As a Black woman at a PWI, itâs a given that youâll often be the only one in the lecture hall. Lucky if youâre one of five. Â
Coming from a predominantly Black high school, itâs definitely a new environment that becomes normal faster than you realize it. You stop being shocked by it. You stop expecting the numbers to change. You just adjust. But the weight of being the âonly oneâ when not surrounded by others like you still hits.Â
Going to a school with so many different cultures should mean you can just exist without thinking about it. And in most ways, itâs beautiful. Iâve met people I never would have crossed paths with otherwise. I wouldnât trade my friend group for anything.
But diversity doesnât cancel out stereotypes put onto you. It just makes you more aware of them.
I donât think anyone notices the little ways you measure your own presence. The way I check my hair before class, even when I know it looks fine. The way I rehearse my voice in my head, worried my tone will be seen as âaggressive.â The way I laugh is just slightly quieter than I want to, because Black women are often conditioned to take up less space in fear of being a representation of stereotypes.Â
Being at a PWI amplifies the reality that being one of the few means my Blackness is visible whether I acknowledge it or not, and it makes me unapologetically do so. That awareness doesnât make me shrink. If anything, it sharpens me. It reminds me that my perspective isnât supplemental. Itâs necessary.
There is something powerful about sitting in a place where you are underrepresented and knowing you earned your seat there, no matter how many have argued to put you out. I am not here as a diversity statistic. I am not here to check a box. I am here because I worked for it. And that understanding has shifted the way I see myself on campus. Instead of feeling like I have to blend in, I realized that my difference is part of what makes me valuable in academic spaces. My experiences shape how I analyze discussions, how I interpret readings, and how I challenge ideas that feel incomplete. My Blackness creates the story I am here to share.Â
Black History Month has made that even clearer to me. Learning about Black women who navigated institutions far more hostile than the one Iâm in now reminds me that hostility toward Blackness isnât just history; it persists today, in the ways programs are cut, Black studies are questioned, and spaces meant to center our culture are often undermined. The women who integrated schools, led movements, built businesses, and created art did not do so quietly or apologetically. They existed boldly in spaces that questioned their right to be there. Remembering that lineage changes how I walk into my own classrooms. I am part of a continuum of Black women who have always existed, even when that existence was contested.
Last semester, I took a cinema of Black protest class that deepened my sense of belonging. There was something deeply upsetting about witnessing the importance of Blackness in cinema while watching contemporary leaders attempt to restrict the very spaces where that history is taught. If there are always people trying to undermine my culture, then choosing to exist within it unapologetically becomes its own form of resistance.Â
Everything doesnât become easy when you acknowledge that important part of yourself. There are moments when I feel the weight of being one of the only ones. There are moments when I recognize that some of my classmates are encountering perspectives like mine for the first time. But instead of internalizing that as pressure, Iâve started seeing it as an influence. My presence disrupts assumptions simply by existing fully as myself.
Community has also grounded me in ways I didnât anticipate. Finding other Black women on campus, whether it’s in meetings, in study groups, or in passing conversations that turn into real friendships, reminds me that while we may be few in certain rooms, we are not alone here. There is comfort in shared understanding and in the unspoken acknowledgment that we are navigating similar dynamics. Those connections donât just provide support; they reinforce the pride of who we are.
For me, being here is not about editing myself to fit a mold of who I am not. It is about expanding the environment I am in to include me exactly as I am. My Blackness is not an obstacle to manage or a tone to soften. It is intellectual, cultural, emotional, and deeply rooted in history. It informs how I think, how I speak, and how I move through the world. Iâm reminded that honoring that identity means refusing to compartmentalize it for anyone elseâs comfort.
If I am one of five in a lecture hall, then five of us are carrying generations of resilience, brilliance, and complexity into a room that might not fully reflect us. That is not something to minimize. It is something to recognize.