen that’s also on fire while answering emails, wrangling kids, taking the dog out (again), and pretending you’ve had enough sleep to form complete sentences. There are classes and internships and deadlines and grading and jobs, humans (small and tall), and animals who depend on you. There’s also your actual life, you know, the one you promised yourself you wouldn’t completely lose sight of?

So yes, this post is late. And so is my paper. And my laundry. But I’m showing up anyway (paper pending) because the past few weeks have been heavy in ways I didn’t expect.

Not heavy because of any one thing, but more that quiet kind of heavy that comes from witnessing change. The kind you don’t always see until it’s already behind you. The kind that makes you pause, even when the clock is ticking.

Someone from my cohort, someone sharp, thoughtful, and full of potential, won’t be finishing the program with us. I won’t share details, and I won’t pretend to know all the reasons, but I do know this: it’s hard to hold space for the dreams that get paused or rerouted. It makes you wonder how many stories unfold differently with just a little more room, a little more listening, a little more flexibility.

But here we are. It’s the end of Week 8. Assignments are due. Grading looms. Life goes on.

And still, somewhere in this mix of fatigue and grief and page numbers, I’m reminded that we don’t do this work because it’s easy. We do it because we care. We do it because people matter. We do it because, sometimes, even when things fall apart, we still believe in what we’re trying to build.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with Sue Johnson, 10 blank pages, a too-bright screen frying my retinas, and some overly optimistic background music pretending this isn’t a mild academic crisis.

Wish me luck.

jackie bicas grapa