Are we ready to talk about thriving in academia?

Change is coming to academia, I think. With the never-ending growing demands of the job and the expectation to be excellent in all its numerous facets, there is a creeping inevitability that early career researchers will have to start to prioritise, be it the type of academic they hope to be (academic superstar or departmental good citizen?), whether they want to specialise in teaching or research, and – within research – whether they want to pursue more conventional UKRI and foundation-type funding, or align themselves and their work to ‘impact’ in industry and practice.

Given the breadth of demands on the contemporary academic, and the risks of specialising (i.e. will I ever get a permanent post?), it has never been more important for ECRs to strategise. When I say this, I don’t mean strategise in a ruthless, instrumental “I’ll do X if I get Y opportunity” way. More, “where do I want to be in five years time?” or “what do I want to be known for?” To me, strategising at its core is about not being driven by external or institutional priorities, and instead having a clear idea about what you enjoy, what you’re good at and what you want to develop, and where you need and want to invest your precious time and resources. No one, not a single person on this planet, has a bottomless pit of mental, emotional and physical energy, including you.

I’ve written about this in my book, aimed at people embarking on an academic role – and possibly a career called Survive and Thrive in Academia: the new academic’s pocket mentor (Woodthorpe, 2018). Getting onto paper my experience and lessons I’d learned over the early phase of my academic career was incredibly cathartic and one of the most enjoyable things I’ve done. The book originated from a firm belief that the traditional ‘sink or swim’ mentality of early academic life is not fit for purpose and that people ‘thrive’ with support, collegiality and guidance. From my own experience starting out, I felt that I – along with all my peers at the time – was more or less left to get on with it. Beyond an obligatory teaching course and a bit of mentoring it was implicitly assumed that I would somehow instinctively know how to decide what to pursue, where to prioritise, where to put my time, and along the way I’d work out for myself how to marry my interests with the goals of the department, faculty and wider institution.

To me, strategising at its core is about not being driven by external or institutional priorities, and instead having a clear idea about what you enjoy, what you’re good at and what you want to develop.

Little surprise then that the first few years of my career were exhausting. When I joined the University of Bath over a decade ago, I was warned by a senior colleague that the first 10 years of my career would be the most intense, and he was right. Getting going, creating momentum, and putting myself ‘out there’ took enormous mental effort and energy, not least as I battled with my imposter syndrome inner demons while chasing funding opportunities without a clear strategy, and sinking masses of energy into dissatisfied students and self-interested colleagues, in the hope of receiving positive feedback. Without a clear steer from others, and by not actively strategising, external validation became a critical feedback mechanism for me as it was the only way I could assess whether I was on the right track. Not only did I want to be liked by others, I wanted to know I was doing ok: metrics, citations, rankings – all of the things by which academic ‘value’ is measured – were how I benchmarked myself.

Now, entering my mid career, I look back at those days and wonder how on earth I did it. I remember waking up at 3am in a panic that I’d forgotten something, working on a Saturday morning (and it slipping into all day Saturday) to get on top of things for the following week, and going to the ends of the earth to support undergraduate students so my teaching evaluations were sufficiently respectable to pass probation. I didn’t prioritise my mental health or wellbeing, assuming that my mind and body would look after itself.

The most satisfied and content academics I know have a healthy balance and sense of priority.

By and large, I am very lucky that they did. But I realise that not everyone has that good fortune, and academia haemorrhages decent people because of a lack of support, professional development and nurturing of the next generation. The expectation of all round excellence, with little guidance and support, is untenable. This, coupled with limited succession planning, limited team-working (in the social sciences at least), and A LOT of critique, leads to fatigue, insecurity and overload. No wonder that academics are notoriously individualistic, competitive, and – more often than not – plagued by fear of failure. You are, after all, constantly being told to do more, and you’re only as good as your last paper, your last student evaluation, or your last bid.

Although there are glimmers of hope on the horizon – a recognition that academics need professional development as in many other sectors – you can’t yet rely on your institution to look after you. Given this, it is therefore critical that you look after yourself. This is what I explain in my book, particularly in terms of how to balance the competing parts of the academic role(s), how to step back and review your goals and vision, and how to make the best of the opportunities you are afforded. Beyond being interested in support and career development in academic, I am a sociologist who specialises in death and dying, and having seen how precarious life can be, I firmly believe that living life is about getting on with things, finding enjoyment in what you’re doing, and not just sitting it out waiting to your inevitable end. This includes your job.

Change is on the horizon, but don’t sit it out and wait for others to determine your life. Be the master of your own destiny. Own it.

So, what does this mean as an ECR? It means being mindful of the perils of academia – taking on too much, being dumped on, or being exploited by merciless colleagues for your willingness to please. It means being attune to who you want to be, what you want to be known for as a colleague, and staying true to yourself. And, overall, it means getting into good self-care routines and practices. Things I’ve found that have helped me over the years are having a garden I can go into and ferociously weed when I am frustrated or overloaded, having a dog that doesn’t care two hoots about what reviewer number two has said and just loves me for me, and to keep talking to people who’s wisdom I value. All of these have helped me, and I hope that you are able to find your own activities that keep you going, so you’re able to enjoy being an ECR.

ECR life doesn’t have to be just about surviving. The most satisfied and content academics I know have a healthy balance and sense of priority. They know what they enjoy, what they are good at, and what they want to do. They say no with authenticity and kindness, and they are generous and open to others. It is possible to thrive in the academy but in a ‘hands off’ work culture you need to take responsibility for identifying what that means for you, and working towards it. Change is on the horizon, but don’t sit it out and wait for others to determine your life. Be the master of your own destiny. Own it.

About the author

Dr Kate Woodthorpe is a Reader in Sociology at the University of Bath, where she is Director of the Centre for Death and Society and oversees knowledge exchange activities within her faculty. She has published widely on deathcare practices and rituals, advised the Government, and written a book specifically for early career researchers, to help new academics make good decisions.