I started this PhD because I wanted to be a professor. I wanted a lab. I wanted students. I wanted to spend my life asking questions and teaching others to ask them.
I don't want that anymore.
I'm not sure when it changed. Maybe when my advisor told me the job market was terrible. Maybe when I saw my friends applying to 80 jobs and getting one interview. Maybe when I realized I hadn't slept in months and I wasn't doing science anymore. I was just surviving.
I thought about quitting. I told my advisor I was leaving. She said: “You can leave. But finish first.”
I'm finishing for me. Not for my career. Not for my advisor. For me. I started this. I want to end it.
I'm finishing for my family. My parents don't have degrees. They don't understand what I'm doing. But they're proud. When I finish, I'll be the first doctor in the family. That matters.
I'm finishing for the people who helped me. The professor who wrote me letters. The friends who read my drafts. The people who said: “You can do this.” I want them to be right.
I'm finishing because I don't want to wonder. What if I had finished? What if I had just kept going? I don't want to wonder. I want to know.
I don't know what I'll do after. Maybe I'll teach. Maybe I'll work in industry. Maybe I'll do something I haven't thought of yet. But I'll have this. A degree. A document. Proof that I finished something hard.
I'm not finishing for a career. I'm finishing for myself. That's enough.
I don't want that anymore.
I'm not sure when it changed. Maybe when my advisor told me the job market was terrible. Maybe when I saw my friends applying to 80 jobs and getting one interview. Maybe when I realized I hadn't slept in months and I wasn't doing science anymore. I was just surviving.
I thought about quitting. I told my advisor I was leaving. She said: “You can leave. But finish first.”
I'm finishing for me. Not for my career. Not for my advisor. For me. I started this. I want to end it.
I'm finishing for my family. My parents don't have degrees. They don't understand what I'm doing. But they're proud. When I finish, I'll be the first doctor in the family. That matters.
I'm finishing for the people who helped me. The professor who wrote me letters. The friends who read my drafts. The people who said: “You can do this.” I want them to be right.
I'm finishing because I don't want to wonder. What if I had finished? What if I had just kept going? I don't want to wonder. I want to know.
I don't know what I'll do after. Maybe I'll teach. Maybe I'll work in industry. Maybe I'll do something I haven't thought of yet. But I'll have this. A degree. A document. Proof that I finished something hard.
I'm not finishing for a career. I'm finishing for myself. That's enough.
