Stress Resistant PhD

This may just be a rant from a young female graduate student because an older male professor made a statement about who should be “qualified” to get a PhD.  You’ve been warned appropriately.

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During a panel on the issues in graduate education, I believe the statement was along the lines of “The goal of a PhD is to teach students to be stress resistant. Students who excel in their programs can work 17-20 hours, and still keep going.”

What?

If that’s the “goal” of a PhD program, then forget it.  I agreed with the other goals – problem-solving, critical thinking, learning how to communicate effectively.  But becoming “stress resistant?”

First of all, what does that even mean?  Should I stop being human while I’m at it?  Have no emotions whatsoever?  Handle everything that comes at me flawlessly?

Getting a PhD has predominantly been about failure for me (which I’m told is normal).  So yeah, I get stressed often.  I get emotional often, which may or may not have to do with the postpartum hormones (not to mention the depression and anxiety).  I’ve even sobbed in my advisor’s office for a good hour (before I was even pregnant, so I can’t even blame the hormones on that one).  So if I’m supposed to be learning how to be “stress resistant,” I missed that class.  Forget that many graduate students have some degree of mental health issues.  Perhaps we should support the students better rather than presume that only the ones capable of handling stress will survive.

Second, apparently, to excel in my PhD, I need have the energy to work 17-20 hours and keep going.  I should apparently be breathing and sleeping science.  And of course, I should be dreaming about my project ALL THE TIME.  Because no one has ever heard of having a life outside of graduate school, much less a family.

End of rant.

Now for some more positive points…

I don’t believe that this professor meant that students with mental health issues shouldn’t pursue a PhD.  But his comments echo the sentiment surrounding academia – the idea that if you are struggling emotionally you don’t have what it takes to be in this field.  Because to be in academia, you have to be hardcore and assertive.  You can’t be emotional and show your struggles.

And this is exactly why women are driven away from academia and science.  Not that men don’t have these issues as well, but I can only speak as a woman in the academic setting.  We, as women, are in tune with our emotions, and they spill into everything we do.    It’s hard for me to split what’s happening with me emotionally with the rigors and stress of the day-to-day.

The lack of mental health support is not surprising, but with the increase of graduate students that struggle with this, you would think that we would try to solve the problem (after all, we are scientists), rather than tell students they need to learn to be stress resistant.  Let’s give them some resources at least.

You definitely need some amount of thick skin to get through a PhD.  You are faced with criticism and failure constantly.  But claiming that the answer is to throw yourself into your research to the tune of 17-20 hours per day is counterproductive.  Taking care of myself first, my family second, then focusing on my research has made for a much more productive researcher.  The reason being that I have the mental space to focus on research when I know that I’ve given to myself and to my family.  I don’t spend my time at work worrying about my daughter or worrying about my constant hunger.  I spend my time focused on the task at hand.

So I don’t think I’ll come out of my PhD stress resistant.  But I’ll at least be confident that I’ve given the most important things in my life the time they deserve.

 

My Postpartum Depression Story

It’s Maternal Mental Health Awareness Month. I meant to write this post earlier in the month, but better late than never I suppose.

I was diagnosed with postpartum depression and anxiety when Lily was 4 months old.

It all began with the thoughts of being inadequate. I felt like I was doing the mom thing wrong – Lily wasn’t sleeping well (Thanks, 4-month sleep regression). I sucked at getting any science done. I was a bad wife – the house was a mess, and meal planning was non-existent. Then came the tears. I cried every morning after getting up. I cried while getting ready. I cried after dropping Lily off at daycare in the privacy of my car. I cried while going to sleep for fear of repeating it all the next day.

But I was in denial that something was wrong. It didn’t matter how many times my husband tried to comfort me, support me, and tell me how great I was doing. I still felt like a failure. I still feared each coming day. I struggled to get out of bed in the mornings.

Then at Lily’s four-month well baby visit, I failed my postpartum depression screening. I broke down in tears in the pediatric office with the sweetest pediatrician ever. She hugged me, talked with me, and told me to contact my OB for some help.

I dreaded making that call. What would they say or think of me? I considered not doing anything, pretending it wasn’t a problem. RJ wouldn’t let me. I needed to get some help for myself and for Lily. It wasn’t healthy for me, and it wasn’t safe for us.

So I scheduled a visit to my OB’s office, and received my diagnosis of postpartum depression.

In some ways, it was a blessing. There was a reason for all my feelings of inadequacy. But in other ways, it served to push me further into depression. I was broken, and now it was official. The anti-depressant prescription was on my fridge for a few weeks. The sign of my mental health issues on display for all to see.

I hated trying to get better. But after a few weeks of a new sleep routine for our family, a supplement plan for me, and therapeutic writing when I’m in a bad place, I realized that I hadn’t cried in a week. Then it was two weeks.  Then I couldn’t recall the last time I cried on the bathroom floor while getting ready in the morning.

I’m still on my supplement plan, but my OB cleared me at my follow-up appointment. That doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days. The day of my committee meeting was one of those, but that’s a story for another day.

So for all of you struggling with postpartum depression or mental illness, you are not alone. You are stronger for it.  I know I am.

Broken and Hurting

Note: This was written months before I even started this blog.  But I think that admitting to my brokenness is something that’s very important to share, as we women often don’t.  It’s easy to think, “Hey, she’s got it together,” but really she’s crying on the inside each morning.  So I want people to know my story about the mom who still cries sometimes when she drops her child off with caring strangers.

20160328_103623I’m writing. I think I need to write because this time has been super hard for me. I really struggled going back to work – and I can feel the Devil working on me from the inside. I feel the envy that he’s instilling in me as I look at other moms who stay home and look more put together than I do. The ones who don’t have to leave their child with strangers three days a week and pump in an environment that is male-dominated.

Don’t let me forget my blessings. I’m actually one of the lucky ones. I have a daycare that’s five minutes from my place of work with awesome teachers. I’m able to nurse my baby on my lunch break. I have access to a private pumping room, shared with other women in science. I also have an amazingly supportive PI that gave me a key to his office so I could pump if the other room is busy. And it’s a flexible work environment. So working only four days in the lab and from home the rest is a possibility.

But I’m not happy.  And perhaps that’s for many reasons – specifically the biggest one being my lack of trust in God and our broken relationship (entirely my fault, I admit). I stopped praying – really praying – months ago. Sure, I go through the motions sometimes, and I’m definitely still attending mass weekly. But I’ve forgotten how to connect with God, and that’s created some resentment. Resentment with the state of my life, specifically going back to work and leaving my baby with strangers.

There are a number of things I struggle with. And I think writing about them, even informally, is therapeutic. I’ve always struggled with journaling, perhaps because it’s almost too private. I need something more fulfilling, more substantial than just venting to myself. I don’t want an obligation to write, but I want to WANT to write. I don’t really know what’s going to come from this, but I think this is how it’s going to start.

Waiting in the Stillness

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I’m sitting at work at 4pm, waiting to leave to go pick up my daughter.   And with how busy I am (or should be), you would think I’d be scrambling to get stuff done. And I was, up until about 5 minutes ago. Now I’m waiting, feeling anxious to leave but unable to because I would feel the guilt if I left early.

Isn’t it odd how even when we are waiting in silence we are still so restless?

Even when I don’t have a million things to do, I try to find something to busy myself. Like here at work, I have 30 minutes before I usually leave, and I’m trying to find something to occupy myself for that time. But I can’t get too invested because I’ll have to leave it unfinished until tomorrow. Still, I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

But perhaps that’s what God has been trying to teach me these past many months (and I mean, many). Maybe I should be waiting in peace rather than restlessness. Instead of finding ways to be anxious, I should be at peace when everything is taken care of. I know that I’ve always struggled with that. I always have something to worry about, and when that something is fixed, I put another worry in its place. I worried about hosting a speaker a few weeks ago. Hosting him was actually really great, and I learned a lot. Now I’m worried about the fact that I’m behind in my PhD work. At home, I’m worried about my daughter not sleeping – is it because she’s too cold? Worry after worry, I find myself drowning in this waiting for the worst thing to happen. God doesn’t ask me to do that. He asks me to wait in peace, and trust in His plan for me. That doesn’t mean I won’t suffer, but I shouldn’t suffer from my own anxiety.

Believe me, a lot of my issues stem from this anxiety. I’ve always been an anxious person, even before I had a baby. But everything is heightened now – like anxiety on steroids. And waiting is so much harder now.

Isn’t it odd how that happens? I’m always unhappy with the waiting for the next stage. I was frustrated when I had to wait to get married. I was upset when we were waiting to start our family. I was uncomfortable waiting for Lily to be born. Now I’m frustrated with waiting on results, waiting even longer for my PhD. I wish I could go back and tell myself to be happy with the waiting. To be at peace with the waiting. Because things change, but not always in the way we expect. (I mean, I used to actually get a full night of sleep and be able to focus entirely on science without being sleep-deprived.) So maybe I should have focused more on gaining the grace I needed while I was waiting, instead of being angry that things weren’t happening the way I wanted. I once heard a woman say that she wished she had spent her weekly time in adoration during her single years praying for grace in her future marriage rather than wishing she was already married. She has six children, so she needs a lot of grace. I should have listened to her.

The times of waiting are opportunities for growth. I may feel like it’s stagnant, and the day to day is unfulfilling. But God is asking me to grow somehow. I don’t really understand how, but that’s what the quiet moments are for.

Right now, no one is screaming at me. No one is stressing me out with a deadline. And the lab is oddly quiet, a strange stillness in a world that is constantly moving. I’m coming to appreciate those moments of quiet, but I really need to focus on not worrying through them. Rather, I should focus on the beauty of the slowness at the end of the day, waiting for the blessing of seeing my baby girl in a bit.