Identity and Careers in Public History

12 March 2025 – Chelsee Boehm

Like many of the folks who read this blog, my career in public history is a defining part of who I am. Lately though, I’ve been wondering if this tie between my professional and personal identities may be bad for my mental health. 

If you’ve worked in public history–or, more specifically, in museums–you’ve probably seen that t-shirt with thick black letters reading, “PROUD MUSEUM PERSON.” I saw it for the first time at the Western Museums Association conference in 2019, and I immediately needed one. I desperately wanted to be a part of the community–because of the way that it served and taught people, and because who has ever heard someone say “I’m a curator” and didn’t immediately think that person is amazing.

In high school, my English teacher shared his experience as a student at Kent State University in May 1970, when the Ohio National Guard killed four students. He quietly reflected on the sound of the bullets and being hurt by Guardsmen. I wouldn’t fully appreciate it for years, but it was the first time I had a real glimpse at the impact of a historical event. 

After declaring my history major in 2013, I was introduced to the world of public history through my time as an intern at Weber State University’s Special Collections. Getting my hands on original documents opened my eyes to a career opportunity I never even knew existed. I felt the same way that I had felt in that high school classroom–connected to history. It’s an exhilarating feeling that I want to share with others–just ask my friend who gracefully listened to decades-long, detailed history of the local baseball team before kindly asking me to stop. 

Chelsee Boehm in college at Boise State University, 2015. Photo Credit: Chelsee Boehm.

While working for the Utah Historical Society in 2014, I interacted with artifacts for the first time and  further narrowed my public history goals. I knew then that I wanted to work in a museum. So, I pushed hard to align myself with a future in museums. I found internships and part-time jobs to boost my resume. When classes on museum studies weren’t available in my graduate public history program, I paid to take courses online. When I worked at the Idaho State Archives from 2018 to 2020, I asked my supervisors to let me make exhibits, slowly inching my way toward the career I longed for. Then, in 2020, I finally got my first full-time museum job as a Curatorial Registrar at the Idaho State Museum. 

After one year as the Curator of Collections and Exhibits at a small museum in northern California, I moved on to my current job. It’s a role that I love, but one that falls outside of the anticipated trajectory of younger Chelsee’s perfectly-sculpted museum career. In the first few months, without a typical museum job title, I’ve felt myself spiraling. If I am not a “PROUD MUSEUM PERSON,” then who am I? 

A wise friend often reminds me that work is “just a job.” For me, it has never felt that way. I’ve lovingly (and exhaustingly) poured every part of myself into my education and career. But, I know that I need to create boundaries around my work that protect me personally. I need to try to find my value as a human being outside of the office. Reaching out to the editors of History@Work encouraged me to think about how I can institute the methods of the public history work that I love to help do that. 

The National Council on Public History’s Mission Statement reads, “NCPH inspires public engagement with the past and serves the needs of practitioners in putting history work in the world by building community among historians, expanding professional skills and tools, and fostering critical reflection on historical practice, and publicly advocating for history and historians.” In reflecting on my identity, I thought I could pull a few things out of this statement that I can apply to my personal life, in the hopes of expanding who I am outside of my career. 

First, public engagement. Part of helping define myself outside of my career is to expand my interests. I enjoy finding causes that I can advocate for, such as human rights. When I volunteer, I feel like a better citizen of the world, and I am always surrounded by new things to learn. This leads directly into the next point.

Chelsee Boehm with an exhibit at the Idaho State Archives in 2019. Photo Credit: Chelsee Boehm.

Second, building community. Part of the struggle of separating my personal self from my professional self is the amazing cohort of friends that I’ve made from my jobs. I’ve bonded with many of my coworkers, and some of them are now among my closest friends. I wouldn’t trade any of that. But, I am beginning to better understand the importance of having friends who work outside of the public history sphere. It’s so easy–because there are so many fantastic humans who do this work–to not look farther. But, I am trying to build community outside of my profession. For a perfect avenue to do this, see point three.  

Third, expanding skills and tools. In addition to working in public history, it’s so easy to get lost in the world of learning about the techniques of teaching it, how to create exhibit mounts, and to generally overwhelm yourself with history-related things to spend your spare time on. In addition to priding myself on my career, I’ve always been proud of volunteering for local history organizations, National History Day judging, or doing walking tours. But, I think opening my scope to learning a wider variety of things will help me grow as a person. For years, I’ve wanted to get into woodworking. So, what’s stopping me?

Lastly, critical reflection. What is this whole endeavor, if not critical reflection? In a time when it is so easy to be consumed by news about folks being generally awful to each other, it is easy to overlook your own behaviors. By critically reflecting on who I am, I hope that I can be a better human that just generally takes better care of other people and the world around me. 

After proposing this topic, I asked the History@Work editors if this idea might be self-serving. I hope that it won’t be. I hope that readers see parts of themselves in this article. I hope it will encourage at least one person to broaden their ideas of what the “right” job title is, what it means to work in public history, and, most importantly, to consider the impact of defining yourself by your career. 

I hope to soon wear a shirt that just says something like, “PROUD TO BE A PERSON” or “PROUD TO JUST BE.” No job title included. 

~Chelsee Boehm is a public historian who loves her “new” job in Idaho. She proudly provides for one large black cat, explains internet memes to her parents, and is an aunt to a bunch of really cool kids.