Tag: DEPRESSION

Losing Belonging, Value, and Financial Safety to Motherhood: An International Student’s PhD Story by Joyce Vromen 

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In the early stages of my PhD, I felt like I belonged. With not just hard work and passion carrying me through, but the sense of fitting the system being like cycling with the wind in your back. I arrived as a motivated international PhD student on the other side of the world, full of ambition and excitement, eager to prove myself, contribute, and learn. 

I had grown up in The Netherlands with a keen interest in human behaviour and cognition. I completed my bachelor degree at the Radboud University Nijmegen and then went on to complete a highly competitive 2-year research master degree cum laude at the University of Amsterdam. As part of this latter program, I first ended up in Australia, interning in a university research lab. Looking back now, I would describe my young self as bright, ambitious, and adventurous. These days, being a mother to two teenage daughters, I can’t help but feel quite fond of and protective towards this young woman.  

What I didn’t imagine was becoming a mother of twins in the middle of my PhD – and how quickly that would unravel my academic identity, financial independence, and mental wellbeing. I eventually developed depression in the aftermath of my PhD, psychotic depression to be precise. The main signs were extreme tiredness, low energy levels, cynicism, feelings of excessive self-doubt, impostor feelings, and for short bursts during periods of depression, experiences of delusions and hallucinations centring around not being good enough. It all felt very confusing and overwhelming and I initially experienced intense shame over my mental health status. Especially around my psychotic symptoms. I had internalized society its strong stigma still associated with such mental health challenges and it compounded my feelings of being an outsider and failure.

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My Academic Career with Psychosis and Depression by Anonymous

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I’m on the train to France, where I’m working as a postdoc in mathematics. We are in the second year of the COVID-19 pandemic, and masks are mandatory, as well as filling out forms in French for every journey. My thoughts are racing. I have the feeling that I cannot finish my thoughts, similar to when one is trying to tell a story, but loses oneself in subordinate clauses and never finishes the original sentence or plot line.

As my thoughts speed up, I feel like I’m suffocating in my mask. 

Wait – people with severe COVID have that feeling too – maybe it’s that? Then I have to find a hospital here in France, and I only speak very little French – when I’m home I will immediately do a COVID test – but it’s also very likely that this is because of the upcoming psychosis – I haven’t been able to sleep normally for a week now.

Now I see there are police on the train. I panic. 

They are certainly here for me. I’ve probably made a mistake in the forms I filled out with help of Google Translate. They are going to arrest me and put me in jail – only to transfer me to a psychiatric hospital where they will force me to take Haldol (or just give me a jab with it), which will make my head hazy – doing math will be impossible for many months, my career will be over, my life will be over – and make me move like in an advanced stage of Parkinson’s. 

At this point I can only cry. They are walking by once again. I message a friend back home that I’m going to be arrested and my worst nightmare will come true.

When I arrive at my apartment in France, I immediately take a rapid test. Negative. That means the tightness in my chest is panic, not Covid. I take a Lorazepam tablet and slowly the tightness dissolves. I lie on my bed for 20 minutes, and I stop crying. Then I have to go to the meeting with my postdoc supervisor. I do my best to survive the meeting… my head is still racing yet numbed by the Lorazepam at the same time… I didn’t make any progress on my project (already for weeks now)… 

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Moving From Healthcare to Academia: Strategies to Support Mental Health by Safiya Robinson  

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I recently began a career in academia, after spending over 20 years in clinical practice as a dentist. While I still practice a few days a month, the bulk of my time is spent teaching dental students who are about to start their journey into a clinical career. I was drawn to academia through my love for teaching – something that I had done in various roles throughout my clinical career – and an interest in discovering more about the practice of research. 

On one of my earliest days at the university, I walked into the kitchen on our floor to make myself a cup of coffee and saw printed and stuck to the notice board several memes warning staff to look after their mental health. I found this interesting, and slightly alarming – what had I gotten myself into? Having just left a career that has a track record of poor mental health and burnout, I was surprised to find similar complaints in academia. However, conversations with my line manager and other staff confirmed to me that academia can be a place where burnout and poor mental health can be an issue and I needed to find a way to make sure that I took care of my own mental health. 

As my first year progressed, I began to observe a number of similarities between academia and clinical practice, and places where mental health could be impacted. I also began to think about the strategies I had used over the years in clinical practice to protect my own mental health, and I gave serious consideration to how I could put those strategies into use in my academic career.

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‘Honey, I shrunk the postgraduate kids!’ – Disability, Precarity, and Support in Academia by Athanasia Francis

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 TW: Suicide ideation, Images of hair loss, Images of medication

Collecting my hair falling in batches around me was something I slowly came to accept as a daily ritual, as was the case with the dozens of pills when I could afford the prescriptions.  I have been suffering from a chronic neurological condition and its fluctuations are debilitating, even when I look ‘fine’ on the outside. Some of the ways I experience my condition include muscle fatigue, joints locking suddenly, lack of coordination, memory gaps, week-long migraines while constantly in pain, disorientation and brain fog; in short, a body on permanent false alarm mode and attacking itself. 

I’ve been also severely depressed with relapses since my early twenties in a constant post-traumatic downward spiral, which coincided with twelve years in academia. Eventually, it became difficult to tell which condition was triggering the other. My mental state and physicality were tangled into a messy knot that was at times too unbearable to break through. I had come to the brink of quitting many times, quitting whatever career ahead, quitting my PhD, quitting any remaining faith and effort, quitting life. 

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Challenges of Navigating a PhD while Recovering from Mental Health Conditions by Daeun Jung

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I was first diagnosed with depression and generalised anxiety disorder ten years ago. My first reaction to getting the diagnosis was relief. I was relieved that my problems were medically recognised. I was not just “weak” or “lazy” or “attention-seeking”; I felt validated. Then I felt angry. Why did I have to seek validation through a medical diagnosis? Since then, I have been on three different antidepressants, been hospitalised a few times, and gained some scars along the way. At the same time, I have finished my bachelor’s and master’s degrees and worked in four different jobs, which led to last year when I started my PhD programme and joined the world of academia. In this blog post, I will share my experiences of navigating the first year of PhD while managing mental health conditions.

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The perfect researcher (and why I am not it) by Zoë Ayres

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Just another typical PhD day for me. Highlighting another research paper, trying desperately to retain the salient bits. Mixing it up with different coloured highlighters. Grabbing a cup of coffee, hoping that the information might go in if I let the caffeine sink in. And yet it never quite does. I beat myself up, telling myself I am too stupid to do a PhD. Walking away from a meeting, I feel ashamed, as I know I read the paper that was being discussed, I just can’t quite recall the details. Rinse and repeat. This, combined with many other small things, which in isolation were hardly something to fret about, left my mental health in tatters.

It’s not just a bad day, or a bad week. It’s all the time. I am struggling to engage in reading papers. As soon as I pick them up, I glaze over or I get distracted. My reading list grows forever longer – the weight of it playing on the back of my mind. My inner voice constantly telling me I am not doing enough to succeed.

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Loss of Identity: Surviving Post-PhD Depression by Amy Gaeta

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Completing the biggest achievement of my life has left me in the most zombie, emotionally depleted state of my life. Immediately after defending my dissertation successfully, thereby securing my Ph.D. in English, I found myself soft crying into a pillow and trying to find enough stability to reply to all the “congratulations!” text messages pinging on my phone. This emotional release marked the start of what I’ll refer to as my post-PhD depression: a state of aimlessness, premature cynicism, and loss sparked by the contradictory realization that it is all over and yet there is so much more to do. It is like finishing a marathon after giving all you got only to realize you’ve agreed to compete in a triathlon every day for the rest of your career.

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Ripping Off the Band-Aid: The Struggle of Asking for Help by Lauren Cuthbert

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Content warning: Depression, pet death

I’m a solitary person by nature. I prefer to spend my time in my own company, watching a film or a TV show, or crocheting to keep my hands busy. I don’t mind being in my own head – in fact, for the most part, I prefer it. I wasn’t fazed by lockdown: being told to stay indoors didn’t substantially alter my daily routine, and I figured I wouldn’t have much trouble adjusting to the state of the world if I was already used to spending the majority of my time in my room. Back in April of 2020, I was chatting with a friend who asked me how I was coping with lockdown. At the time, I’d been unemployed since graduating from my MA five months previously; I was in the process of applying for jobs, but also considering undertaking a PhD. I said, and I remember it exactly, “My life literally has not changed at all, so I’m fine.”

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I Don’t Want to Dance in the Dark: Disclosing Mental Illness and Neurodiversity in the Ableist Academy by Marco Miguel Valero Sanchez

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When I saw the call from Voices of Academia on Twitter actively seeking contributors to share their stories on mental health and well-being in academia, I thought: Wouldn’t a blog be a great way to share your own experiences with depression and ADHD in academia? Wouldn’t it also be an excellent opportunity to raise awareness about mental illness and neurodiversity in general? Why shouldn’t you give it a try? As usual, I was very tired that day. I had a sleepless and restless night, an unexpected panic attack in the morning, and a stronger depressive phase overall – perhaps because I already had a few days of holiday. I find such days off always give you the ‘opportunity’ to think intensively and continuously about yourself, your body, and your mind – whether you like it or not.

Perhaps my mental state was also the reason why my initial enthusiasm was immediately overtaken by self-doubt and pessimism, asking myself: Why would anyone care what you, of all people, have to say about the challenges and difficulties of managing mental health and well-being in academia? Who exactly would care about your personal story? And above all: Why would it make any difference and to whom? In fact, I cannot say whether anyone will read my personal story, care about it, or whether it will make any difference at all. But maybe these are the wrong questions and expectations to begin with. What I can say with absolute certainty, however, is that every voice matters with regard to mental health and well-being – in academia and beyond – and that every voice helps to shed light on a still taboo and mostly invisible topic. And in this respect, I am confident that my voice matters as well.

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Is success worth more than my life? By Norah Koch

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Note: Norah Koch is a pen name. The Voices of Academia team have worked with the blogger to ensure they have a support network in place. 

[Trigger Warning: Suicide, Suicidal Ideation]

I was seven years old when I read about a student who committed suicide because he failed his high school exams.

Back then, I used to read the newspaper daily. I was exposed to all kinds of information in the newspaper. I did not dwell much on thinking about the student. I didn’t know the person, and I did not feel any sadness. Newspapers usually have more bad news than good news anyway. I didn’t even understand what it meant. Someone died because he got bad grades. That was it.

I didn’t even bother to question why someone would commit suicide over bad grades. Let’s say that I was young when I read the news. Then again, I didn’t ask this question myself until I was a Masters student. Until I faced mental health issues because of academic pressure, I didn’t care about suicide. Now it sits in my thoughts. 

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