In many respects, I was an unlikely academic leaver. I had some modest success as a grad student (though no one was going to mistake me for a rock star). I had won a SSHRC scholarship (which, in Canada, is a real feather in your cap) to fund 2 years of my research. I’d won OGS scholarships twice (also quite the feather in your cap in the province of Ontario). I’d had a few publications (though none in major journals). I received strong teaching evaluations from students. I’d had an exceptionally supportive dissertation supervisor. I passed my thesis defence with no revisions. I worked on my entire degree very steadily, completing my coursework, comprehensive exams and dissertation all within the time alloted–5 years and 8 months, total. And I kind of had a bit of a life outside of academia, too, manging to meet and marry a lovely non-academic dude (I’d had a personal rule about never dating academics, which turned out nicely for me).
But, as so many post-academics I’ve spoken to since have testified to, I just wasn’t happy. And this sincerely seemed to me to be a sufficient reason to quit the profession and try something else. So I never went on the academic job market. To me, by the final year (though it had been building up in the years prior to that), I was pretty certain that academia was not the right fit for me.
The thing that scared me most about leaving was the possibility that things would get better if I landed a tenure-track position. This was the thought that vexed me most. What if it was the conditions of grad school itself, or my grad program, that caused so much anxiety, stress and uncertainty? Maybe everything would be better once I got to that hallowed faculty post.
What I know now, though, is that the fantastical academic dream is no longer an option for the average junior faculty member. You know that dream: the one where you get to be the kind of teacher Robin Williams was in Dead Poets Society, and where you get to contribute great scholarship to the world, and where you host incredible dinner parties for the faculty and grad students in your spacious dining room. You know: the life of the mind and all of its pleasures. Of course, Robin Williams never had to deal with piles of marking, extreme self-doubt about his research, the constant cycle of applying for external funding (and academics think they’re not trained in marketing! Ha!), or a hostile work environment.
I knew that I loved writing…but my academic writing voice had choked out my creative voice. I knew that I loved research…but I hated the idea of being boxed in to my one area of specialization, when I so often just wanted to bugger off and explore other, equal fascinating areas of scholarship. I loved teaching (when I knew I was really clicking with the students)…but I disliked the university-as-job-factory mentality that made them look at me in the same way they looked at a person delivering a pizza (which isn’t to disrespect pizza delivery persons–gawd knows how much I rely on them–but it is to say that I was a service-delivery provider to them, rather than a teacher, educator, instructor, or, in some cases, a human being).
What was very difficult for me to cope with was the constant pressure of thinking about my research 24/7. An academic’s job–no matter where you are on the totem pole, from grad student to tenured prof–is never done. I know there are a lot of other jobs where late nights are required, or doing a bit of work on the weekends is an expectation. But those expectations are understood by everyone involved, and usually lead to tangible outcomes (e.g. the LaffItOff report gets written; the big presentation to the Dinglebopper Group is ready to go for Monday). There is something I found about the hamster wheel nature of the academic lifestyle that was just, to me, totally dissatisfying.
But the thing that was the apex of what I could not tolerate was the knowledge that what I was doing was making no positive social contribution at all. It was this, most of all, that led me to ditch academia. The idea that I would be on a hamster wheel of research that was totally irrelevant, that would never be read by the public (let alone have any meaningful impact on the public), was intolerable. That was the opposite of why I had gone into graduate school in the first place.
When you’re thinking of leaving academia, there are a mountain of fears to face: what if I can’t get a job doing something else? I don’t even know what my other options are! What else could I possibly do with my life? What if leaving is a terrible decision that I regret for the rest of my life? Can I come back if I leave? What will my supervisor think? What will my friends think? My parents will be so disappointed! I can’t leave–I’m useless!
But against those fears were, for me, some basic truths: I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t living up to my creative potential. I wasn’t being an agent of change.
So leaving had to happen. And it did. And I am so thankful for it. And the fears? Pish-posh! Suddenly, I was too busy being happy, creative and a change agent to even give them any more mind.
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{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
I’m wondering how many people have this kind of good experience but are really not suited to academe. And how related this is to the fact that as a society we seem to push smart people into staying in school.
So many people get encouraged to go to grad school because they are smart, get good grades, etc. Not because they might enjoy an academic career.
How much did you know about what an academic career might be like before you did a PhD? I knew diddly. Apart from the student’s eye view which is such a tiny part of the whole picture. And I bet we are not alone.
I have the feeling that very smart and creative people will never need such an ammount of degrees and studies that an academic career requires. Smart and clever people who is aware of their skills early in their life can spot the “errors” in the system and find ways in which they can contribute to society and how to make awesome careers by themselves.
I also wonder that, if not because the enormous anxiety about funding, long-ever-lasting working hours, insane teaching and administrative loads, people like Sabine would stay in academia. I mean, they have love for teaching and creating, they have the passion for discoveries and contributions to society, however THE place to do that (there are many others but not so obvious) has become unlievable (not always was like that).
It is a matter of demand, there are so many good applicants, and the funding is so bad that Universities can basically offer crappy salaries and insane working hours knowing that eventually they would get a qualified applicant, then you also see that once someone has gotten the crappy job, they start looking for a better job again and use the current one as a step to a better job.
And maybe, who knows, maybe tenure will dissapear forever and so, all those academic leavers that became succesful in their post-academic careers would be call back to Academia to teach the new generations their expertise. Being an expert in something is much more difficult than learning teaching skills.
Thank you for posting your story. I want to respond to Jove’s comment. I agree that successful students who seem intellectually-inclined are encouraged to go further in academia. I think of this as part of a broader cultural habit–we encourage people to choose a career based on the intersection of what they’re good at and what’s highest prestige. What they enjoy isn’t part of it. The person who’s good at many things is encouraged to pursue the highest-prestige career and treat other interests and skills as hobbies. There is something special about academia though, because that’s where we all start out from age 5. Since we all start out in school, the assumption is that those who are best at school should stay in school–as if the skills and demands of studenthood are the same as the skills and demands of professoring–as if the two roles are really similar just because they’re defined by the same institutional context. As if being a great daughter is great preparation for being a mother, or being an activist trains one for a career as a politician, or being a discerning music lover makes you a great musician. What do you all think?
Thanks Sabine for posting your story. Like you, I was doing everything that would “naturally” lead to a career in academia. When I started expressing doubts about becoming a professor, I was often asked: “Why would you leave academia? You’re so good at it.” Only recently have I realized that you can be good at something without actually enjoying it. Other example: over the past five years, I often acted as secretary in various committees. Why? Not because I particularly enjoy keeping minutes, but because of the feedback I got from fellow committee members – they appreciated my work. I felt I was doing something useful. I have stayed in academia for as long as I have in part because I enjoyed some aspects of the research I was doing, but mostly because of the positive reinforcement from supervisors, colleagues, friends and family (who, for the most part, are now supportive of my decision to leave academia). I simply did what was expected of me. I wasn’t entirely unhappy, but I always felt that something was missing.
JoVE’s post reminded me of a conversation I had with my grade 11 geography/history teacher. When she asked me what I was planning on doing after high school, I said I was going to university (although I didn’t know exactly what my major was going to be). Her response: “I’m glad to hear you’re not going to waste your intelligence in college” (community/technical college, that is). That was in 1992, but I’m sure some students are still having this kind of conversation with their parents, teachers, and guidance counsellors.
I’d like to respond to Jove’s question “How much did you know about what an academic career might be like before you did a PhD?”
I was lured into academia because a) I was a very good student in mathematics and physics in school and b) I was inspired by the stories of the ‘golden age’ of the 60s; just to name some points: Richard Feynman, pioneering age of spaceflight, discovery of sub-atomic particles, pioneering age of information technology.
But since the 60s and 70s, something fundamentally has changed. Just one discovery: Here in Germany, the weekly newspaper “Die Zeit” is read widespread by academics. They have now a searchable online archive which dates back until the 50s. I did some research in their archives how the academic job market evolved over the decades.
The differences were staggering. Just one example: A typical job ad from 1968 was: “3 positions for lecturers in the newly founded department of applied mathematics, University Heidelberg. Applicants need degree in mathematics or related field and must be willing to give lectures before students. PhD would be an advantage, but is no requirement. All positions are tenured and come with full social benefits”
Something similiar today? Completely unthinkable.
I think it’s classical demand/supply. Academia isn’t exempt from this basic principle from the ‘real world’. In the 60s, in the industrial countries we had the big “education expansion” (so called in Germany). A lot of universities were founded during this period, which educated still relatively few students. An academic career was possible. PhDs were absorbed easily by the system. Today it has changed 180 degrees: Universities face massive cost-cutting, but a lot of students flow into grad school.
The picture from academic life (which I had and my parents still have) was from this ‘golden age’. My parents still have problems to comprehend that the times have changed completely. The only thing they can imagine is ‘professor’. I left to work in Information Technology, and I still face comments like: “But this is not your profession??? Why did you go to university at all???” Of course with the undertone “when you don’t become a professor, you are a failure”.
Wow. Thanks, you guys, for your fabulous comments. I hardly know what to say. Except to say to Steffen: OMG! Your look back in the Die Zeit archives must have been sooo fascinating! That job ad from 1968 is unbelievable! That really was they heyday in Canada, as well. And what you’re saying about the 180 degree change (universities – money + more students) is so true. And, as an aside, why is it so hard to let go of that “golden age” image? Maybe someone needs to write a sitcom or something about modern life at the university so our contemporary collective imagination can shift gears.
MelB: I hope to blog that the whole “don’t waste your intelligence on community college” conversation is not going on anymore. I don’t feel hopeful. But I can hope.
Kelly: I’ve never thought of it that way before, but what you’re saying about encouraging people to go into what’s at the intersection of what they’re good at and what’s the highest prestige really seems to ring true. What I’ve been wondering about for a long time, though, is why being a prof is held in such high esteem in the U.S., when the pay sucks so badly (as opposed to Canada, where the pay scales are among the highest in the world, I believe). I guess it goes back to that Ivy League image–the Dead Poets Society one–of the “golden age.” And you’re right–the great student : great prof analogy really makes as much sense as great daughter : great mom analogy. Thanks for this.
Nando–I think part of what you’re saying actually goes to some of the anxiety that academic leavers often face. When you leave, part of the soul-searching and skills-searching that you do naturally involves what you were doing before you went into grad school. There is a tremendous fear of going back to doing what you were doing before. But if you were smart and creative before grad school, and you’ve managed to salvage your smarts and creativity after grad school, it can lend itself to this feeling of, like, “Oh, shit, why is it that I went to grad school at all?”
JoVe–Yeah, I do think there really needs to be some kind of…I don’t know, intervention or something when people are beginning graduate programs so that they can have a real sense of what they’re in for. You’re expected to absorb the requirements of an academic career as you go along, but so many people would be saved a lot of heartache if that was all spelled out explicitly early on in the process. In my case, I probably still would’ve gone ahead and done it, though. At that time in my life, working 24/7 on a research project sounded like my idea of heaven.
Thanks, Sabine, for a wonderful post! I love hearing stories about people’s (for the most part) positive experiences about grad school. I would say my experience is somewhat similar to your own (sans all those awards, though!). I’m relatively happy, I LOVE doing research (not so much with teaching, though I would probably enjoy the occasional teaching gig). In essence, grad school is what I was made for. I was designed to withstand the rigors of grad school (silently and solitarily plodding along with requirements and endless solo research and writing, despite obstacles).
Given that academia is in my blood, I try not to think about leaving academia per se, but rather using my training and skills in other dimensions. I realize this is the title of your blog, and believe me, it’s been very helpful to me as I begin the journey of doing “something else” with my PhD. But I don’t want to believe that academia is something I can’t continue practicing, for lack of a better word. I will always be an academic (albeit an “independent” one) at my core. I don’t want to leave it, but I can’t stay in the traditional academic setting either.
So I’ve had to come to terms with the other aspects of the university that aren’t compatible with who I am, and they are in part aligned with yours. Specifically, the social justice aspects. I’m still doing my soul searching, but honestly, personal posts like yours (and the wonderful comments they generate) are giving me delicious food for thought!
Dawn, thanks for your lovely comment. I just went and checked out your blog, and I see you are on the home stretch of finishing your diss! Yay! Congratulations! Considering you posted only in December about having handed in your first chapter, that is really incredible!
Yes, leaving academia doesn’t have to mean a terrible, wrenching separation. It can just mean a slight adjustment to the tiller, where you happen to land in a different job using your academic training in writing, researching, presenting, teaching, and so on. I think it’s a great idea to adopt that attitude while finishing up your own personal marathon!
Reading your “Why I Left” entry has been a curious experience indeed – I feel as if I’ve been reading all of my own anxieties, frustrations, and even reservations about the academic path I’m currently on ( I will be ABD in a couple of months). For instance, I too struggle with the fact that many of the reasons that prompted me to pursue a doctoral degree just don’t jive with the reality of the work any longer. I also agonize over the kind of social contribution I am making/will make in an academic career. I admit that I began this degree naively (and perhaps a bit dead-poetified), in the sense that I did not or could not distinguish between a passion for the subject and a passion for the scholarly work upon which an academic career is based. A life of the mind sounds wonderful – a life of stale academic conferences and bloodless scholarship does not. I think Kelly is right; smart and talented students are pushed towards academic careers because they are smart and talented. When success seems quantifiable, as it does in academia with exams and grades , it is easy to mistake the pleasures of high achievement (and the corresponding family/friend prestige of being a high-achiever), with pleasure derived from the thing itself. I realize now that part of the problem (for me) has been reconciling success and desire. Admittedly, I have enjoyed being successful at something, but I question whether it will matter when (if) that elusive TT job comes, and all that is left is the work itself (and in the long term, I suppose, promotion). That is not to suggest that I don’t have an affinity for the subject, but rather, that the academic context of the discipline itself feels somewhat unsatisfying (frustrating, depressing, pedantic, irrelevant, etc…). I also feel tyrannized by the 24/7 gulag work ethic that seems necessary for academic success, and that is perhaps, the most disheartening element of this whole academic game. It is interesting to think the most of us, I assume, are sold into graduate degrees because of the romantic conception of the intellectual life, and yet, the reality is so very far from the truth.
Reading a stranger describe your life brings with it a certain eerie but enjoyable feeling. I must say that I am surprised by the similarity between your story and my own (except that I married a gal and haven’t yet finished The Dissertation). I particularly appreciate your sense that academic writing hampered and constrained you. Being in what may well be the “widest-ruling” of the humanities, I regularly hear faculty say, “When you’re a tenured philosophy professor, you can research *whatever you want*!!!! Will not that be awesome?” Yes, indeed, spending my life writing papers in stilted academic prose to be read by fewer than three people I don’t already know is, well, something of a dream of mine. It always has been. Who wouldn’t want that?
One day I asked myself (as philosophers will do), “Why am I here?” I used to think it was because I wanted to teach. I enjoy it, but have found equal reward in many kinds of work. The same is true of research. I think the truth may well be that the only thing I like about philosophy is philosophy itself. This is my apostasy: that I believe my discipline does not consist in writing papers for publication, giving talks at colloquia, marketing myself for tenure or increased pay, or perhaps even teaching (at least, not the meager fair our Institution peddles and our customers expect). It surely doesn’t involve committee work. All of this (excepting, perhaps, the last bit), I know is shameful blasphemy.
I have undoubtedly been led astray by fantasies of our discipline’s Golden Age, when lovers of wisdom actively sought to live well by sleeping in barrels and drinking hemlock. The “golden age” of the Academy has birthed professors with the gall assert that “it’s a philosopher if and only if it has published.”
Perhaps some orthodox Academic might still convince me to walk that harrowing road, but to me, at least, walking away seems a significant and important step toward living well. If that means I live in darkness, so be it.
Wow. Werd and Andy, those are two powerful, eloquent summations of some very strong feelings. Just as my post resonated with you, yours will resonate with other readers. This especially:
“I did not or could not distinguish between a passion for the subject and a passion for the scholarly work upon which an academic career is based. A life of the mind sounds wonderful – a life of stale academic conferences and bloodless scholarship does not.”
And this?
“I think the truth may well be that the only thing I like about philosophy is philosophy itself.”
This might actually be the thing that is a key to your happiness. It’s very tidy: stick with the philosophy, which you like, while thwarting everything else (i.e. finding a different way to make an income). I kind of like that.
And Andy, I LOL’ed at this:
““When you’re a tenured philosophy professor, you can research *whatever you want*!!!! Will not that be awesome?” Yes, indeed, spending my life writing papers in stilted academic prose to be read by fewer than three people I don’t already know is, well, something of a dream of mine.”
It’s really hard, I think, when your brain is set on fire, as an undergrad, by reading the material that makes you passionate enough to go to graduate school, only to have that same brain-on-fire feeling slowly extinguished by the realization that your own publications will not likely offer that same kind of “squeee!” feelings to scholars of the future.
Bloodless scholarship–Werd, I’d say you still have a creative flair for writing inside of you!
And this is going to become yet another headache for universities, methinks:
“I also feel tyrannized by the 24/7 gulag work ethic that seems necessary for academic success.”
Apparently Generation Y doesn’t do 24/7 (or so I’ve read). But also, as social mores have shifted around gendered divisions of labour, I think more and more male academics are resenting being wedded to their jobs, when social expectations, and their own desires, have shifted to make them accountable for a greater hand in childrearing. Also, at the Leaving Academia Toronto meetup yesterday, this 24/7 work ethic was uniformly echoed by everyone who attended as something that was a real driver in pushing folks away from the profession.
I just wanted to say “thanks” for the wonderful post, Sabine — you pointed out almost all of bones I have to pick with the academy with a fraction of the venom and bile I would probably use! All of the posts here are also fantastic and thoughtful, so kudos all around.
I’m in the very early stages of a literature PhD program, but I have already come to the decision that I want no part of an academic career. The totalitarian demands on one’s time, the poor prospects, and (perhaps especially) the lack of real-world relevance in my academic work were all deal-killers. That last one ought to be a major source of shame to the academy, because I think it would be by far the easiest of these woes to fix (by a broader definition of what constitutes “professional” academic work) and would make a world of difference in the self-esteem and sense of vocational fulfillment in many burgeoning academics. It’s one thing to suffer some deprivations if you feel that your life’s work is making a positive difference in the world; it’s quite another when it gets filed under mountains of other unread esoterica in a dark, dusty corner.
I was definitely in Jove’s camp when it came to being “the ignorant recruit” — the department head at my small school suggested I become an academic, and with no better ideas and no clear conception of the realities of the job or the job market, I said “Sure, why not?” Not thoroughly checking out the afore-mentioned job realities was my first mistake (some researcher I was!). My second was the fundamental misunderstanding about academia that Andy talked about so eloquently above: I loved literature dearly (and still do), but I did not and do not particularly love professional literary study. I think that if undergrad advisors would give their advisees a stern intellectual grilling to make sure that this distinction is clear as crystal, it would save the latter group a lot of unpleasant disillusionment later on.
Lastly, I can certainly testify to society’s perception lag when it comes to the academic life. I have been discussing with friends and family whether to stay and finish the PhD on a “personal fulfillment / can’t hurt / just for the hell of it ” basis, and having to explain to each of them that a doctoral degree is not an instant job ticket has been a constant source of aggravation. Robin Williams, you cad, you’ve confused us all! Thankfully, I have a solution in mind to pitch to Hollywood to clear up the public’s confusion: “Revenge of the Nerds V: Adjuncts Attack”, a juvenille comedy about underpaid adjuncts mutinying and taking control of an Ivy-League university, Somalian pirate style. A blockbuster hit waiting to happen, right?
Thanks to you all! I am an MA Classics student and I am currently having the toughest time of my life. I have always been excellent in humanities and this includes a beautifully-crafted style which I think you can’t enjoy reading my english prose, since my native language is Italian. I literally live on literature, poetry and philosophy. I divore an incredible amount of paper every day. can read 5 languages and speak fluently 3. When I was 19 I thought I was born to write. I did not change my mind about it, I have just changed the means to my end. Probabily will quit here with Academica and go to Law School. For some members of my family (intellectually gifted left wing clever and sensitive people) this is a shame. How can you change your Ivory tower with an office? For me it’s just my choice of saying yes to a real commitment in the state affairs. Guess what? I cannot avoid reading Cicero, Tacitus, Dante. Men of action they were, so am I. That is what humanities should shape: your hands accordingly and consistenly to your head.
Thank you so much for this post, and for this blog, that I just discovered. I am a second-year PhD student, working on my dissertation proposal. I recognized myself a lot in the experiences and feelings you describe. And while the advice and resources you provide are extremely helpful, I want to thank you first and foremost for making it completely normal to think about a career outside of academia. It’s making me less desperate, and less anxious.
Thanks so much for the post. I am currently an Assistant Professor in engineering who is deeply contemplating leaving the profession. I, like the others on this post, share a similar story. I had excelled in my undergraduate degree and naturally decided to continue learning in the graduate setting. My PhD was fully funded by several scholarships, so there was significant positive reinforcement for my decision to pursue grad studies. During my PhD, I enjoyed an active lifestyle, had many close friends, and married a wonderful woman. Professionally, I had published widely and was acknowledged as a “rising star”. Under heavy influence by my egomaniacal supervisor, I pursued a post-doc at a prestigious US institution. After a grueling year of all-work and no-play (36-hour days in the lab), I landed a job at a Canadian university and have several grants to start my research.
One would think that I have it made. While I generally enjoy teaching and writing, I have been increasingly disturbed by the trends I see in academia. Of course, there are the stereo-typical pressures of simultaneously securing funding, doing research, supervising graduate students, and teaching fabulous courses – I am finding it harder and harder to each day to do each of them well as the minutes in my day grow shorter and shorter. More disturbingly, I find a complete absence of role models leading what I deem to be a well-balanced, good life. I feel like we are all on a sinking ship, holding onto the things we treasure – rewarding work, family, friends, personal interests – and we must decide which ones to pitch overboard to save ourselves. While this is an exaggeration, I cannot shake the feeling that this profession is not good for my soul, that this line of work inevitably produces mostly one-dimensional human beings with little wisdom, and that very soon I will have a make a difficult choice.
I feel fortunate to have found this site. Having spent a week Googling ‘nervous breakdown among academics’, I thought I would try ‘should I leave academia?’ not expecting to find much. However, the words on here articulate the inner voice that has been bothering me for nearly two years, and it is comforting to know I am not alone. I came back to education 10 years ago at 29 following a divorce and a very bad time. I did well. I was encouraged by my supervisor to continue with a post doc and have just been awarded a 3 year research grant. I work in an ‘elitist’ top university in the UK and these awards are so competitive that most post-PhDs would be delighted. However, the job has been taking a toll on me increasingly over the last couple of years. My marriage is suffering – as is my relationship with everyone else because I am too tired to engage with anything. The essentials get done – then my work takes priority (because it’s expected). My marriage and my health are bottom of the list. I ‘manage’, but that’s it. From time to time I retreat to bed with the curtains drawn and stay there for a couple of days. I cry a lot and then it’s back on the ‘hamster’s wheel’ again. In my interview for the post-doc, I felt too scared to even admit I have a family – and found myself promising things that weren’t true – for example, that my PhD was ‘near manuscript’ format. I don’t know how I got here, or when I lost my way. These are not my values. I think they are the values of my supervisor who I like and respect enormously. I have known him closely for years now and he has changed my life and introduced me to the texts that I love and a way of thinking that has changed me forever. I came from a very insecure place and now have gained respect and a role for myself. However, I had no idea what this role really entailed, and each time I speak to him about my concerns, he convinces me to carry on. I don’t think anyone has ever turned down a 3-year post doc. My department will be mortified. Anyone out there turned down an opportunity like this? I don’t know what to do anymore.
I’m so sorry nora. I take the chance that you checked the notification box when you submitted your comment… I wish I could help you, but I think you *have* to speak with someone, either a non-academic (therapist or an otherwise good listener), or even better with someone who went through what you’re going through right now, and left. I’m sure tons of academics have felt the way you do now, but many do not dare admit it, or don’t think it is even possible to leave. So those people may not be the best people to talk to. They may say what your supervisor says, try to convince you to carry on, instead of trying to help you figure out what is best for you. And who cares if you’re the first brave enough to turn down a three-year post-doc? In my opinion it would show you’re brave, independent, and that you do what you need to be happy and healthy. And even if some people in your department were “mortified,” what is better, for you to be happy or to avoid disappointing a few people?
I may be talking through my hat, since I’m not as far along as you are and I haven’t left (yet), but you seem so unhappy that I feel I have to say something. I did the same Googling two weeks ago, and since then I found out there were tons of websites and books about non-academic (or post-academic) options for academics, and each one features enthusiastic people doing great jobs that they love. If you haven’t heard about it yet, I really recommend Susan Basalla and Maggie Debelius’ book, “So What Are You Going to Do With That?” (http://www.amazon.com/What-Are-You-Going-That/dp/0374526214), even if just to find out what are other possibilities, so that even if you choose to stay, for three years or for your whole career, it’ll at least have been an informed choice. No job in the world should make you feel like this for years! Good luck!!!
Em, thank you for your kind response! It is so strange how, even though every bone in my body is telling me to quit, I find the prospect terrifying! I’m sure it’s because I feel I’m letting so many people down. I was indocrinated as a child to do the things I ’should’ and to worry about everyone else’s needs. It’s shocking how we block out the voice telling us what ‘we’ need. I have today received an email from our head of dept (now she has heard of my funding!) asking me to teach two modules in the fall. Immediately piling as much as possible on ….
Thank you for your words of courage, and to everyone else on here for speaking the ‘unspeakable’. And good luck to you in your journey too.
Is it like we always like what we cannot get? I had the opposite experience, I explored different fields for eight years and now I want to be in the academic career and hopefully for good; but struggling to get there as I have to market myself which I’m not good at by all means.
I have come to conclusion that wherever you work, you have to follow the boss ethics and it’s tough when you are in business or in Government to do so all the time. Academia would give me the chance to be with books and students; at least I’ll have the chance to contribute in a wider perspective.
Thank you for this article and I’ll keep struggling.