I had my annual progression review on 20th September 2024. The results were satisfactory. Yet, I was suggested to take a step back. I need to redo part of my literature review before getting on with data collection. It seemed alright, from the outsider’s perspectives. But for me who has spent the greater part of the past two years working on my literature review and was so eager to do something else, it sounded like this:
I was not doing enough.
My work was not good enough.
I never could complete my PhD within 3 years.
So of course, I had a little mental breakdown. It was like riding a motorbike at full speed into the wind, only to hit a wall. It was hard to get back on my feet, let alone to speed.
So what did I do? I got over it and moved on, just like any other fully responsible adult would. But below the surface something has changed.
Each person will have their own coping mechanism when faced with difficulties. Usually, it would be either fight or flight. I’d admit, I have given up fight a long time ago. Fighting is not my nature: I’m not comfortable with conflicts and I don’t enjoy ‘winning’ that much. Later on I realised it is the ‘scare of losing’ that is the main reason why I don’t fight. I’d rather flight. I’ve been running away my whole life and it has become my comfort zone. I’d be job hopping or moving around just so I didn’t have to engage in a conflicting situation.
Yet with this PhD, somehow I had chosen to block all of my exits. The stake is so high that I don’t dare to run away anymore. And the truth is, the more you’re progressing with your PhD, the higher the stake. You can’t quit because you have spent so much time and money into this venture. You can’t quit because you have nothing else to do. You can’t quit because people around you will think that you’re weak and pointless. I guess that is one of the main reasons why PhD candidates have such poor mental health. You’ll usually feel like you’re being cornered. The ones that get to the other end usually have to fight really hard. They literally fight just anything—no surprise why academia is so competitive, and sometimes, toxic.
So which options are left for me? I can’t fight, I can’t run either. I can only stay and let this challenge transform how I think about this journey. What does it mean in reality? It means admitting my limitations: being humble and having this deep realisation that I am here to learn. It’s about improving our knowledge everyday, but it is also about understanding the law of the game. Once this is made clear, I don’t feel offended by criticism of my work anymore.
Yet not feeling demotivated does not equal being motivated after all. That’s where I need to remind myself where my boundaries are. What does it take to complete my PhD? It can take 3, 4, or even 5 years. It can take a huge chunk of my financial resources. It can take away a lot of my comfort. But what it can’t take is my personal happiness and well-being. I have to be able to enjoy this game, otherwise it will become pointless. That is the boundary. Time and time again, I am reminded of this through all the challenges that befall me during my PhD studies.
So I am taking it slowly these days and taking care of myself. It felt good. Do I feel motivated? Not yet. But I think it’s coming back to me. I strongly believe that.

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