By: Liv Overbee

I sit here today, during the winter semester of my third year here at Eastern, reflecting a lot on my past experiences. When I came to college, a scared 18-year-old, I didn’t know what to anticipate. I expected that I would just be a number, a letter grade assignment to my name where the 3 points I lost on my first general chemistry quiz were more meaningful and recognizable to my professor than my face. I was scared of this. I was scared to fail. I was scared to mess up. I was just scared. I am glad to share today that those juvenile thoughts were far from the truth.

I’ll never forget that last year around this time, I was terrified of Organic Chemistry. All you ever hear are the horror stories about how it is the scariest class of pre-medicine undergrad, how it stripped away a student’s passion. I was so naive and believed this going into the class. Instead though, that class - more importantly that professor - is the reason why I am still going today. It was the first time I felt cared about in higher education. In that classroom, my understanding, as well as the understanding of every other student, was the priority. Our knowledge and the quality of the education we were getting was at the top of the professor's list and we were set up to succeed, not to get our passions killed or be scared away. That professor dove head first into our education3and I can say that, as unpopular of an opinion as this is, Organic Chemistry is now one of my favorite classes.

This professor may have been the first person to make me feel seen in higher education, but she is not the only one. 

I think of my Graduate Hall Director in Housing. Now, this person is my boss, and does all of the accountability aspects of her job very well, but she never forgets to make me feel like a human. Every interaction with her includes this one sentence: “What can I do to support you?” Even if it’s something small that I am struggling with, I never feel like it’s dismissable to her. 

I think of my current professor who casually mentioned the idea of me going to graduate school. Being pre-medicine, the thought of medical school, and more important getting into it, has always terrified me. It’s one of my biggest sources of internal turmoil. I’ve spent a good chunk of my life making sure I hit all the boxes. Grades? Check. Volunteering? Check. However, no matter what, I still felt like something was missing. This professor brought up graduate school to me, making me rethink my path and, in the process, realize something: in order to succeed at medical school, I don’t need to be perfect. I need passion; not only for school, but for the specific field I am entering. Before this, grad school has never even crossed my mind due to my being too focused on my original plan. The small interaction we had has made so much more fall into place than it has for 3 years now.  I would bet that the professor is not even aware of how impactful this was. 

Take a moment and reflect back on my first point: I was scared. The amount of stress college students are currently under is enough to drive anyone away. With academics, jobs, expectations, on top of still recovering and experiencing the effects of the pandemic, students need support more than ever. A study by Harvard Medical School reported that three out of four students reported having experienced at least one stressful life event within the last year. In a recent article published about student stress, 45% of American college students claimed to undergo “more than average stress,” while 33% of students reported “average stress” and 12.7% reported  “tremendous stress.” Students who reported “no stress” or “less than average stress” combined for only 9% total. That’s why students need you.

Last week at the Faculty Development Center, we launched our nomination form for an annual event titled “Thank-an-Eagle”. This event allows EMU community members the chance to thank an instructor, faculty member, coach, GA, mentor, or anyone else who has really impacted their experience here at Eastern. From what we’ve seen in previous years, this unsolicited “thank you” can really be the highlight of many people’s semester. It is a nice reminder that the work we do here really DOES matter. It does impact someone’s life. Your presence at the front of that classroom, your lecture topic that day, the random conversation you had with a student - it matters. Think back to even your time working here. Getting coffee with that one colleague, attending that one seminar or conference, reading that one book someone recommended. All those little interactions have shaped the educator you are today in some way. 

I had the privilege last week to sit in the Student Center, talk to students about the event and the idea behind it, and watch as they nominated the people on campus who have impacted them. My experience was not isolated. So many students have someone who has been important to them here. That’s why I am writing this today. I am thankful to the professor who made me find passion for science again during one of the worst semesters of my life.I am thankful for the graduate student who has treated me like a person and allowed me to be vulnerable.  I am thankful for the professor who doesn’t even realize his one conversation about graduate programs has sent me down a whole new path of self discovery. 

I encourage you all to reflect on your time here in the same way I have. Say “thank you” to your fellow faculty members. Announce this program in class and encourage your students to say “thank you” to their important person. Simply filling out the 5-minute long Google Form could really be that meaningful interaction someone needs. To quote Aesop, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

Our “Thank-an-Eagle” program ends with a celebration, on April 17, 2023 at 3:30 PM, where we all get another chance to feel just how important the work we do here is. If you want to submit a nomination or share it with your students, please use this form. If you’re interested in more about “Thank-an-Eagle”, please visit our website.