A Love Letter to Sexually Transmitted Diseases

Every morning, I wake up a Black woman in America, and at least once a day, I have to ask myself, “am I safe?” I ask this question as I prepare for meetings, walk my dog, and sleep because the deaths of Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey, George Floyd, and Breonna Taylor are ever present in my mind and heart. These deaths remind me that my physical safety is not always guaranteed, which shapes how I navigate challenges and pursue opportunities in my career to contribute to the field of sexually transmitted infections (STIs). As we celebrate the 50th anniversary of Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STD), I am reminded of the people who have provided a safe space for me to grow in my career especially during times I questioned my physical and psychological safety. These colleagues and mentors accepted, trained, and celebrated me, which I never expected to happen in a society that often denies Black women this type of safety and love. My career in the STIs began when I was a sophomore in college. I earned an internship at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in the Division of STD Prevention, Surveillance and Data Management Branch. Initially, I was terrified of this new environment because I knew next to nothing about STIs and would hide in my office, reviewing figures and tables for the annual STI surveillance report. Eventually, my mentor told me that I needed to know the people in our office and allow them to know me. This advice pushed me to leave the safety of my office and network with a team of people who became mentors and friends that have supported me throughout my career. Within our branch was a group of Black women who taught me the importance of finding joy in your work, working with people who appreciate you, and to never give up. They told me stories of their failures and successes and allowed me to watch them navigate their own careers where sometimes they had to leave the field to find the people who would value and promote them. They provided an example of how I, as a Black woman, could succeed in this field where I faces that look like mine are a rare appearance. As I entered graduate school, my environment started to shift. No longer was I in the safety of fellow southerners but I was now living in the Northeast, in a city and a university that had far fewer Black people than I was accustomed to, and for the first time I felt isolated. These feelings of isolation and fear continued to grow throughout 2016 as many witnessed a presidential election that platformed White supremacy. When I questioned my career and what it meant to work in public health, my MPH mentor, an STI researcher, taught me the importance of our work being “unassailable,” that no matter what, we must be rigorous and passionate about the work we do to protect our communities. This advice consistently reminds me that while I search for safety, I must also provide a safe space for others, and I must commit to work that promotes and advocates for the health of the communities that have always protected me. With the support and guidance of my mentors, I moved back to the South to pursue a PhD. While many people will question my intelligence solely on my skin color and how I look, I was taught that no one could take away my education. Throughout my PhD program, I faced a new level of racism and intimidation that again led me to question my career and ambition, as many days it felt like I was not good enough for my degree or for the field, and that I should stop pursuing my PhD. As I started to expand my relationships across the university, I found safety in another STI researcher who eventually became my PhD advisor. They pushed me when I felt like I had nothing left, they supported my work, and they helped me build new relationships where I was appreciated and celebrated. Through this mentorship, I recalled the lessons from my CDC colleagues of the importance of finding “your people” and identifying those who will appreciate, support, and collaborate with you because none of us should exist in a silo. The mentorship I have received within the STI field has led me to become a better researcher, advocate, and person. My growth in this field would be incomplete without STD, a journal that accepted my first first-author publication, and where I have grown from an author to a reviewer, to a member of the editorial board. This growth is something I never imagined but became achievable because of the mentors who saw more for me and my future than I was able to see for myself. The work that we do in STIs is important, and my journey has been filled with rich relationships, experiences, and love, which makes me thankful for everyone I have worked with over the year. However, this is not the experience of everyone in this field. While STIs disproportionately impact many groups including women, people of color, sexual and gender minorities, and young people, there is a dearth of these voices in STI leadership positions. Often, when I look at the boards and leadership of different STI groups, I will not see another Black woman, which leads me to question if the mentorship I have received has reached its peak, if I have reached the pinnacle of my career, and if I will be able to continue to find safety in this field. Additionally, mentorship and career development opportunities are limited, leaving many to leave STIs and find support in other fields. As a field, we need to think deeply and engage with one another to identify goals for the next 50 years. As attacks on human rights and reproductive and sexual health continue, we have to examine if and how the STI field can provide a safe space for researchers, health care providers, and advocates to do the work that promotes the health of themselves and the communities they serve. We have to decide if the diversity that exists in the field today will meet the equity, inclusion, and decolonization needs of the next 50 years. Our research, advocacy, and implementation efforts must be person centered and innovative to develop and deliver the tools that people want and need to protect their sexual health and lower STI rates, which includes expanding biomedical prevention options for women. We must establish mentorship and career development opportunities so that when someone asks “am I safe here” or “can I succeed in this field,” they have a network of people to mentor, sponsor, and champion themselves and their career. I have faith that the next 50 years will be filled with immense growth and development because this field is filled with people willing to mentor, protect, and promote people, just as you have all done for me.