‘Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life’. 

Generally I’m not a fan of a cliché, but somehow this became a goal from a young age. I was going to be an academic researcher, uncovering secrets of human genetics and I was going to be very happy doing it. Or at least that was the dream of idealistic, motivated and passionate 17-year-old, imagining how the degree she was applying for would lead to an incredible career.

Working towards the dream

Starting university was like that dream was coming true. I adored genetics and despite the initial almost-debilitating home sickness, I loved the university environment. But it wasn’t without challenges. Periods of high stress were often accompanied by anxiety and serious self-doubt, unaware it would become a running theme. But I was able to push through it as I had the ultimate goal in mind. 

Bolstered by a positive experience on a taught Masters degree, I started my PhD in Cancer Genetics. I was full of hope, some trepidation and lots of enthusiasm. I’d taken a risk on a topic that would be a huge learning curve but thought I was ready for the challenge. I wasn’t quite right. My PhD was a slog – long hours, lots of mistakes (I learned a lot too!) and various extra responsibilities. It was far from easy, but I still felt the struggle would be worth it in the end. There were some bright points; I learned that I had talent and passion for talking about science, became involved in various outreach and teaching projects, and won an award or two along the way. 

However, completing a PhD during the Covid-19 pandemic did have a huge influence on my outlook; I had become imposter syndrome personified. The challenging research area I had been ready to take on confidently had become a major source of anxiety for me. I have always been told that I’m too much of a perfectionist for my own good (another cliché I greatly dislike) but this was heightened during the PhD process. Going into an exciting new area had meant that I made lots of mistakes, some big and some small. My mood and self-perception would swing wildly in relation to how I felt my research was going. It was an exhausting addition to an already challenging process. I had massive highs, including a high-impact first author paper that was as much luck and supportive collaborators as it was hard work. But I also had huge lows where I couldn’t get things to work for weeks on end. This would have me convinced that I was a fraud and I’d lucked my way into any success I’d had previously. I was also terrified to say this out loud, in case it was true. 

Despite these challenges and thanks to the support of incredible people around me, I made it through submitting my thesis, a covid-compliant viva (which as a weirdly enjoyable experience) and got the PhD. But that meant it was time to brave the scary post-PhD job market where I secured the dream job I’d been manifesting for a decade – a cancer research position. The people I was working with were incredible and I felt inspired by the work happening around me, but something wasn’t right. I had convinced myself that getting through the PhD would quiet the voice of doubt in my head. It didn’t. The job was incredibly difficult, but I was passionate about the research I was doing and really respected the people I was working with. So, I should have been really happy in such a wonderful opportunity, right? It didn’t seem to be the case. 

I had been told that there was a possibility that my PI (and therefore the research group) would be moving to another university, so everything was quite uncertain. I’d therefore put this feeling of unease down to the lack of stability and a hybrid working environment. I confess it was a lonely time, where I didn’t feel like I’d become a ‘proper adult’ because I hadn’t put down roots. I was living with my parents so I could save for my future and commuting long distances for the odd meeting. But as it was a temporary solution and I thought I could make it work, finding comfort in a more social second job and volunteering for outreach work within the research institute. Looking back now, I should have seen that my need to find other ways to maintain social networks and energise myself was a sign that I wasn’t content with my work. Speaking to those closest to me, it would seem that I was the only one who couldn’t see this. 

Then the opportunity came – the group was finally moving to a different institution, and I was going with them. I was going to be joining an institute in a highly prestigious and reputable university. This was the sort of place I could never have dreamed I’d find myself in and it would be the end of remote working. In theory I would be much happier, with an exciting future to look forward to, but weird not-right feeling wouldn’t go away. 

Jumping without a parachute

With this new opportunity, my life changed again. I was preparing for a huge move, trying to find somewhere to live and dealing with never-ending complicated admin – all whilst trying to get research done. Again, I still didn’t feel truly happy, but I put it down to the anxiety of a slow moving HR process, a new job in a new place and having nowhere to live.

Then, I travelled down with my family to my soon-to-be new city and viewed a house that was exactly what I was looking for. The anxiety should have eased, and it didn’t. And then, like a fog clearing, I realised what the problem was: I wasn’t happy in research. I cried the whole way home from that house viewing and resigned that night. A few people told me that I was being too rash and not thinking things through and I would come to regret it. Part of me feared they were right. I was inconsolable for days, much to the distress of many of those closest to me. The dream was over, and I had lost my identity. I didn’t know who I was without the ‘scientific researcher’ label. I had jumped from the plane without a parachute and was now in freefall – without a job, life plan or identity. I was a failure.  

The following months were some of the hardest. I was privileged enough to be able to stay with my parents who supported me whilst I tried to figure out who I was now. I picked up various short-term and part-term jobs in a variety of fields – retail, teaching, science communication – whilst trying to apply for longer term positions. There was lots of rejection and feeling like I’d never find a stable job again but for the first time in years, I felt that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was absolutely terrified at times, getting closer to 30 without a life plan. People were trying to comfort me by telling me a job would come, I just needed someone to take a chance. And I am so grateful that they were right. 

Sticking the landing

Less than six months after resigning from my research position and feeling like I’d never find my purpose or a job I enjoyed, a hiring team took a chance on me. I was offered a fixed-term contract as a teaching-focused lecturer in my field which I gladly accepted and packed up my live to move hundreds of miles away from home (not for the first time). The imposter syndrome was back in full force, but the overriding feeling was one of excitement and hope. I was taking my first steps back on solid ground. To begin with, it was hard. I felt so young and inexperienced at times, like a child playing teacher. I had to embrace the feelings of discomfort and over time, I realised that despite being a mess of different emotions, I didn’t feel half the doubt and anxiety I felt before. I was able to breathe out, perhaps for the first time in years.  

Another six months have passed, and I find myself in a job that enriches my life in ways I could never have imagined. I still have periods of stress and times where I question some of my capabilities, but these feelings no longer overtake my life. I make mistakes, I reflect, and I move on, lucky to be surrounded by staff and students who make me feel like I make a difference. My job is hard work, but it makes me happy. I found the job I love but I work every single day of my life. Unfortunately, this job can’t last forever and I am now preparing to move again, hopefully into something more long-term. I am leaving behind colleagues and students who embraced the intimidated ex-researcher finding a purpose and hope I am leaving them having taught them something along the way, because I have learned a lot.  

Conclusion

As I prepare to pack up my life and move hundreds of miles for another job that’ll hopefully make me as happy as the one I am leaving, I realise how lucky I am. I was able take time away from full-time employment to find what was best for me and my mental health, something I had been neglecting without even realising it. It is easy to dismiss what you’re feeling as normal – ‘everyone get anxious’ and ‘loads of people experience Imposter Syndrome’. Both these statements are true and bringing this to public attention is important for normalising discussions on mental health. However, this can make it difficult for some people (including myself) to identify that what they are feeling is more extreme than the average experience. Whilst I appreciate that those closest to me gave me the space to figure out things for myself, I do sometimes wonder what would have happened if someone has told me what changes they were seeing. Would I have listened? Maybe. Would have got defensive? Probably. Would it have forced me to reassess my outlook? Almost definitely. But it was my jump to make and my landing to stick. 

It has taken a lot of work for me to get to where I am, both to earn money and to change my own self-perception. And despite the effort so far, I am very much still a work in progress. I have realised that my job is only part of my identity, and leaving the path I set out for myself doesn’t make me a failure. I believe I have become a success, not only by securing a new career path but by realising I deserve to put my happiness first.  

Victoria is a university lecturer, currently in the field of Medical Genetics and Genomics. Her academic research was originally in Genetic Epidemiology, focusing on cancer research – a field she is still invested in. She is passionate about science communication, outreach and has started a project aiming to change perceptions of how ‘real’ scientists look and act. She loves all things theatre, enjoys singing and tap dancing and can bore you to tears about all things motorsport. Find her on twitter/X – @viclougray and occasionally on ‘I’m a Scientist and…’@ImAScientistAnd 

This blog is kindly sponsored by G-Research