Savannah Clax - Track 1 Mini Grant Recipient

When you begin graduate school, you plan everything you can. You choose your program and advisor, arrange housing, sort out transportation and finances, and try to picture the career you want. Yet, no matter how prepared you feel, graduate school brings uncertainty. Research plans shift, coursework becomes overwhelming, and personal challenges continue without pause.

I started my master’s at 21. Six months earlier, I had completed my bachelor’s degree in Marine Science from Savannah State University in only three years. I was young, ambitious, but still figuring out who I was beyond my achievements. I measured my worth by academic success, believing I had to prove something through constant accomplishment. I loved marine science, but I didn’t yet love myself. I was willing to push through anything if it meant achieving my goals.

My first quarter was rough: 16 credits, a brand-new state, cloudy days, and harsh winters. But I kept pushing, writing grant proposals and taking internships, determined to succeed. Then came 2024. The hardest year of my adult life. Academic struggles, terrifying health moments, heartbreak, loss, and homesickness collided all at once. I stopped recognizing myself. I’d lie in bed with my laptop because I didn’t have the energy to leave my room. I told friends, “It feels like I have to choose: be a marine scientist or be happy.” Even with therapy, I couldn’t permit myself to step back. Who was I if not “the one who always overcame everything”? Who was I without the degree?

By early 2025, I was exhausted both emotionally and physically. I would call crisis hotlines at night just to convince myself to show up to the lab the next morning. I barely slept, even with medication, so I ran along the beach at sunrise. I was searching for something, anything that might make staying feel worth it.

Then one February afternoon, something small pushed me to a breaking point. I parked my car after leaving the office and heard a sharp pop. My entire back windshield shattered into pieces. I tried every repair option in the area, and no one could help. A storm was coming. I stepped out and stared at the sky, asking, “What did I do to deserve all of this?” The window felt like the final message that I couldn't keep going. I taped a shower curtain over the broken glass just before the storm hit. Then the power went out. I spent seven hours alone in silence, cold and hungry, thinking about how tired I was of holding everything together. The next morning, when I was asked to attend a lab meeting and give a practice talk, something inside me finally said "enough". I could not continue pretending. I needed help. I needed to leave Oregon.

That’s when the BWEEMS mini-grant changed my life. With that support, I was able to return home, help my family during a difficult time, reconnect with friends, and commit to intensive therapy. I gave myself space to rediscover what I truly cared about, beyond grades, achievements, and expectations. Slowly, I found strength again. I moved to Colorado. I learned to separate my self-worth from my academic success. I discovered joy in my life for possibly the first time. Eventually, I returned to my master’s program remotely, not out of fear of failure, but from a place of confidence in who I am.

Today, I know that I am worthy of love, compassion, and happiness with or without a degree. My value is not measured by productivity or recognition. I am enough simply because I exist.

That remains the greatest lesson I will ever learn.

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