 “What did you do when the path you thought you wanted didn’t fit anymore?”
You’re Allowed to Choose Again If you’re a woman who feels pressure to stick to the plan—even when something in you is quietly resisting—I want to speak to you gently for a moment. Changing your mind doesn’t mean you failed. Sometimes it means you finally have enough information to tell the truth. Here’s how I knew it was time to choose a different path—and how you might recognize that moment for yourself. 1. I Listened to the Moment My Body Spoke First "The Cadaver Reality Check" At 17, I was certain. Medical school. White coat. Clear plan. Strong grades. While working at Georgetown University’s cancer research center, I walked past a room with a cadaver—covered, still, silent. And in that moment, something inside me stopped moving forward. I realized that while I loved children deeply, I could not carry the emotional weight of working with children who might not survive. My body knew before my résumé did. I didn’t argue with that knowing. I didn’t try to “push through.” I turned—and I ran. That decision wasn’t fear. It was clarity arriving late. Sometimes the plan stops fitting because you finally see the full picture. And once you see it, you’re allowed to change your mind. 2. I Paid Attention to the Questions That Wouldn’t Let Me Go After leaving the medical path, I became a biology teacher—because I genuinely loved the subject. But over time, my questions began to shift. I wasn’t just asking how cells functioned. I was asking, Who decides what gets taught? Why does policy shape my classroom this way? One day, a friend ran into me at the mall and said something that landed with surprising accuracy: “You’re not asking teaching questions. You’re asking policy questions.” She was right. When your path no longer fits, listen closely to the questions you keep asking. They’re often breadcrumbs, quietly leading you toward the work that actually belongs to you. 3. I Noticed What Kept Following Me When I looked back, I realized something important: no matter what role I was in—teacher, administrator, student—technology was always there. I was the one helping colleagues troubleshoot systems. I shadowed IT professionals. I worked help desk jobs. I solved problems on the user side, again and again. The next path didn’t come from a sudden discovery. It came from noticing a pattern I had overlooked. If the road you’re on feels wrong, ask yourself: What keeps showing up in my life—even when I’m not looking for it? That’s rarely an accident. 4. I Treated Every Step as Preparation, Not Waste It’s easy to believe that changing direction means you’ve lost time. I learned the opposite. The statistics courses from my Master’s in Public Policy fulfilled requirements for my PhD in Instructional Technology. My background in biology shaped how I approached research—with structure, systems, and care. When the path changed, I didn’t lose the miles I’d walked. I packed the skills and carried them forward. Nothing was wasted. It was all preparation. 5. I Made the Decision For Me Eventually, I understood this: deciding what to do after high school—or after any major pivot—is one of the most personal decisions you’ll ever make. It has to be yours. Whether that choice is vocational training, a job, a graduate degree, or a PhD, it only needs to fit this version of you, right now. When the path stopped fitting, I chose a new one—one that honored my grandmother’s legacy and my own capacity. I earned a PhD in Instructional Technology not because I had to, but because I could. And I want you to hear this clearly: You are allowed to choose again. You are allowed to listen to yourself. You are allowed to take what you’ve learned and walk forward differently. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is admit the plan has changed—and keep going anyway.
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 “Is it okay to not have a five-year plan if everyone else seems to?”
You Need Room to Breathe If you’re a woman reading this, I want to start by saying this out loud—because it doesn’t get said enough: It is okay if you don’t have your life mapped out in five-year increments. Really. I know the pressure. I’ve lived it. I’ve watched brilliant women carry the weight of expectation as if uncertainty were a personal failure. It’s not. It’s part of becoming. So let me talk to you, coach-to-coach, about what I’ve learned navigating degree changes, career pivots, and the winding path that led me here. 1. A Five-Year Plan Is a Guide, Not a Contract I once wrote that life is like a good jam session. Not a perfectly rehearsed concert—but a space where you listen, respond, adjust, and create something new in real time. During my doctorate, I learned this lesson the hard way. I submitted a 158-page prospectus draft—confident, prepared, proud. Then I was told to cut 30 pages and completely rethink my theoretical framework. Not long after, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and the entire research design I had carefully planned—centered on an after-school program—became impossible. I had a choice: cling tightly to the plan I thought I needed, or improvise. I chose flexibility. I adjusted the tempo. I finished. If I had treated my five-year plan like a contract instead of a guide, I would have quit. Your ability to adapt—to respond instead of freeze—is more valuable than your ability to predict the future. 2. Focus on the Ends, Not the Roots Big plans can feel paralyzing because we try to start at the destination. I often compare long-term goals—careers, dissertations, life plans—to combing through hair. You don’t start at the roots. You start at the ends. If you try to force your way through the knots without untangling what’s right in front of you, you create more damage than progress. So instead of asking, “Where will I be in five years?” Ask, “What is the next small step I can take right now?” One class. One application. One skill. As Dominique shared in our lessons, it’s about taking one step at a time—not carrying the entire future on your shoulders all at once. 3. Your Plan Might Be a Detour—and That Can Be a Gift At 17, I had a plan. I was going to be a medical doctor. I had the grades, the discipline, the ambition. Then one day, walking past a medical school lab, I saw a cadaver—and something in my spirit said, No. I didn’t overthink it. I ran. If I had forced myself to stick to that plan just because it looked good on paper, I would have missed the path that led me to teaching, policy, and eventually instructional technology. Sometimes, not having a plan allows you to notice the breadcrumbs—those quiet patterns that keep showing up. Like how technology followed me everywhere, even when I wasn’t looking for it. Pay attention to what keeps finding you. 4. You’re Building a Toolkit, Not Just Following a Map Instead of obsessing over a specific job title five years from now, I want you to shift your focus. You’re not just following a map. You’re building a toolkit. I truly believe this: no education is wasted. I used statistics courses from my Master’s in Public Policy to meet requirements for my PhD in Instructional Technology. I used my background in biology to understand systems and processes in tech. Nothing was lost. Everything transferred. Charlene shared something similar in our lessons—she didn’t even know how to use a computer in her first job. She learned, implemented, and eventually built a business. What you’re doing right now—learning digital literacies, practicing leadership, figuring out how you think—those are tools. Tools travel well, even when destinations change. 5. Slow and Steady Is Still Winning Let me leave you with this, because comparison is loud right now. It took me seven years to complete my PhD while working full-time. Seven. I wasn’t behind. I was living my life and moving forward at a pace that was sustainable for me. If it feels like everyone else has a plan, remember this: plans change. Careers evolve. People pivot quietly. Progress doesn’t always look fast. Sometimes it looks like exploration, rest, or recalibration. As long as you’re moving forward—learning, reflecting, adjusting—you are not behind. You are becoming.  “How do I explore different paths without feeling like I’m falling behind?”
A Gentle Truth About Taking Your Time If you’re worried that exploring different paths means you’re “falling behind,” I want to pause with you right there—because that fear is common, understandable, and also… not the full story. I know this because my own path has never been straight. It curved. It doubled back. It surprised me. And every twist added something essential to who I became. So let me tell you what I’ve learned, not as a lecture—but as a conversation, one woman to another. 1. You’re Not Falling Behind — You’re Gathering Data Here’s the reframe I wish someone had given me earlier: You are not falling behind. You are gathering information. When I was 17 and realized medical school wasn’t for me—standing outside a lab, catching a glimpse of a cadaver—I didn’t “waste time.” I learned something vital about myself. My limits. My spirit. My truth. Every path you explore teaches you something. And those lessons don’t disappear just because you pivot. I often say, no education is wasted. When I later pursued a PhD in Instructional Technology, the statistics courses I took during my Master’s in Public Policy didn’t vanish into thin air—they became the bridge that helped me qualify for doctoral research. Think of your journey like stacking bricks. Biology. Policy. Teaching. Technology. Each one adds weight and stability to what you’re building. You’re not losing time. You’re building a niche no one else can replicate. 2. Balance Is Not a Distraction — It’s a Survival Skill There’s a myth that focus means doing only hard things, all the time. I believed that once—and paid for it. As an undergraduate, I packed my schedule with 17 credits of heavy science and math. No creative outlets. No breathing room. I got sick. I had to withdraw. That’s when I learned about counterweights. I began pairing demanding courses with creative ones—photography, painting, classes that used different parts of my brain. Those choices didn’t slow me down. They saved me. Exploring different paths isn’t losing focus. It’s learning how to sustain excellence without burning out. 3. You Are Allowed to Be All of You There’s quiet pressure to shrink yourself into a single label: student, future professional, one clear title. But you are more than that. You might be analytical and creative. Serious and playful. A thinker and a maker. I tell my nieces this often: when you make room for all parts of yourself—art, music, community, creativity—you don’t fall behind. You refuel. Paint the mural. Sing in the choir. Write the poem. Build the thing just for joy. When your spirit is fed, you don’t quit when things get hard. You persist. 4. Slow Is Not the Same as Stuck We live in a culture that worships speed. Timelines. “On time.” Milestones. But I stand firmly by an old truth: slow and steady wins the race. It took me seven years to complete my PhD while working full-time. Seven. Years. And I wouldn’t trade that pace for anything—because rushing into the wrong path is far more costly than taking time to choose the right one. Exploration now—using tools like career simulations, reflective prompts, even AI-supported exploration—isn’t delay. It’s discernment. You have a lifetime to do the work. Take the time to make sure it’s work that fits you. 5. Your “Winding Path” Is the Point Finally, let’s release this idea that a non-traditional background is a liability. In Black-Liberation.Tech, we highlight women who discovered that their winding paths—teaching, helping at a tech desk, learning on the job—prepared them for leadership in ways a straight line never could. That’s called transferable skills. I didn’t become an instructional technologist because I followed a perfect script. I became one because I explored, paid attention, and connected the dots. Your curiosity. Your pivots. Your side roads. They are not evidence of being behind. They are proof that you’re building the tools you’ll need to lead. A Gentle Reminder If you’re exploring right now, questioning, testing, wondering-- you are not late. You are listening. You are learning. You are becoming. And that is exactly how strong paths are made.  “What if I’m capable, but I don’t feel confident yet?”
If you’re reading this and thinking, “I know I’m capable… but why don’t I feel confident yet?” I want to start by saying this gently: Confidence is often a lagging indicator. It usually arrives after you’ve started the work—not before. Most of us were taught the opposite. We were taught that confidence comes first, that certainty should lead the way. But in my experience—through my own academic journey and through listening to the stories of women in tech—confidence is something you grow into, not something you wait for. Here’s how I would coach you through that space between capability and belief. 1. Trust the Process (Like Combing Hair) I often tell my nieces that research—and honestly, any big goal—is like combing through my hair. You don’t start at the roots. You start at the ends. Slowly. Gently. Patiently. When I was writing my dissertation proposal, I felt overwhelmed. The project felt too big, too complex, too heavy to hold all at once. So I explained it this way: the proposal is the ends. It prepares you. By the time you reach the roots—by the time you’re deep in the data—you’ve already worked through the tangles. Here’s my advice to you: Don’t expect to feel like an expert at the root level when you’re just starting at the ends. That pressure will only make you freeze. Give yourself permission to be mid-process. Growth doesn’t happen all at once—it happens strand by strand. 2. Action Creates Confidence In the words of Charlene, "You gotta do what you gotta do." In our Conversations for the Future lesson, we tell the story of Charlene—a founder of a cultural sensitivity marketing firm. When she landed her first job in publishing, she was handed a computer… and didn’t know how to use it. She felt embarrassed. Out of place. Unsure. But she didn’t stop there. She learned quickly. She applied what she learned immediately. Over time, she went on to build websites and manage campaigns. Her confidence didn’t arrive before the work. It arrived because of the work. Here’s my advice to you: You don’t have to wait until you feel confident to begin. Sometimes you start while your voice shakes. Sometimes you implement before you feel “ready.” Competence builds confidence—but only if you’re willing to start moving first. 3. Find Your Specific Lane A lack of confidence often comes from comparison. In a conversation between two characters—Tia and Dominique—Tia admits she used to feel paralyzed by the idea that she wasn’t “good enough.” What changed was realizing that while others were building highly advanced systems, her strength was teaching beginners and making complex ideas accessible. That was her lane. Here’s my advice to you: You don’t need to be confident in everything. You need to be confident in something. Identify where your strengths naturally show up. Build there first. The ecosystem needs many kinds of brilliance—not just the loudest or most visible kind. 4. Borrow Confidence from Your Community When confidence dips, isolation makes it worse. I’ve learned—again and again—that two heads really are better than one. When I was stuck during my dissertation, I didn’t sit alone with my doubt. I called a friend, Dr. Rebecca, and talked through my theoretical framework out loud. What felt impossible alone became manageable in conversation. Here’s my advice to you: If you don’t feel confident, don’t disappear. Lean on your village. A mentor, a peer, a study group—someone who can help you hold the question until clarity arrives. You were never meant to carry the weight of “knowing it all” by yourself. 5. Break It Down Before It Breaks You Sometimes what we call “lack of confidence” is really just overwhelm. A PhD. A career in tech. A future that feels enormous. When you look at the whole thing at once, your nervous system shuts down. But when you break it into five small, concrete steps, the fear softens. Here’s my advice to you: Slow and steady still wins. Focus on the step directly in front of you—not the entire staircase. Confidence grows when you complete something small and realize, “I can do this part.” Then you do the next. A Final Coaching Note for You If confidence hasn’t caught up yet, that doesn’t mean you’re behind. It means you’re early. You are capable—even on the days you doubt yourself. You are learning—even when it feels messy. And confidence will come—not as a lightning bolt, but as a quiet recognition that you’ve already been doing the work. Start anyway. Move gently. And trust that belief will meet you along the way.  “When you say ‘I did it because I can,’ how did you know you could—before you had proof?”
If you’re asking yourself, “How did you know you could?” I want to start by saying this gently: Most of us don’t know because we have a certificate in our hands. We know because something in our history keeps whispering, “Pay attention.” Here’s how I knew—long before the title, the degree, or the external validation arrived. I Knew Because I Stood on the Shoulders of Someone Who Wasn’t Allowed To When I say “I did it because I can,” I’m not talking about confidence alone. I’m talking about context. My paternal grandmother was born in 1909. She was a grandchild of people who were enslaved. She taught school--taught—until policy changes required a diploma she never attained. Overnight, the classroom door closed. She did the work she could do next: cooking in other people’s kitchens. So when I say “I can,” what I really mean is: I have access she was denied. My pursuit of education wasn’t just personal ambition. It was reclamation. If you are a high-achieving Latina, Afro-Latina, or Black woman reading this, I want you to hear me clearly: Your excellence is not extra. It’s ancestral. Your curiosity, your ambition, your refusal to shrink—it didn’t come out of nowhere. Sometimes you know you can because someone before you wasn’t allowed to—and you carry that truth forward. I Looked at the Evidence Already in My Hands Before the PhD. Before the official title. Before anyone put “expert” next to my name-- I looked at my life. Technology kept showing up. Even when I was a biology teacher, I was the one helping colleagues with gradebooks and learning management systems. I shadowed IT professionals. I worked in IT through federal work study. People came to me when things didn’t work—and trusted me to figure them out. I didn’t need permission to notice that pattern. I didn’t need a credential to name what was already true. I realized something important: I didn’t need the title to do the work. I needed the title to expand it. So here’s my coaching question for you: What problems are you already solving without being asked? What do people come to you for—naturally, consistently? That’s not random. That’s evidence. I Borrowed Belief Until It Became My Own Sometimes, knowing you can starts with someone else seeing it first. When I was working on my Master’s, my advisor, Dr. Bruce Crim, read my thesis and said—plainly, calmly—that there was no reason I shouldn’t pursue a PhD. At the time, the thought had not crossed my mind. I thought I had already changed paths enough. I thought medical school was the dream—until I realized it wasn’t aligned with my spirit. But I trusted his clarity when mine was still forming. And that matters. We don’t move through life—or academia—alone. There will be moments when you borrow belief from a mentor, a professor, an auntie, a coach, a voice in your village. If someone you trust is holding up a mirror and saying “You’re ready,” don’t dismiss it too quickly. Sometimes that’s how readiness arrives. I Trusted the Pivot I knew I could because I stopped treating change as failure. I walked away from medical school ambitions. Later, I walked away from a stable job, packed everything I owned into a two-door Honda Accord, and moved to Atlanta to pursue my studies. It didn’t look tidy. It didn’t look linear. But it was honest. I learned that pivots aren’t proof of confusion—they’re proof of courage. So if you’re changing your mind right now… If your major doesn’t fit anymore… If your career plan feels like it belongs to an earlier version of you-- That doesn’t mean you can’t. It means you’re listening. And that, too, is evidence. A Gentle Reminder for You You don’t always know you can because the world has confirmed it. Sometimes you know because your history has been preparing you quietly. Pay attention to the patterns. Listen to the people who see you clearly. Honor the pivots. You don’t need all the proof today. You just need enough trust to take the next honest step. And that—more often than not—is how “I can” begins. |
AuthorThis blog post was created through a collaborative effort, incorporating valuable insights from Dr. Jordan and contributors, prompt engineering and editing by Dr. Jordan, and the assistance of NotebookLM, ChatGPT and Gemini for generating and refining content. ArchivesCategories |
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