What do you do when the vehicle for your dream disappears, but the purpose behind the dream remains?

In 2019, at fifty-two years old, I packed up my life in Maine and moved over a thousand miles away to Indiana. Most people my age were thinking about retirement accounts, grandchildren, and the final chapters of their careers. I was preparing to become a student again. I wasn't running away from something. I was running toward something—a dream I had carried for years. I wanted to study philanthropy at the highest level. I wanted to contribute to the field I loved. I wanted to earn a PhD.

Leaving Maine meant leaving the place that had shaped me. It meant leaving friends, professional networks, familiar roads, and a career I had spent years building. But I believed the sacrifice would be worth it. My motivation was much bigger than earning a degree.

I wanted to pass on what I had learned. I wanted to help shape the next generation of philanthropic leaders. I wanted to use my experience to advance equity and community-led philanthropy. I wanted my work and knowledge to have a broader impact.

The PhD was never the ultimate goal. The PhD was the path I believed would allow me to fulfill that mission. By the time I applied to the doctoral program, I had already built a successful career in philanthropy. I wasn't looking for a new profession. I was looking for a new way to contribute. After nearly two decades in foundation work, I saw how grantmaking decisions affected communities. I had watched foundations struggle with issues of power, equity, and accountability. I had witnessed both the promise and the limitations of philanthropy. I wanted to help future leaders understand those lessons before they inherited positions of influence. I imagined myself in a college classroom, sharing not only theories and research but also the hard-earned wisdom that comes from practice.

At fifty-two years old, I believed I was beginning the next chapter of my professional life. I didn't know it then, but the move to Indiana would become the most consequential decision of my life. I thought I was moving toward the career I had always wanted. I had no idea how much of myself I would lose—and eventually have to rebuild—along the way.

Some would say I just need to rediscover myself, but I can’t go back to the person who left Maine in August, 2019. That woman had a thriving career, had financial stability, had confidence in her professional trajectory, believed a PhD would open doors, and hadn't yet experienced the disappointments and losses that followed. I can't rediscover her because she no longer exists.

But I can rebuild. Rebuilding is different. Rebuilding acknowledges the damage. Rebuilding acknowledges the loss. Rebuilding acknowledges that some things cannot be restored exactly as they were. And it also suggests that something new can be constructed from what remains.

Not failure and redemption. Not falling and rising. Rebuilding. Rebuilding is messy. It's slow. It's uncertain. Most days, I’m not even sure what I’m building toward. When I think of where I am now, and what I lost career-wise, I realize I am not a woman trying to rediscover myself, but a woman who once again is standing amidst the rubble, trying to figure out what materials are left.

At 52, I left a successful career in Maine to pursue a dream. By 58, I have a second master's degree instead of a PhD, significant debt, grief over what happened, and a job that pays the bills but isn't where I expected to be. Most days I feel like stopping it here and calling it a tragedy. But deep in my heart, I know the story isn’t over. The question is: How do I rebuild a life when the blueprint I spent years following no longer works?

So maybe this isn't just about a failed PhD after all. Perhaps it's about what happens when a woman in her fifties takes an enormous risk, loses far more than she expected, and then has to decide whether she will spend the rest of her life mourning the dream or building something new from the pieces that remain. The rebuilding is far from complete. I am still in the middle of it. Maybe my story isn’t just about what happened in the PhD program - the conflict, the comprehensive exams, or even the degree itself. Maybe it's the experience of having a life plan collapse in my late fifties and having to build a new one while carrying grief, debt, disappointment, and uncertainty.

The woman who left Maine wasn't foolish or naïve. She was courageous, had a successful career, a respected reputation, and a comfortable life. She chose to risk those things because she believed she could contribute more—to students, to the philanthropy sector, and to the cause of advancing equity.

Navigating Through Healing and New Beginnings

I know it’s been a while since I last shared my thoughts, and honestly, this morning was one of those days where I found myself reflecting deeply, tears welling up over my cup of coffee. The healing journey from losing the future I once envisioned still weighs heavily on me each day. I often wonder if the feeling of stagnation is amplified by my surroundings here in Indy or my work at the university. It can feel as though I’m perched on a lily pad, contemplating my next leap.

Rather than looking across the pond for my next move, I find myself gazing downward, paralyzed by uncertainty. It’s challenging when you don’t know which direction to jump, especially when you’re unsure where you want to land. My dreams have been shattered, and picking up the pieces at this stage in life feels like a daunting task. I’ve felt abandoned by those I believed cared about me, and it has left my heart feeling heavy.

Yet, amidst this emotional turbulence, I have a brighter note to share. I’ve been working on my literature review and conceptual framework as I present at the university’s Social Justice Symposium this Friday. I am both excited and a little anxious, but most importantly, it has motivated me to push forward.

I wholeheartedly believe in the importance of my research and its potential for the philanthropy sector. With over twenty years of experience in the field, my perspective surpasses the confines of academic theory—unlike many who focus solely on publishing rather than making a tangible impact. I hope this presentation serves as the catalyst to propel myself back into momentum.

Thank you for being part of my journey. Here’s to finding the strength to move forward, one step at a time!

Welcome to #MyPhaileDjourney: A Story of Academia, Power, and Resilience

I never imagined I’d be here, writing this blog. When I started my Ph.D. journey in my mid-fifties, I believed in the power of higher education, the pursuit of knowledge, and the potential for meaningful change. What I didn’t anticipate was the power politics, the toxicity, and the heartbreaking realization that academia is not always the meritocracy it claims to be.

This blog, #MyPhaileDJourney, is about what happens when the system fails you—when a Ph.D. program that should have supported and challenged me instead became a space of exclusion, gatekeeping, and profound personal and professional loss. It’s about how one faculty member used their position to intimidate and manipulate me, throwing roadblocks in my path and making me question my own worth. It’s about a comprehensive exam process that felt arbitrary and unfair, ultimately leading to my dismissal from the program and forcing me to "master out." It’s about how administrations and institutions protect themselves rather than the students they claim to serve.

But this isn’t just a story of failure. It’s also a story of resilience. I may not have a Ph.D., but I still have my voice, my expertise, and my determination to expose the inequities that exist within academic spaces. This journey has changed me, but it hasn’t broken me.

Through this blog, I’ll share my experiences—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ll reflect on what I’ve learned, what I would do differently, and how I move forward. I hope this space can serve as both a personal reckoning and a resource for others who have faced similar struggles.

If you’ve ever felt like academia let you down, if those with power have ever pushed you aside, if you’ve ever wondered what comes next after a dream is derailed—welcome. You’re not alone.

This is #MyPhaileDjourney. And it’s far from over.