This Is Not How My Story Ends

I never had a blueprint.

No one in my family could tell me how to navigate college applications. No one could explain financial aid in detail. No one could show me what it meant to pursue a graduate degree, let alone a PhD. I was the first.

I walked onto campus carrying more than a backpack. I carried expectations. I carried fear. I carried the quiet pressure of knowing that if I failed, it wouldn’t just feel personal, it would feel generational.

But I didn’t fail.

I earned my Associate’s degree.

I earned my Bachelor’s degree.

I earned my Master’s degree.

Each one came with sacrifices people didn’t always see. Studying when I was exhausted. Working when I wanted to quit. Smiling in public while privately wondering how I was going to make it through another semester. I pushed through imposter syndrome. I pushed through financial strain. I pushed through moments where I questioned whether I truly belonged in spaces that weren’t designed with me in mind.

And then, in March 2025, everything changed.

My world flipped in a way I wasn’t prepared for. What should have been a focused season in my PhD journey became one of survival. I was stretched emotionally. I was shaken financially. I was fighting battles that no syllabus could have prepared me for.

There were nights I cried. Nights I felt embarrassed. Nights I wondered if this was the universe telling me I had reached too far.

But deep down, I know this: I did not come this far to stop here.

Today, I am in a better place. I am healing. I am rebuilding. I am finding my strength again. But there is one final hurdle standing between me and returning to finish what I started , a student account balance of $1,488.

It is humbling to even write that.

Because I have always been the one who “figured it out.” The strong one. The resilient one. The one who made a way out of no way.

But strength also means knowing when to ask for help.

Clearing this balance means I can re-enroll. It means I can step back into my doctoral program. It means that a temporary storm does not become a permanent ending.

I am doing this for myself — yes.

But I am also doing this for every Black girl who studies quietly and wonders if she’ll ever see someone who looks like her earn the title “Doctor.”

For the girl who doesn’t have family money.

For the girl navigating higher education alone.

For the girl who just needs proof that resilience wins.

If you can give, I am deeply grateful.

If you can share, I am deeply grateful.

If you can pray, I am deeply grateful.

This isn’t charity. This is an investment in legacy.

This is restoration.

This is a comeback.

I refuse to let one hard chapter close the entire book.

With faith, gratitude, and unwavering determination,

Your future Dr. Chasity Dukes ✨