Touching the Void – The Ups and Downs of Letting Go of the PhD

‘So, are you a doctor now?’, asked a close friend with a wry smile on his face. I took this smile as a precursor to the type of sarcastic comment which I have come to expect from him. I decided to anticipate this: ‘Yes! To you I am. And don’t you forget it, pal!’. We had a little chuckle, and he congratulated me. The truth, however, was that I had no idea: was I officially ‘Dr.’ yet? More importantly, when does a PhD end? Is it when you submit the thesis? Is it when you pass the viva? Does it really end when you stop having dreams about that chapter? (Until recently I repeatedly dreamt that I had thought of a really insightful point for my thesis, which I would then duly forget as soon as I woke up).

These were the questions which I found myself struggling to answer over the last few months of the PhD. As people congratulated me for, first, submitting my thesis, then passing my viva, then getting the final rubber stamp for the corrections, I smiled and thanked them but remained perplexed as to whether I’d really finished yet or not. Part of me suspected that there may have been just one more hoop to jump through. Essentially, finishing a PhD comes with many false dawns. First comes the submission (‘that’s it, I’m done!’), then comes the viva (‘Am I done?’), then, in my case, fortunately, minor corrections (OK, now I’m done!), then the wait for the final OK on the minor corrections from the internal examiner (‘Am I sure I’m done now…?’). Don’t get me wrong, I was really happy to be taking definitive steps towards completion. In fact, for a few days following each little step, the overriding feelings were both pride and relief. However, nobody had prepared me for the fact that once you complete a project that consumes most of your waking hours for four years (many more in some cases), a void can start to open up in your life. There is a real danger that the void begins to fill with all the wrong kind of stuff.

In my case, it began filling it with compulsive, forensic and rather dull analyses of events and conversations from years gone by: ‘I should have said this!’, ‘why didn’t I do that?’… and so on. These were conversations and events of no real consequence, but it seemed as though my mind was looking for something to replace the analytical work done during the PhD. I have since discovered that this is known as ‘real event OCD [obsessive-compulsive disorder]’. At the time however, being a stubborn, quite daft, forty-something man, I decided to just self-medicate by prescribing myself (yes, I did just use the word ‘prescribing’) much more whiskey than I usually consume. To be absolutely clear, I most definitely do not recommend this course of action: it doesn’t work, it’s expensive and your liver will hold a grudge against you for some time. Luckily, thanks to the support of family and friends, I found a way out of this, by curbing my whiskey consumption, doing regular exercise again, and even writing again. Nevertheless, each one of us is unique, so, if you feel like you’re struggling, the best advice I can give is to talk to a friend or family member you are comfortable talking to, or even to a mental health professional. There is no shame in it whatsoever. I shouldn’t need to write this but, unfortunately, I fear that I do.

It's also worth highlighting the background against which my own minor mental health struggles played out. The current state and trajectory of British academia does not do any favours for the mental health of early career academics, whether they are still completing a PhD or have recently completed one. An ever-shrinking UK university sector, with the majority of universities cutting their staff to avoid bankruptcy, sees thousands of burnt-out, over-achieving academics vying to get even more burnt out for a small fee as soon as humanly possible… we really are quite a strange bunch!

This brings me to the dreaded ‘p’ word: publications. As a first-generation, working-class academic, I have discovered everything I know about what it takes to succeed in academia as I’ve dragged myself through the PhD. I discovered it by asking questions, attending workshops and observing others around me who just seemed to know and understand the unwritten and unspoken rules of the game. Some of them are happy to share this precious knowledge (you know you who you are), whilst others cling onto it with the ferocity and single-mindedness of Gollum’s attachment to the Ring in Lord of the Rings (avoid the Gollums of the academic world). Anyway, as the PhD progressed, I felt the increasing pressures brought on by the need to ‘publish or perish’. The truth is that I just did not have the headspace needed to devise and execute a publication strategy during that time. Instead, I did other things which are especially important to me as a first generation academic, such as contributing to my university’s widening participation program and focusing on impact beyond academia. These activities also allowed me to think beyond my thesis and to distract myself from it; something which I really needed to do at that time.

However, it seems that the overarching concern we should have as early career academics is to write in journals which are primarily read by other academics, in a language which only they will understand, or at least pretend to understand. I’m being slightly facetious here; there is a real need for good academic writing and there are plenty of great examples of it out there. My problem was that during those final stages of the PhD I had no desire to focus all my energies on academic writing: to be totally honest, I was really sick of it. Instead, I wanted to rediscover my joy for writing; something which I felt I was beginning to lose as the PhD neared its end. So, in many ways this article is the part of the cure to my post-PhD blues and, if you’re reading this, then thank you for being part of my rehabilitation as a writer.

My message here is twofold. Firstly, if you are in the last stages of your PhD, or have just finished, and are feeling lost, down and out of sorts, then you’re not alone. Many people prepare you for the struggles of a PhD but in many cases the stresses of completing a doctorate can have a delayed effect, as they did in my case. Stress can manifest itself in strange ways and when you least expect it. Don’t hesitate to reach out for help if that is the case for you. Related to this is publication anxiety. There are people who will publish during their PhD (good for them!), and there are others who need a break from academic writing and will do so once they finish (equally good for them!). Brothers and sisters, there is no one path to success, and you should define what that ‘success’ means for you. In the words of Machiavelli: ‘each one succeeds in reaching the goal by a different method’. However, if you’re anything like me, your mind will appreciate something to keep it ticking over once you’re done with the hard analytical work which comes with completing a PhD. Let your brain adjust from the intensity of the PhD to the relative calm of not having to worry about a doctoral thesis anymore. This could come in many forms but the main takeaway here is: be kind to your mind. Do some of the things that make you happy to help it transition away from that intensity.

The second part of my message relates to knowing when you’re PhDone. I’ve never really been one for big celebrations, especially if it means that I become the centre of attention. Therefore, I was not overly eager on attending my graduation. My family, on the other hand, had other ideas. A couple of weeks ago, somewhat reluctantly, I found myself in the Great Hall of Wills Memorial surrounded by many other graduands. Sat next to me at the front was the only other person there to receive their PhD, a wonderful man called Sam. His graduation was the culmination of nine years of part-time PhD study. All the other students in attendance were either there to pick up their well-earned Bachelors or Masters degrees. Sam and I, dressed in our wonderfully colourful PhD robes, were the last ones to be invited on stage. As we waited to be called forward, we were introduced as doctoral candidates who, amongst other high praise, had ‘pushed the frontiers of human knowledge’. Sam and I exchanged a quick incredulous glance and without speaking I knew that we were both experiencing a whole range of emotions in quick succession. I can’t speak for Sam, but I know that mine began with impostorism/disbelief, was quickly followed by giddiness, pride and relief and ended somewhere on unbridled joy. As my name was announced, prefaced by my new ‘Dr.’ title, I moved onto the stage and was taken aback and moved by the loud cheer and applause from those in attendance. As I walked off the stage, sat back down and was invited to don my mortarboard, I finally really knew I was PhDone. That knowledge was finally matched by the feeling that I could enjoy the view from the top of the mountain I’d climbed: it was a beautiful view. When you get there, and you will get there, take a moment or three to enjoy that view and savour that feeling. It’s a long and tough old climb so be sure to make your descent a slow and steady one.

(Image by wayhomestudio on Freepik)