7 things I didn't anticipate going from a full-time job to a PhD

Back last October, nearly 12 months ago, I started this blog with the following statement: "An unbelievably short amount of time ago (given how long it feels), I made the turbulent, exhilarating, exhausting, mind-bending journey from a relatively well-paid, stimulating practitioner job that I loved back to academia in the form of a PhD." 

One year later, I want to share some specific insight that i've gained into managing the transition from a decade of largely full-time, paid, professional work to becoming a student again (in my 30s). Because there are things that I hadn't prepared myself for - indeed, things I wouldn't have been able to envisage needing to think about. 

There is incredibly little written about transitioning from work to PhD, a point made by Jo Khoo who authored a similar blog in 2018, which resonates strongly. Most of my fellow PhDs have come straight from a Masters and/or research roles. I hope to add my thoughts to Jo's (and others', which may well be out there somewhere but I can't find them easily) in the hope that it might be useful for folk just starting out where I was last year. 

Since I started the PhD, I have been documenting the journey with all its ups and downs. I deliberately chose to capture the lived experience as it was happening because I know I wouldn't be able to capture it properly in retrospect. It's slightly raw and cringe-worthy reading back in places but I hope it gives some real context to the more abstract notions you read about (googling "starting a PhD" shows just how many people have been moved to write about this generally).  

So here are 7 things I didn't anticipate when moving from a practitioner role to a PhD. Things that no one could possibly have informed me about, partly because I wouldn't have thought to ask. Not meant to be off-putting but just a useful, honest reflection:

1. Having an identity crisis. Or, at least, an identity discombobulation. I used to have a job title with words that (more or less) meant something but now I don't even know how to refer to myself. I am certainly instinctively avoiding the term "student" at all costs because the connotations feel unhelpful. Given that the first question we often ask new people is "what do you do" (akin to "who are you") and if you attend conferences etc, you're expected to display your position on your badge, this identity issue is often there niggling away. Perhaps we should attach less importance to job titles but it's certainly a useful hook, which I miss. I've gone with referring to myself as a "researcher", which is technically true, but feels like i'm inflating my ability somewhat. 

2. Managing your existing practitioner knowledge in the context of being new/clueless in academia. I worked in a relatively niche role previously which gave me access to lots of practitioner knowledge and a platform to share it. I was far from being an expert (indeed, that's partly why i'm doing the PhD) but I do know a fair amount of stuff that has relevance to my field. In keeping with the identity crisis, I have found it difficult knowing when to speak up and when to accept that it doesn't matter if I know a subject-relevant thing; if I don't know the academic thing, I need to be quiet and be in learning mode. The academic equivalent of sitting on my hands. Maintaining links to practitioner networks and doing odd bits of work for my previous employer has helped with this. But it has undoubtedly contributed to me being a lazy researcher because I am coming with so many preconceptions based on experience (not helped by it taking me well over 3 months to learn how to read again - something else that you rarely see written about when people start PhDs).

3. Losing the recognisable structure of the day. In fact, losing all structure of everything. Oddly, this has proved to be a useful training ground for life in lockdown but even so, I reckon the majority of jobs now being worked from home still have at least some sort of inherent structure to them, even if it's shifts or changeable in other ways. The transition to suddenly having nothing structuring my day gave me about a week worth of heady, exotic freedom but very quickly became challenging. Jo Khoo covers this in more detail including some thoughts on why applying trusted project management techniques doesn't really work. I also blogged on my attempts to test different strategies but it's fair to say that I still haven't entirely fixed this. Part of this ties in with the next point, which is...

4. Not having colleagues. This isn't entirely true - I do have colleagues, in a sense. I have other PhD researchers around me, plus academic and research staff in the research centre i'm attached to, which is more than some PhD researchers have. This feels akin to having colleagues but the reality is that as a PhD researcher, you're your own breed; neither staff nor truly student. And even with best intentions, you can fall through the cracks in between. I deeply valued having a supportive colleague network around me in former employment settings and I find this aspect isolating still. It also means you no longer that the sense of working collaboratively towards a project - a point made by a fellow PhD friend James recently (more of his interesting thoughts here).

5. Loss of management structure/hierarchy and not having a line manager. The extent to which you'll notice this probably depends on your approach to management. I have generally liked having a line manager and the comfort of a defined workplace structure. I still find it disconcerting that i'm no longer part of a management structure. I also think the fact this lack of defined structure isn't really recognised leads to some of the potential issues around boundaries between supervisors and PhDs (horror stories relating to which are widely documented). I have a good relationship with my three supervisors but i've still had to adjust my expectations and communication strategies. And i've had to accept that ultimately, there is no one specifically looking out for my welfare, in the way a line manager might. 

6. Having (much) more time to do work things than you're used to. I transitioned from a role where I would regularly travel thousands of miles per week and bounce from meeting to meeting, report to report etc. All my time was spoken for: every day I felt concurrently productive and completely overwhelmed. The usual employment picture. Now my diary is empty for days on end. No meetings, no deadlines, hardly a single thing I actually need to do. You'll be surrounded by people in PhD land (academics and former colleagues) telling you this is a luxury and to enjoy it. It's very difficult to admit that you might not be enjoying it and that you might want your diary full of meetings again. And that with luxury comes guilt and a constant sense that you should be doing more. This isn't just about having to be self-motivated either. My sense of self-worth is tied into what I produce and the tangible difference I make. There is precious little tangible output in a PhD (which is probably why I feel the need to spend time writing blogs like this...) 

7. Oh and having very little money suddenly. Whilst trying to maintain elements of your lifestyle when you had (some) money, like living on your own. My stipend, which I recognise that i'm lucky to have, amounts to just below minimum wage. And ok, I don't pay tax etc, but it's still a big difference to have to manage suddenly. I could say a lot more on this experience and how insightful it's been and the wider privilege that I enjoy but this isn't the place. My main learning is that I am now surrounded by academic colleagues on (much) higher salaries and even with best intentions, there have been occasions where I have felt excluded from e.g. social events on financial grounds. This is, of course, a much wider issue than academia and it speaks to all manner of other privilege that I take for granted but in the interests of sharing my salient learning points regarding transitioning from paid employment to a PhD, i'm choosing to include this one. 

Despite the challenges, in keeping with the rest of the blog (and because i'm a nerd), here is my very unscientific graph of my experience one year in. The x axis is "how do I feel on a scale of 1-10" at the end of every day i've worked on my PhD this year... (I'm nervous about scoring anything at the extremes!) Interestingly, the trend line is completely horizontal now, having sloped up and down during the year - you can see the variance and where Covid-19 started to affect me around day 160. 

One year on, I sit here armed with a little more wisdom, a little more knowledge, but a sense that I still have no clear idea really about what i'm doing. I know that's not objectively true. But it is very much PhD life! It's been a rollercoaster but I remain grateful for the opportunity to ride it...