In my new book, Be Unapologetically Impatient (Manuscripts Press), I draw from my experience as a mother and scientist — what I like to refer to as being a “momademic”— to inspire readers to see and harness their vantage points to interrupt the status quo in pursuit of justice right now. Through stories and applied social and emotional learning science, I demonstrate how each of us can recognize opportunities to live our love forward and effect change through everyday interactions in our homes, schools, and communities. 

To me, “living your love forward” means you are actively contributing to the world around you by what you say and how you say it, creating a world where your children, and all children, can thrive. This includes no longer apologizing for things that do not warrant an apology, like our families, needs, questions, and learning. 

True story: Many of us apologize for learning all the time. In my book, I discuss how this shows up in the ways we ask questions.

Consider this: How many times have you heard a student qualify a question with an “I’m sorry?” “I’m sorry…Could you say that again?” “I’m sorry to ask but…?” 

How many times do you think your students apologize to you throughout your school day? A dozen or dozens?

I see it all the time in my research across K–12 classrooms nationwide. Indeed, it is common in the United States to qualify a question with an apology. In fact, it’s especially likely when you are in a situation where there is a pre-existing hierarchy of expertise; like in our classrooms, at our parent-teacher conferences, and around our IEP tables. Students apologize for learning when they ask their teacher for help. Teachers apologize for learning during a PD. Family members apologize when asking for clarification at a meeting as though they are taking up space by asking a question. As though it is not a part of the educator’s role to answer them.

I draw my college students’ attention to the apologizing pattern when I teach. I encourage my students to not apologize when asking their professors for help; an educator’s role is to support the learning and intellectual development of their students. And that is often done best through inquiry-based models. 

Questions are helpful, productive, and useful. Asking a professor a question does not warrant an apology. But I also know that’s not how students may have been socialized to navigate college. Indeed, not all professors welcome nor want their students to ask questions. Not all K–12 teachers do, either.

When we apologize for our learning, our families, or our needs, we give the person we are apologizing to the permission to dismiss our needs as less than.

“In honor of Women’s History Month, let me take this moment to remind you: women, our needs, and our value, are not less than anyone else’s. Full stop.”

Life as a Woman on the Tenure Track

I remember being at a fellowship event hosted at Georgetown my incoming year as a Jack Kent Cooke Fellow. At that time, the JKC Fellowship covered the tuition costs in full for students who showed outstanding academic potential and outstanding financial need. As a first generation high school graduate, the JKC fellowship single handedly changed my financial trajectory when I entered graduate school. The privilege I was bestowed was not lost on me. 

At the orientation there was a speaker who shared with all the fellows that women made up less than half of all tenure-track faculty in the United States and something like less than a third of women ever become full professors. She also shared that women are more likely to leave their profession due to pressures and workplace culture, and are more likely to leave it than their male colleagues. 

I raised my hand and asked how many tenured women in academia had children.

She laughed a little and said something to the effect that there was no real data on how many women have children when on the tenure track. What she could speak to was that if a woman had a child, it was more likely to happen after they got tenure. 

Six years later I found myself a new postdoc and three months pregnant. A senior male professor warned me that I should not talk about my pregnancy, or my kids, at work. The gist of the advice, which I have no doubt was well-intentioned at the time, was that motherhood would undermine my credibility as a developmental scientist. It seemed like reasonable advice at the time. And I apologized. 

A piece of my dissertation was accepted for presentation at the Developmental Methods meeting of the Society for Research in Child Development (SRCD), and so shortly after I was five months pregnant with my first child attending my first academic conference as a presenter and PhD. 

Visibly pregnant, I stood at the morning breakfast in the foyer of the beautiful hotel on the water in Tampa, Florida, cautiously eating a bagel. An older man in a blue blazer offered me his seat at a small roundtable nearby. I thanked him and sat down. He asked me when I was due and I shared how I was expecting my first child in early June. 

He then said, “When is your husband’s talk?”

I can only imagine now what kind of unfiltered face I must have made at him in response to his gendered question. I proceeded to respond by apologizing and then talking about my dissertation — probably too much — and then excused myself to go cry in the bathroom to get myself together. 

13 years later, I was recently at a cocktail reception with my husband at a prestigious university club to honor and celebrate a newly endowed professorship of a brilliant academic with whom we both are privileged to also call our friend. My husband was in conversation with an old classmate, also now a professor, and stepped away to refresh his drink. 

The colleague turned to me and said, “Do you work?”

Every so often, I find myself in Zoom rooms where my ideas are not heard, confirmed, or taken seriously until they are validated by a man — no matter their level. 

I remember after one such meeting, not all that long ago, my male doc student said, “I can’t believe he kept asking me what I thought after you said our analytic plans. It was like he didn’t believe you until I confirmed what you said to be true.” 

Holding Doors Open for Others

It’s remarkable to me that when I was a young momademic I gave others permission to treat my needs, my family, and our realities, as less than. In my experience, momademics — and all caregivers for that matter — are efficient, respectful of time, and contribute in ways that are unilaterally valuable.  

I vowed that if I ever beat those impossible odds and made it behind closed doors, I would do whatever I could to hold it open for others. 

And I’m not sorry. We can all be better for it. If you want things to be different, you need to do things differently.

It’s time to be unapologetically impatient. Call each other in, not out. Share your perspective and invite connection, not competition. Be grateful, not apologetic. 

Indeed there is something truly transformational about being in the presence of women scientists and momademics who say your name in a room full of opportunities; who you know you don’t need to prove anything to; who quietly cheer for you from afar; and who loudly shine on you in ways that you can see and feel. 

They give me light. 

These days, I am inspired by the work of Promoting Opportunities for Women in Education Research (POWER), and the leadership of Sara Hart, Jessica Logan, Emily Solari and colleagues, who have created a space for women to support women in advancing our respective, and collective careers, together. I am inspired by the work of Women in Measurement, and the leadership of Susan Lyons, who is transforming the educational measurement space for the next generation of scholars, psychometricians, and analysts. I derive great joy from getting to nerd out on meta-analytic methodologies with the incredible Drs. Sarah Peko-Spicer, Rebecca Steingut, Laura Michaelson, Claire Chuter, Cheyeon Ha, Melissa Funaro, and Sophie Barnes. 

And I am humbled to learn from the fearless women leading transformational work at seemingly impossible times: Erin Mote, Susan Rivers, Elizabeth Albro, Aaliyah Samuels, Auditi Chakravarty, Temple Lovelace, Sara Rimm-Kaufmann, Carol Lee, Tara Davila, Laura Hamilton, Jackie Jodl, Bridget Hamre, Jacqueline Rodriguez, Linda Mayes, Fumiko Hoeft, Kim Schonert-Reichl, Peggy Carr, Lakeisha Steele, Gaby Lopez, Lindsay Jones, Claudia Koochek, Shanette Porter, Celene Domitrovich, Tish Jennings, Cara Jackson, Stephanie Jones, Francesca Lopez, and Gabbie Rappolt-Schlichtmann.

With Women’s History Month on my mind and glitter in my heart, I feel the call to live my love forward — more urgently now than ever before. 

It’s time to be unapologetically impatient. Let me show you how. 

About Christina Cipriano, Ph.D.

Christina Cipriano, Ph.D., (she/her) is an associate professor of Applied Developmental and Educational Psychology at the Yale Child Study Center and Director of the Education Collaboratory at Yale University and author of the forthcoming book, Be Unapologetically Impatient. Committed to translational science, Dr. Cipriano’s research systematically advances equitable and inclusive social and emotional learning science and practice for researchers and schools worldwide. An award-winning expert in the science of learning, development, and open science practices, Dr. Cipriano is the PI of numerous major grants and has published 100+ papers, commentaries, and reports, spanning top tier journals and media outlets. Learn more at drchriscip.com