Making the decision to leave grad school might have been the hardest thing I have ever done. Graduate students are frequently told that ruminations on leaving are normal, and that wanting to quit constantly is a rite of passage. However, the thought of leaving is framed as a common daydream that gets us through to the next break rather than a legitimate alternative to powering through constant suffering. Constant commiseration is an understandable coping mechanism in fostering understanding in academic communities. It also begs the question: How do you know if it’s really time to leave? How do you discern between “relatable” misery and the need to take action for your own health and wellbeing? 

I took 3 semesters of PhD coursework to decide to allow myself to withdraw from my graduate program. To be completely honest, I knew in the summer between finishing my master’s and starting my doctoral studies that it wasn’t what I wanted to do. But how could I not? I was being told that wanting to leave was normal, not something to panic over. I had a project that was near to my heart, a supportive community behind me, and a prestigious fellowship that was generous compared to most graduate student stipends at my university. From the outside looking in, I was living the grad school dream!

And yet I couldn’t quite convince myself that this was my dream life, or even just an ideal one. I kept searching for YouTube videos on people leaving grad school, found myself on r/gradschool typing in keywords like “quitting” and “leaving”, and searching for advice on twitter accounts on how to shake that feeling. I complained with fellow grad students then when that wasn’t enough I avoided them. Because sure, we’re all complaining, but it looks like I’m the only one really thinking about leaving. Then I switched to asking my friends if they liked their jobs, and detailing every last thing I hated about my experience. All of these things helped me to realize that there is no objectively right answer. I realized that nothing outside of me could decide for me. 

When I finally understood that, when I truly embodied the fact that I was the only one who could make this decision for myself, I tuned out all the external input I was seeking. Advice from my friends and family often sounded like “Keep going” or “We believe in you.” And for some reason, I couldn’t realize why I felt so betrayed by that reaction until I realized that it was actually resentment. And that resentment was because I felt like they were telling me to continue to do something that was harming me. And I didn’t realize how much it was harming me until I tracked my journals for how much this was poorly impacting my mental health. 

Journaling through “impostor syndrome”

I first turned to journaling as a coping mechanism in my very first semester of my master’s degree. It became clear to me extremely early on that there were a lot of things I would be experiencing as the only Black person in my cohort that I would need to unpack on my own. I also knew that as a naturally introspective person, that I would one day want to look back on my thoughts throughout the grad school experience. In the moment, however, I used my journals to explore all of my feelings about being in grad school. I wrote about everything from the discomfort I felt day-to-day that I couldn’t quite explain but now understand as microaggressions, to the amazing experiences I had with my fellow grad students that kept me in my program when it felt like the last thing I wanted to do.

One of the biggest shifts that occurred in my journaling regarding my relationship to my work from my master’s to my PhD was simply this: I do not want to do this anymore. Simple, right? As a Black woman, however, the external input I received from fellow students and faculty members usually came down to The Big Bad of graduate school–imposter syndrome. When I would bring up self doubt on if this was the right path for me, I was told the reason for my discomfort is “impostor syndrome,” or simply being too harsh on myself. 

While I understand how useful the phrasing of “impostor syndrome” has been in convincing traditionally excluded people that we do have a right to exist in these spaces, it also subtly brings the onus of this lack of belonging and care onto us, the imposter. As if it’s only in our heads that we’re perceived as unqualified and not the microaggressions we viscerally feel day in and out. Being told that my desire to leave was a symptom of a syndrome made me pathologize my own vision for a future beyond graduate school, and thus, I saw it as trivial and unreliable. In turn my mental health suffered as I spent entirely too long trying to separate the validity of wanting to leave from the illness supposedly clouding my judgment.

In hindsight this sounds entirely too dramatic, even as I continue to excavate my feelings past and present. But that’s because it is. The sometimes-cultish nature of academia upheld by the prestige of higher education hinges upon one simple premise: the only people that just might not want to be academics would never be good enough to be one anyways. The reaction I got to “I don’t think I want to be here anymore” was frequently “You deserve to be here.” This prompted me to feel that by leaving I would be letting my mentors down, and that they would assume that I let impostor syndrome win. And while I appreciate the good intentions of those who wanted me to see that I was a good academic and researcher, or that what I was experiencing was common, that response inadvertently made me feel like wanting to leave was the illogical choice. Or, conversely, that it’s very logical given the systems of oppression that frame the academic system, and thus to leave would be giving into them. 

For me, however, the reasoning was a lot simpler than that: I did not want to do it anymore. I feel the need to repeatedly emphasize that point. Wanting to leave because it’s what you want to do is a remarkably simple conclusion that it feels like we as academics are not allowed to act on. But I was allowed to, so I did. Tracking the changes in my emotional experience throughout grad school made me realize it wasn’t the advice of people I loved and trusted that I resented, but myself for letting such a simple decision be both complicated and minimized. 

The simple decision to leave

And so I repeat: I left because I deeply, viscerally wanted to. It was only through putting down the search for the right external conversation that I was able to get clear on what was really happening internally. I realized that yes, I had experienced a number of racist, sexist, situations that were contributing to my discomfort with staying. And I just don’t want to do this anymore. Even after coming to terms with that fact, I still needed to prove to myself that this wasn’t just a phase, or that I was somehow exaggerating. Luckily, I had three semesters worth of it to comb through. Through taking my years worth of emotional data spread across 10+ journals and analyzing it against feelings that came up from the well-meaning input of my (amazing) support system, I was able to come back to such a simple truth that gets lost in the hustle and bustle of academia: I am a human being, and I am allowed to put my feelings and wellbeing first.  

In my case, centering myself meant leaving my program. For you, that might look like staying but adjusting your process through having tough conversations with yourself and others. My hope is that through journaling, we can feel secure in our own interpretations of what is going on in our grad school experiences rather than defaulting to the decades old adage of “We all felt like that” or “It gets easier.” In having a more consistently clear perspective on the nuances of our grad school experiences, we can reclaim the power of owning our narrative, whatever it may be. And from there, more options for how to protect our mental well-being open up to us (adjusting, staying, leaving, etc.). 

Journaling as a tool

So whether you are content in your time in grad school and just want to get into journaling, or you keep grappling with this desire to leave that we are told is normal, here are 12 journaling prompts to help you evaluate your relationship with your graduate program: 

1. What is my relationship to my school? Department? City?
2. How do I feel in my body when I do my research? When I read my literature? (warm, heavy, light, buzzing, nauseous, stillness?)
3. What emotions arise when I do my research? (content, animated, anxious, heavy, worried, inspired?)
4.  Do I feel confident that I am, or can be, the one to do this work? If not, is it a matter of skill or positionality?
5. What is my relationship to my advisor? Do I feel heard and understood? If not, is this something I’m willing/ able to work with? Are they someone who appears capable of growth?
6. What is my relationship to other faculty members? Would I feel comfortable bringing up potential grievances to anyone in my department? 
7. What experiences have previous students had in the program, especially those with whom I share similarities (demographics, research topics, advisors, etc.)? Would I consider reaching out to them for their perspective? 
8. What is the hardest part of grad school for me? How can I make it easier on myself? 
9. Do I have any needs that my department, college, or university might be able to help meet? With that, how can I accommodate myself (as well or instead) if at all possible? 
10. Do I have a support system internal to my school? If not, where could I find one? (orgs, cohort, therapy, medical services?)
11. Do I have a support system external to grad school? If not, where could I cultivate one? check ins with family, friends, past mentors, making time for hobbies
12. Do I have a desire for a solid professional network? If yes, how can I create one, or strengthen my existing network? (social media, linked in, Facebook,Twitter, etc.)
13.  Do I want to be doing this overall? Is this a temporary feeling? Do I need to take action on whatever I feel right now?

These prompts are based on themes I found myself returning to throughout my time in my graduate programs. Noticing ways in which my thoughts and feelings changed around these themes not only contributed to my decision to leave, but also informed the adjustments I made in the time I chose to stay. For some, answering these questions might lead to a deeper understanding of where you fit within your department, which parts of it you appreciate, and where to begin approaching the parts of your experience that aren’t supportive. For others, you might find that there are more grievances with your experience than you thought you had. Though I used my semesters of journals to come to the conclusion to stay, they were also what gave me the push to keep going when I was passionate about my project, but just felt defeated. Regardless of how you use your findings, I hope it leads to an informed decision on the path ahead that is best for your career goals, health, wellbeing, and life in general. 

Jordan A. McCray, M.A. is a freelance writing and research consultant. A Geographer by training, Jordan’s interest in social theory and DEI draws her to support racial justice work, projects, and writers. Jordan currently works with writers providing developmental editing and organizational support for multiple manuscript and research projects. Visit her website: https://www.jordanamccray.com/ or twitter: https://twitter.com/jashleegeo if you would like to get in touch. 

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