An Unreliable Mind: Being OCD in the Academy

Written by Clare Griffin 

I am writing the first draft of this on a flight home, feeling emotional after a crappy connection. Is it a good idea to start writing this now? Is it a good idea to write it at all? To publish it, where anyone could read it? What do I hope to achieve by this? How much will it hurt me to publish it? How much good could it possibly do? For me, or for anyone else? Do I mean everything I am saying? And will anyone believe it?

This, and a thousand other worries come to me on bad days, when the OCD I was diagnosed with a few years ago takes over. At some points in my life, all I had were bad days. Now, I have a lot of good days, and still some bad days, and the bad is manageably bad.

After much treatment, and much help, life is easier. Easier is not the same as easy. But some days, easier is everything.

My OCD rewrites the world for me. It pushes me into false certainties where only uncertainties lie. If a friend doesn’t reply to me, they must certainly hate me; yet I can only be uncertain as to the motivations of others. My mind can be unreliable, yet my work, my career, my life, rely on my mind and on my judgement. How can an unreliable mind be an academic mind? If I can’t always trust my judgement, how can anyone else?

My OCD gets me praise. If I have scrutinised every detail of a piece of work or of an event, my OCD will still have me check again, and again, and again, and again. I am early for deadlines, always there for meetings and the most reliable collaborator – until I’m not. Until the compulsion that drives me to check, and recheck, and check again, pushes my brain too far, and I have to lie in the dark to try to make it stop. How can I feel well in an Academy where other people look at pain and see productivity, see the shadow on the wall cast by a pathology and declare it a work ethic? How can I function here? How can I function anywhere?

And yet I know for certain - with actual certainty, not the false kind the OCD sends - that people with mental health and neurological problems are valuable, intelligent people. I know for certain that academics with these conditions make major contributions. I know for certain that those people who have been open about their conditions, and their problems, have helped me. Cartoonists, writers, presenters, literary studies scholars, and historians have all made important and beautiful works out of their pain. If I can unquestioningly accept the value of the intellectual work of other people - other creators and academics with problems like mine - can I accept the value of my own mind? Can I believe that other people will?

Why did I decide to write this? Is it to free myself from the prison of shame that keeping medical conditions private can create? Is it to find sympathy? To aggrandise myself or pity myself, or hurt myself? To martyr myself? Will I cause myself too much pain with the vain and self-important idea that I will help others by writing this? Will people react negatively to this? Or will they not even notice it? Have I disclosed enough to help people? Or have I exposed myself by sharing far too much? The reality I must live with is - I just don’t know.

About the Author

Clare Griffin is a historian of early modern science

Portrait photo of Clare who is 
dressed smartly and facing the camera 
in front of a plain background.

and assistant professor at Nazarbayev University, Republic of Kazakhstan. Her work focuses on global exchanges, practical knowledge, and translation, especially as this relates to the early modern Russian Empire.

Working from Home: Issues and Advice

Written by Calum Carson 

Recent developments in communications technology and a greater recognition of the importance of a healthy work-life balance has led to a wider number of workers across the world voluntarily working from home. For those experiencing chronic illness and/or disability, however, such working arrangements are an unavoidable reality rather than a choice. For individuals in this position studying and working within a profession such as academia, where long periods of independent research and a lack of day to day working routine are already commonplace, there are a number of issues that can emerge through such experiences that it is important to discuss.

From my own perspective, the involuntarily imposition of home working arrangements is something that I have spent the past eighteen months coming to terms with, following the beginning of an on-going chronic back injury at the beginning of January 2017 (worst New Year’s gift EVER). This coincided with the beginning of the second year of my PhD following a six-month suspension for a research internship. I had spent the first year of my studies working 9-5 in the communal office space provided for doctoral researchers in my department, a routine I found easy to stick to after spending six years working 9-5 before returning to research for my Masters/PhD. My own particular injury essentially turned my back into what I liken to a cross between Goldilocks and an extremely moody teenager, with seating/standing/walking conditions etc. having to be “just right” in order for it not to tie itself into painful knots. This makes working from the rigid confines of a desk in an office extremely difficult, and has made developing a new working routine from home essential.

In a number of ways, the two key issues inherent in working from home are the same as those within any professional working environment: making sure routines and systems are in place so that you can work well and maintaining functioning professional relationships with colleagues to facilitate those routines and systems. The key difference for most home workers, however, is that the relationship aspect of work shifts from being comfortable with others to being comfortable with working alone and with yourself. This can be more difficult when home working has been imposed by an individual’s circumstances through a chronic illness or disability, rather than a specific choice deliberately made to better support family life and/or a work-life balance.

Given this, it is no surprise that a number of issues can manifest for someone finding themselves in this position. Feelings of loneliness and frustration about one’s circumstances are perhaps the most obvious, with the necessity of working from home making some depressed and anxious about missing out on working with academic colleagues. For some like myself it can also have a detrimental impact on work itself, with more distractions at hand and the lack of motivation produced by the lack of anyone around you doing the same thing.

Fortunately, there are a number of ways that working from home can be made more palatable in the twenty-first century. The same technological advances that have led to an increase in home working can be similarly utilised to provide home workers with more social and colleague-to-colleague interaction, for example through Skype “Shut up and Write” sessions and virtual coffee breaks. For those who can work for short periods outside of the home, meeting up with colleagues at a nearby café or pub to work together for a couple of hours can be a welcome break from the confines of your typical routine, and the few-office-hours nature of academia can mean that arranging for others to work with you from your home are easier to arrange than they would be in many other sectors.

Setting clear boundaries between “work life” and “home life” are even more essential when your place of work is also your home, too: for example, by designating official start and end times to the working day, giving yourself a decent break for lunch (preferably outside of the house), and if possible ensuring that you get out in the fresh air at regular intervals (even if it’s just on the front door step). If you’re lucky enough to have a home office, use this more than any other room so that you can mentally leave your work in that room once the day is over.

While these may seem like very small and obvious pieces of advice, I can speak from personal experience that they really do help: working from home when you have no choice but to do so can be rough going at times, but there are a large number of things you can do to make things easier (and to avoid becoming a hermit): if you’ve got any advice of your own for us home workers, do please post it below!

About the Author

Calum Carson is a third year PhD candidate at Leeds University Business School, whose research explores the business case for the Living Wage amidst the continued growth of precarious work in the UK today.

What neurodiverse, chronically ill and disabled academics do to manage life in academia

Written by Nicole Brown 

Being chronically ill, neurodiverse, and/or disabled means that adjustments have to be made in life. Quite naturally, the symptoms of illnesses, neurodiversities, and disabilities also affect one’s working life. This is, of course, equally true for academics, although they are often seen to be privileged. The digital health community and advocacy web site The Mighty has recently published a contribution on impolite behavioural strategies that those with chronic illness engage in to protect their health as much as possible.

Many of the behaviour patterns mentioned can be transferred directly or in some modified, translated form to serve as coping strategies for academics. This is exactly what I am doing in the following. Drawing on the original list from The Mighty and on conversations with disabled, ill, and neurodiverse academics, I provide a non-exhaustive list of coping behaviours in academia.

1. Saying "no"
Institutional citizenship requires academics to take on extra roles and responsibilities such as attending events, getting involved in planning and marking, and representing departments; the tasks are unlimited. Saying “no” is not an easy decision, but in order to protect body and mind “no” becomes an important word and therefore needs to be accepted and respected. Saying “no” does not make academics traitors to their institutions; it actually means the opposite: the academics are loyal to their students and workplace and are trying to make sure they are able to keep up with existing workloads and do not risk burnout.


2. Rescheduling


Many academics with disabilities, illnesses, or neurodiversities are overwhelmed with the tasks on hand, but they are still very keen to be fully involved in institutional life and decisions. They may just need some extra time or space for that. Rescheduling meetings and conversations is therefore particularly important, for the academics themselves but also for those involved in the decision-making meetings. After all, it is not in the interest of anyone to finalise decisions or documents under the influence of sensory overload, pain, fatigue, exhaustion, or any other symptoms. The flexibility of rescheduling means that the work the academics are contributing will be of a higher standard and the best possible quality. And sometimes, it may just be enough to allow for remote participation via email or video-calling facilities.


3. Secluding oneself


Many people with chronic illnesses, disabilities, and neurodiversities need their own space and time for themselves to which they can withdraw. For some, this may mean physically removing themselves into a quiet room where stimulants are limited. For others, this may mean resting or even taking a nap. For others still, it may just mean that they do not wish to network or engage in conversations. In a working context like academia, where networking and representation at events are everything, this is obviously very difficult to achieve. Therefore, the onus must be on all of us to create an environment where withdrawing from demanding situations is not seen as rude, but as a different way of working.


4. Being assertive about needs


This is in line with the previous points. All of us know for ourselves what makes us comfortable and productive and effective. So, therefore, any kind of workplace adjustment needs to be encouraged. This may mean offering a private office rather than an open-plan office – not because those with illnesses, disabilities and neurodiversities want to be treated differently, but because stimulants like noises, smells, lights or the flow of air (air-conditioning, heating, windows) cannot be suitably adjusted for each individual’s needs. Similarly, sunglasses, socks, blankets, pillows, backrests, and footstools are all items that can easily be provided. The message here needs to be that none of these items (or, indeed, any other support gadgets) should be ridiculed or envied. They are means to ensure productivity. Equally, being assertive about one’s needs includes strategies like staying away from work to avoid sick people during flu-season, asking not to be interrupted in order to maintain one’s stream of thoughts, not standing to greet someone, bringing one’s own food and drinks, and so on.


5. Leaving


Finally, and as important as the previous points, academics may need to leave. This may be leaving early to seclude themselves or to attend a doctor’s appointment, or this may be sick-leave. Many academics with chronic conditions feel under pressure to perform and produce so that they are pushing through acute flare-ups instead of allowing themselves a day or two to heal. In this sense, working models for flexible hours are probably the most feasible, sensible, and effective strategy for both academics and their employers.

For many, this list will include things they do to pace themselves and manage their needs. But for many other academics, this is a list of things they would like to do but feel they cannot. Academia is seen as an environment where there is no space for weakness, vulnerability, or anything less than being fully productive.

I am hoping that with the top-5 items highlighted, it may be possible to raise awareness of and increase empathy for the experiences of academics with illnesses, neurodiversities, and disabilities. Naturally, experiences of illnesses, neurodiversities, and disabilities need to be seen individually, but there are common traits affecting all non-neuro-typicals. And understanding and tolerance are what is needed most, after all.

Recent publications

Brown, N. & Leigh, J. S. (2018). Ableism in academia: Where are the disabled and ill academics? Disability and Society. DOI: 10.1080/09687599.2018.1455627

Brown, N. (2018). Exploring the lived experience of fibromyalgia using creative data collection methods. Cogent Social Sciences. DOI:10.1080/23311886.2018.1447759

Brown, N. (2018). Video-conference interviews: Ethical and methodological concerns in the context of health research. SAGE Research Methods Cases. DOI: 10.4135/9781526441812

Brown, N., Jafferani, A. & Pattharwala, V. (2018). Partnership in teacher education: developing creative methods to deepen students’ reflections. Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 4(1). DOI: 10.21100/jeipc.v4i1.747

Brown, N., & Janssen, R. (2017). Preventing plagiarism and fostering academic integrity: a practical approach. Journal of Perspectives in Applied Academic Practice, 5(3), 102-109. DOI: 10.14297/jpaap.v5i3.245

About the Author

Headshot of Nicole 
Brown in front of 
a plain background

Nicole Brown is a Lecturer in Education at UCL Institute of Education, and a doctoral researcher at the University of Kent. Her research interests relate to ableism, identity and body work, physical and material representations and metaphors, the generation of knowledge, and advancing learning and teaching within higher education. Contact details: nicole.brown@ucl.ac.uk Web site: www.nicole-brown.co.uk Twitter: @ncjbrown @FibroIdentity @AbleismAcademia

Metrics of Productivity

Written by Wanda Diaz Merced

During the month of September 2015, I was invited to an inclusion summit by the American Astronomical Society (AAS).  On my way to the summit I took a shared shuttle ride.  A very nice and talkative couple shared the journey with me.  Their destination was their house and mine the AAS office in Washington DC. Of course, we chatted all the time. I love chatting!

The lady introduced herself as a member of staff at the Fulbright Commission. We chatted and laughed all the way. The conversation reached a point where she mentioned her various trips to a country in Africa, to which I replied "I have been there many times too!".  That led me to explain why and to talk about my academic research.  It was very good to hear the “how do you do it?” question right after I told them about my work.

When we got to that point, being unemployed myself, I spoke about how some people’s disabilities lead them to make grammatical mistakes in their resumes, essays and in job application forms that are often not user centered.  I also spoke of technology like screen readers, which despite being helpful, do not prevent us from making mistakes that may lead to incomplete applications or unattached required documents leaving our applications destined for the rejection pile.

I had the same challenge when doing my PhD.  Because I did not ask for a proofreader, upon turning my thesis in I had a whole chapter inserted into the table of contents and during the viva the examiners asked me why I had not included a conclusion chapter.  I had written it but it never made it into their hands.  Beyond that, my examiners mentioned that paragraphs were repeated and pages were numbered twice among other issues.   Luckily for me, my university took action and paid a proofreader, who helped me to correct all the grammatical mistakes and my examiners understood the situation.

However, what about a recent graduate who has a disability causing the occurrence of grammatical mistakes who cannot pay an editor or someone to proofread or help with the job application process?  What about the mentality in scientific academia in the field of astronomy and computer science (I only know astronomy and computer science) of a productivity metric based on written publications?  What about the fact that people who are disabled are expected to perform like a traditional academic (I still use astronomy and computer science as an example) using the same interfaces and perhaps strategies.  As a blind person I have my own strategies; why do I have to be assessed against the established metrics if I have to complete an application that has been made only for sighted users, when I navigate the application with my ears?    How much more difficult is it to compete fairly for a job when your cv is destined for the rejection pile because a grammatical mistake potentially has more weight than your achievements, or because we just could not deal with the presentation of the job application?

I choose to use sound to analyze my data but I have to present anything I find in the data visually to my peers.  When my collaborators bring data to me no one provides a sound file for me to evaluate the data as a peer.  I have also failed to make them aware that I use sound to analyze my data because my performance is at its highest.  They provide a chart.  It is true that the chart may be embossed so that I can use touch to “read” it but in my case having access to the data behind the charts allows me to hear it and do a more thorough evaluation of possible features that may be significant.

I humbly think that while academia is affected by these sorts of inequalities, some are at a disadvantage.  There is no malice; it happens unwittingly but to me this is equivalent to suffer a death by a hundred paper cuts.  At the same time I believe firmly that evaluation metrics have to change to establish a heterogeneous environment in academia, that better awareness will decrease the bias of review boards and that we will be able to level the playing field.  I do not underestimate the effort this will take.  This is a situation that affects all people with disabilities in academia, those applying for post-docs and anyone with a disability who is job hunting.   This is robbing people with disabilities from equal opportunities to display our talents and dignified, meaningful work.  Anyone may develop a disability at any time.  Academics with and without disabilities from every background should unite and work towards leveling the playing field.  People with disabilities do things with our bodies that the able-bodied person has never thought of; if we are allowed to participate as equals, a new type of academia will emerge with people exploring, discovering and employing innovative coping strategies the able-bodied would never think of. 

About the Author

Wanda is a Computer Scientist and Astronomer with a PhD from the University of Glasgow in Scotland.  She is now affiliated to the Office of Astronomy for Development located at the South African Astronomical Observatory in Cape Town.

Giving Yourself Permission; especially for invisible illnessess

Written by Sophia Frentz

The most important thing I’ve ever learned how to do is to give myself permission.

If you’re reading this, it’s likely you’re an overachiever, that you’ve pushed yourself to (and past) breaking point multiple times, and that you’re not very good at saying no. I understand; I’m all that and more when it comes to toxic relationships with work. I’m pretty sure the only reason I survived my honours year is that the sound the heaters made at night scared me so I had to go home regularly.

My Coping Mechanism

When it comes to being chronically ill the most important coping mechanism is to give yourself a break. I have had depression for most, if not all, of my life. My anxiety and other brain quirks rear their heads when I push myself too hard. I’m good at ignoring them and getting on with work. I’m also good at getting distracted and forgetting to eat for a week. Neither of these are positive traits. When I gave myself permission (to be sad, to be afraid, to take days off, to take care of myself), a few things happened.

What happened when I cut myself some slack?

I stopped getting so defensive when people asked me about it. I’m constantly afraid of disappointing people in authority, but once I give myself permission to put my health first and told people that, there was very little argument. The people around you often want to be supportive, but can’t take your situation into account until you say “I’m taking today off because otherwise I will lie on the floor and cry instead of doing work”.

Secondly, I got healthier, happier, and more productive. This may seem obvious, but the “don’t do work to do more work overall because you’re not as sick” equation isn’t one I totally get. When I am sad or stressed, my go-to is to throw myself into work and yes, obviously that isn’t healthy or productive, but I liked it. Treating myself the way I would treat a sick partner made me better at research and happier with my life.

I became more confident. The pressures of being a woman in science means we’re not “meant to” have emotions (see: Tim Hunt’s failed “joke”). By giving myself permission to be “feminine” in the sense that I have feelings meant I was being myself a lot more, which made me a more confident researcher. It also meant I wasn’t bottling anything up, so my mental illness let up a lot. It surprised me how much of my anxiety was tied up in the fear of how people would respond to who I was.

Acceptance, Asking for Help and Healing

It also became easier to ask for help - I wasn’t hiding my mental illness any more, or pretending it was a “blessing in disguise” (I went through a few weird stages of relating to my mental health). Rather, I was allowing myself to have it and in the same step letting myself not be superhuman. I still don’t quite get along with the term “disability” but a fully healthy person probably couldn’t do what I push myself to try, so giving myself permission means taking a breath and not getting frustrated with my limitations. This resulted in me both thinking about my mental illness as an illness, and initiated getting on medication, which has been one of the best choices I’ve made.

Giving myself permission was instrumental when healing from trauma. At a recent talk about the barriers women in science face, a panel I was on was asked how we dealt with our personal barriers. I said that I cry a lot.  Allowing myself to cry, be angry, and to experience the full spectrum of human emotion has been invaluable. It has contributed to my growth as a human and as a scientist and has facilitated managing my illness while studying and working. 10/10 would recommend.

About the Author

Sophia Frentz is a PhD student in Genetics at the University of Melbourne with a fun cocktail of mental health issues, predominantly depression. She's learned a lot of lessons along the way but still struggles with giving herself a break.

Illness in the Ivory Tower: Coping with chronic illness in academia

Written by Scott Elias 

I have spent my whole adult life in Academia – the kind of person who just fell in love with university life as an undergraduate, and have stuck around this stimulating environment ever since. Since I began my ungraduated studies in 1972, that makes 44 years, including eight as a student, 20 as a professional researcher, and 16 as a lecturer. My health started to break down in 1986, and I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. I had my entire large intestine removed in 1991, which should have dealt with the colitis, except that new inflammation developed in my small intestine, so I was re-diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. I have lived with an ileostomy for 25 years, and the hole in my abdominal wall that this caused has torn, necessitating several parastomal hernia operations (I’m facing another one in a few weeks).

So that’s my tale of woe, in most of its gory details. I thought you needed to know that, so that you could appreciate how I have been able to cope with my problems in an academic setting. 

Much of my research involves field work in remote regions of Alaska. This presents challenges for someone wearing a stoma bag, but I have managed to cope pretty well, all things considered. Ostomy bags have an adhesive to they stick to your skin. In the 1990s, this adhesive material was rather heat-sensitive. I found this out the hard way when I was doing fieldwork on the North Slope of Alaska, about 1000 km from the nearest source of replacement bags. I had foolishly left my stoma supplies in the truck (boot) of a rental car, and they got over-heated on the long, two-day trip north from Fairbanks. I managed to get a few days of fieldwork done, but then ran out of serviceable stoma bags.  I made it back to Fairbanks before the last one leaked. I do not recommend 1000 km of driving on unpaved roads, especially all in one day, but it’s amazing what you can do when you must.

One of the most difficult aspects of fieldwork for me is simply finding the energy to carry out the necessary tasks. Crohn’s is an auto-immune disease, and it drains the body of energy, especially during flare-ups of the disease. When this happens, you simply have to take care of yourself: get extra rest, shorten the work day, and ‘look out for number one.’  I have a colleague with whom I share another auto-immune disease – ankylosing spondylitis. He has had to learn the hard way that when he pushes himself doing fieldwork as he used to do before he got AS, he just crashes - sometimes ending up in a hospital. I sympathize, because field work is very intellectually stimulating. It scratches a deep itch for Quaternary scientists, who like to dig through dirt, find precious samples, and bag them up for transport back to the laboratory. But, in the end, I have had to learn to delegate much of this to postgraduate students. I direct where they dig and where they take the samples, while I take pictures and write sample bag labels.

Work at the university is much easier to deal with. My biggest hiatus from teaching came last academic year, when the surgical incision from a parastomal hernia repair in January (2015) just refused to heal properly, and kept getting infected. I managed to teach nearly all of my third-year course last spring, although sometimes this meant getting out of bed, getting dressed, my wife taking me to the college where I delivered a one-hour lecture and went straight home to bed again. All credit goes to my departmental colleagues who took on extra teaching for me, and to my head of department, who did a great job of juggling things around to make it all work.

I think the key to making such things work is open, honest communication. When I am having difficulties fulfilling my duties because of my medical conditions, I talk to the people who will be affected by it.  I have dealt with six different heads of department during my career at Royal Holloway, and they have all been sympathetic and helpful. I used to lead an undergraduate field trip for physical geography students. This is a physically demanding week-long job. I was able to cope with the stresses back in the early 2000s, but I cannot cope at that level any more. Again, my head of department found a less demanding role for me: academic coordinator of a local field trip that is run by a colleague. So there are ways around obstacles such as these, but the key is advanced planning and lots of communication. When I first had the ileostomy, I read a book entitled ‘Never Apologize, Always Explain’ by Patricia Stout Skilken. The book’s title explains her philosophy about having an ileostomy.  I believe she has the right idea, because when I have explained my situation to colleagues, we have found solutions to the problems. I encourage everyone in Academia who has a chronic illness to be open and honest about it. Believe  me, it works much better that way!

About the Author

Scott Elias is a Professor of Quaternary science at Royal Holloway, University of London. His main research interest lies in the reconstruction of past environments, using insect fossil evidence.

Lessons from Writing a PhD with a Chronic Illness

Written by Amber Davis 

I wrote the first half of my PhD when I was healthy, or at least healthy enough to function ‘normally’. I suffered from low energy, and had a collection of intractable seemingly unrelated health issues pop up regularly, but they were manageable. With lots of self-care I was all right. That changed from one day to the next when the disease that had been lurking in the shadows decided it was on top and my health crashed spectacularly. I didn’t find out until over six years into it what that disease was: Lyme disease (Borreliose), a bacterial infection caused by a tick bite, as well as co-infections, that weaken the immune system and mess with every other bodily system you can think of. In my case it looks a lot like chronic fatigue syndrome or M.E. (I am aware of the controversies surrounding these labels and conditions. Not saying these are the same). Unfortunately: no cure, though there are things that can be done to improve, maybe even get to remission. In the meantime though, life goes on, which was the first thing I learned, even before my diagnosis, living with what I still hesitate to call a ‘chronic illness’. Where before my falling ill I might have a life crisis and I would lay low and it would solve itself with time and a bit of effort, no such luck this time: seems I would have to go on living with this massive part called health unresolved. After years of being too ill to do anything at all, let alone think about work, I decided I would try to finish my PhD. I had to go about it strategically, as there was not a drop of energy to waste. This is what I learned:

1. Do You Really Want to Be in Academia?

   Living with a limiting health condition means having to be true to what you really want, as anything else no longer seems to work. There is far less leeway. Far less room for manoeuvre. That seemed to be very much the case for me, anyway. Having to deal with severe energy limitations, I noticed the only things I successfully managed were those that lit a spark. Finishing the PhD was not at all self-evident. To be honest, I didn’t much care about it for years: I had bigger fish to fry, namely trying to get my health back to a place where I would be able to enjoy life instead of enduring it! The PhD seemed insignificant in comparison. At some point, however, I realised I was still interested in my project, and figured I had nothing to lose. There was a chance I might manage (though I didn’t dare say this out loud) so why not try? Most importantly, when I decided to finish my PhD it was because I felt compelled to. That didn’t mean it was in any way an easy road, or that I didn’t have doubts about it - in many ways it was a bit of an insane plan - but I knew I wanted to give it a go, at least
   I believe the essential question to ask, when you are at a cross-roads with your health and work life in academia, is: “Do I want to be here at all? Do I want to be in academia?” That difficult question has to be answered before bothering with: “How am I going to manage?” Being ruthlessly honest about motives and circumstances, about whether an academic position adds to your being fulfilled, whether it is good for you, or whether it drains you further, and whether continuing down the same road is feasible, is required. Circumstances change: maybe academia was right for you at one point, but no longer is. Or conversely: maybe your health meant you had to drop out for a while, but has now improved to such a level that you will manage, and you find yourself longing to get back. Learning to distinguish when a ‘yes’ is a real, true yes, is very much a learnable skill. One way of knowing is to pay attention to how you feel about certain options: if an option such as finishing your PhD feels expansive, exciting, even if it may be daunting, that indicates a ‘yes’. If it makes you shut down, even though you want yourself to pursue it for reasons such as not wanting to be a ‘quitter’, feared loss of status etcetera not so. It is OK to quit, even if fellow academics are not likely to respond favourably to your doubts about pursuing an academic career. Similarly: don’t let anyone dissuade you from working in academia, or pursuing a project. Give yourself permission to make your own decisions.

2. Prioritise Your Work and Do It Your Way

   For me staying in academia meant I had to find a way of working that wouldn’t exhaust me further. In practice that meant being strict about my work hours. In the morning I would work three hours, and that meant absolutely no interruptions. If I had energy left, I would also work an afternoon session. That way of working, of making the most of the energy I had by focusing in, worked very well. (It works well also if you have no energy limitations. Focus is everything.) But it meant a lot of boundary setting. No Internet surfing or picking up my phone during these hours. I made a point of switching everything off, including the Internet, which helped. I also started working in 45 minute intervals, further improving focus. Whereas before I wasted a lot of time in the twilight zone of distraction, those days had to be over for me to be able to function at a level to get my work done. These new work habits made a world of difference. A crucial aspect also was working for no longer than was sustainable. My old habit was to push past the fatigue, and to try to keep going no matter what, even if it was going nowhere. It took some courage to change that and indeed stop after what felt like not long at all. Saying: ‘this is enough for today’ can be daunting. Over the long run, though, I learnt to trust my new habits, and it got easier. It actually worked!
   Mentally a new habit I had to form was to not engage so much with the negativity mindset (this is never going to work, what if my work isn’t good enough, I’m never going to meet that deadline, oh this is so slooooooow, why am I even trying etc.) that often comes with academic work, even without the added obstacle of illness or exhaustion. The worry was such a strain. It didn’t seem to solve much, either! What if I could train myself to skip the worry part? Seems a bit outrageous, and certainly doesn’t conform to norm seen the general tendency towards suffering and self-flagellation in academia, but it might free up some energy! Worth a try. Meditation was my method of choice to learn to not stay stuck in worry. (Practice, not perfection, always.) It helped me make my worries manageable by teaching me to be me be far more aware of how I was spending my emotional energy. It also helped me learn to shift my focus of attention to more positive states or activities when my worries threatened to get the better of me. Another practice that helped was truly engaging with what I was doing. It is quite impossible to be focused - say on working on a chapter - and worrying about it simultaneously (though no doubt I may have managed at times). I tried to be more aware of my focus, both in terms of what I was doing, and what I was thinking. Mindfulness basically.
   The other, very practical, thing I needed was time. Although I did finish my PhD much faster than expected once I got back on track, when I was at my most unwell working was out of the question. I had to ask my department for extensions again and again. I believe I was the person with the longest history of sick leave in the entire institute ever! Which leads me to the next point:

3. Ask for What You Need

   Depending on your disability, illness, or other obstacle, you may need to inform your department/ supervisor/ colleagues of your situation. Academia is an odd place: on the one hand it tolerates diversity rather well, and people tend to be friendly and open-minded, on the other it can be a wildly competitive place, increasingly so, where everyone is madly competing for limited resources. Ideally we would be able to discuss our health issues freely, if necessary. Yet one immense burden of having a chronic (invisible) illness or disability is not being heard, or understood. In less fortunate cases you may even be bullied or taken advantage of, or as was the case for me: somewhat neglected. At some universities (often the more prestigious ones) I can’t quite wrap my head around the level of machismo and politics. In most a lot depends on the influence and willingness of the person in front of you.
   I generally believe in being open about your condition to the extent that practical considerations require. More if you have someone you particularly trust. In my experience people tend to respond well to concrete requests which may help you function, and being pragmatic about your needs is extremely helpful. I probably don’t need to tell you that chronic illness or disability is often so far out for people - even those who wish you well and want to help - that they simply cannot imagine what you might need. If we have the need part figured out for ourselves, it helps tremendously. It is so important. And please do advocate for yourself! I know I felt shame because I could no longer keep up, but at one point I decided that if at all possible I would try to not bother with the shame and guilt and negative emotions as much (being unwell was burden enough, thanks!) and I would go for what I wanted and ask for what I needed, without them, if at all possible. It was a wise decision. Thanks to a supportive supervisor I got much needed extensions of my PhD programme, again and again. Even so, I had a plan B. I was well aware that completed PhDs still meant income for Dutch universities, so I considered potentially finishing my PhD at another university than where I’d started in Italy, if an extension would no longer be granted.
   When negotiating, be strategic in who you choose to talk to. Unfortunately some people don’t ‘get it’ until they get it, and they are best avoided. Even so, one person blocking your path doesn’t mean the end of the road. Friendly networks are important in academia and knowing people will open doors. So do try to invest in finding the right people to know and collaborate with. Above all: do not let yourself be diminished by clueless people. This is your life. They have no say in it. And they certainly have no say about your worth. Do not let them mess with your head. I feel strongly about this. Being unable to conform can be hard on our self-esteem. I notice I do much better when I give myself the benefit of the doubt. In fact, I believe this is what we owe ourselves. And what allows us to be not so ‘disabled’ at all!

End of story: I did finish my PhD and it was well received, as the best thesis of the department that year (let me brag: best of 34 political science PhDs). I also finished it well within the deadlines, to my own astonishment I must admit. I came a long way with a few small habit changes and a lot of persistence! After finishing, I decided to leave academia, and teach young academics what I had learned the hard way. I now coach PhD students and other academics, and run an online course to support wellbeing and productivity in the world of academia. Do get in touch with your questions or story if you think I might be able to help.

About the Author

Amber Davis is a political scientist and academic coach and holds a PhD from the European University Institute in Florence. She blogs at www.amberdavis.nl which also hosts the HappyPhD online course that will help you write your PhD (almost) effortlessly.