A few days ago, I received an "academia early-career survey", reminding me that I had participated 5 years ago, that it was proper research conducted at the University of Michigan, and that there would be a 25$ gift card in the mail if I completed it. Pretty much a no brainer to fill out the form, and indeed, it felt good to do so. But, one question caught my eye, and has been ruminating in my brain ever since.
"Over the last year, how often have you wished that you made a different career decision?"
....
If there was an option for "Almost every waking moment of these last 365 days", I would have chosen it.
Don't get me wrong - I still am incredibly grateful for the research environment where I am currently, and for the opportunities that God has given me. But, if I could rewind time, I would do so much differently. Even if doing so would not allow me to have all of these hard-earned lessons I've learned in this past year, it would at least give me a chance. A chance to be... healthier? happier?
Let's back up for a moment.
It was no surprise to me that life would be chaos because of The Move, even all the way back in 2021 when the first whispered rumors began to circulate. I had seen the destructive powers that a labmove could bring in one of my good friends, as his lab was struggling to deal with the aftershocks of doing so, but as I entered my PhD, I was fairly confident that all was well. After all, my professor had recently received tenure, and the lab was rooted and productive.
But once the decision was announced, it was all we could do to keep up with things. Papers needed to be published, theses needed to be defended, chips needed to be fabricated, and data needed to be collected, all before the lights were turned off on the 1st of July, 2023. We rushed, and we scrambled, and we pushed to make sure that things could get done - or at least, as done as they could be - before that deadline. And in the midst of that pandemonium, we were also simultaneously planning for a New Promised Land, where the blueprints and the equipment to be purchased were completely blank and open to us for exploration. It was an awesome responsibility, one that I still appreciate taking part of. But even then, the cracks were on the wall, and they were starting to slowly grow.
As more and more students began moving - either westward with the new lab, or towards industry as they graduated on just a slightly accelerated schedule - the pressure continued to build. Every day seemed to have a bit more to be done, another task that could just be merely patched together, without barely enough time for deep thoughts. This was about the time that I reentered therapy - not so much because I couldn't deal with the stress at the time, but more as a prophylactic treatment. I knew that I was headed towards burnout, or at the very least, was working at a burnout pace. It was obviously not sustainable, and I wanted as much protection, as much preparation, while my mind was still relatively healthy, to weather me through the storms up ahead.
The less said about those last few months the better - a bitter breakup, a last minute move within Hyde Park, and weeks of crying in the nanofabrication facility should provide you, the reader, with the highlights. But we got to the other side, and I was in a plane, holding Zelda as we touched down in California. The weather was balmy, the palm trees were a'swayin', and I was feeling just a touch of misery as I lied back in this crummy pet-friendly motel that was my temporary stay. There was so much to do - an endless amount, really - and so little time.
But where was that pressure coming from? Truthfully, it was from the momentum of expectations from before. We had just come off a period of incredibly intense work, and pressure does form diamonds, after all. Despite all of the franticness, we were still doing fantastic science, and I was proud of the research that I had done. But to have the expectation that we would be able to hit the ground in California at that same pace was perhaps just plain delusional. I had not adjusted in my head the roadbumps, the obstacles, and the detours that would come ahead, and instead, just threw myself into the task.
Six months flew by, as we reassembled every fridge, fixed every single broken compressor, remade our measurement racks in hopefully a better and improved way. We welcomed new students in, established journal clubs, and tried to integrate ourselves into the community the best we could. But therein lies the rub: that while all of that was progressing, I was personally regressing into becoming a machine that only did work.
I joked with a close friend/labmate about our "daily collapses", of the ways that we would get home, late in the evening, and just be so totally drained of energy. We carpooled together, and some mornings I would have truly nothing to say in the morning, because it felt like nothing had happened to me over the evening. I ate, I washed, and I slept, and it felt like my brain was on autopilot in all of it.
There was a time, early in the summer, where I was feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. My professor had invited the lab for a barbeque at his new house, wanting to give us a chance to blow off some steam after several weeks of intense fridge building. But there I was, sitting alone in my bedroom just a few hours before the event, feeling completely despondent and weeping. I couldn't tell why I was feeling so utterly spent, especially as good work was being done. I was so lost and confused about my own emotional state, of how lonely I felt. Only a call from my mom helped wrap a bit more duct tape around the crumbling edges of my mind, and I limped on over to attend the party, just a bit subdued and feeling not quite right.
As the leaves started to turn in fall of 2023, things at least appeared to be getting better. There was some kind of light up ahead in this dark tunnel, and soon, I would no longer be plagued with paperwork and intro courses. Despite it all, I felt like I had done my duty well. The lab was mostly assembled and starting to produce good science once more, my students who I TAed seemed appreciative enough (at least, for premed students taking a class that they really didn't want to take), and most importantly to me, it seemed like the lab culture - the collaborative, joking, helping, humble, amazing camaraderie that made me fall in love with the lab in the first place - had survived the move. My job was complete, and I could finally relax once more, to sit under my own vine and fig tree, to enjoy the fruits of our labours.
It seems as if there were still gaps that I had not noticed, that were in fact, collecting pus and decay. That while my entire self was oriented towards work, all of the other aspects of me that made me whole, made me complete, were withering. Sure, I was making a healthy effort to connect with friends, to plug into community. Or, at least, I was making as much effort as I could, with my limited resources. Or, at least, I was not subjecting others to myself as a miserable lump, and only going out when I felt like I could be... somewhat human. All that to say, I was becoming incredibly isolated in my own work.
There was certainly some form of a blind spot that was forming in me during this period, because I wasn't obviously aware that anything was going sideways. Instead, I felt transformed, that I was finally doing something of purpose, that I was feeling fulfilled in a different way than before. Within a span of six months, I had two opportunities to travel and talk with some utterly brilliant scientists, learning from them and also feeling appreciated for the work that we had done. We finished our paper manuscript, and the process of writing and editing was so incredibly empowering, like finally being able to look backwards and appreciate all of the mountains that we had overcome. Certainly, therefore, the heavy burdens that were still on my shoulders were going to be let down any moment from now, and I would no longer need to constantly be on call. [1] I started to finally get a chance to relax, to read, to game again - even if, alright, I was still heading in to the lab on the weekend - but that's just to unwind a bit and sort out my emails, right? After all, I was too tired to really be connecting with new people - and the efforts that I had been making seemed difficult as well, because everyone is just so busy here! - so just keep my head down, and I'll eventually walk out of this.
But then, something odd started to occur.
Even without the same kind of pressures and deadlines, I would still find myself slowly, achingly, limping back to my apartment. I would wake up on the weekend feeling utterly empty and spent, as if there was nothing that held any kind of attraction. Even when doing the things that used to bring me such happiness, I would find myself going through the motions and feeling nothing afterwards. My body started to feel physically exhausted - there was a bout of pneumonia that set me back further - and I was making more and more excuses to cancel plans, just wanting to rest, close my eyes, and let the world drift off into oblivion. I'd like to say that I was hiding it well at that point, but more truthfully, I had probably not made enough deep connections in the area for anyone to notice that anything was off. I had also achieved a level of seniority that also allowed me to have an overabundance of freedom, so that I was working either remotely or late at night, far away from caring eyes. My internal world was undergoing increasing amounts of turmoil, but externally, I was still put together enough to be showing up to the required meetings and discussions.
This isn't quite my first rodeo in terms of these kinds of emotions and expressions. I am certainly no stranger to inadverdently overextending myself, working myself to exhaustion, and then turtling back into my shell for a period of a few days as I recover. Yes, I am well aware that this kind of boom-bust cycle is inherently unsustainable, but I thought that I had my strategies down pat - connect with old friends, schedule time for myself to be outside, work on my own hobbies, exercise, break down large tasks into small steps, be more plugged into church community. And yet, nothing seemed to have any return. I would still find myself waking up in a cold sweat in the mornings, still feeling completely drained. Any interaction with even close friends felt like I was just desperately trying to keep it together, to prevent myself from bursting outwards in a way that terrified me. I wrote, I meditated, I seemed to do all of the things that had helped alleviate the symptoms in the past. But things still trended down, down, down.
In retrospect, I think the most apt way to describe that period of life as just simply bizarre. From April through June, it felt like nothing that I did had any true effect on me whatsoever, like I was furiously running in place. One particular scene, in early May: I had taken a meeting remotely, and half way through, turned my video off - I was simply just feeling waves after waves of anxiety building up inside of me, desperately screaming at me to just get out of the room, even though I was in my own bedroom. I was lost and confused, as if there were large gaps in my memory [2], and yet felt trapped at the same time. Afterwards, I did indeed do the rituals that usually brought me peace - I took a physical book, walked downtown, and ordered from a local boba shop. But even as I sat there, calmly and (nominally) happily reading, my racing heart and sweating brow seemed to be telling a different story. I tried to pray, but found my thoughts in such flux that I could not feel any presence of the Lord. Again, I felt like I was being chased, being pursued, or even attacked in some way, which was patently absurd to my brain! I was resting in just the most lovely weather possible, and completely melting down.
The one constant in this period was the feeling of emptiness. All of my thoughts, all of my emotions, all of me, felt as if it was all dulled. I was a robot, an automoton, just progressing from duty to duty. And for those who know me, this is as different from me as possible. Like my father, I am most often a firey ball of passion - lunging into different new areas of knowledge with a desperate hunger to play and explore. But there was just something different here. Even my own notes during this period have this air of confusion, as to why this was happening, especially because there was not any clear reason for this form of breakdown. Especially when compared to my recent past, it seemed as if so much was just better, and I could not understand why I was not also just simply better.
I truly am grateful for my family, friends, and lab for dragging me out of this incredibly dark pit. Thankfully, I was not foolish enough to believe that all was well, and had actually reached out to people in trying to find some, any kind of assistance. From the quiet walks around Redwood City, to just a small cup of joe being shared between equally stressed out friends, it really meant the world to me - even just being able to pick up the phone during a time of extreme anxiety really went such, such a long way. Two groups to especially thank - my dear Palo Alto chess club, who always provided jokes, trash talk, and a moment to just focus on yet another loss to Chris, as well as to my new housemates, who were so incredibly kind and welcoming. Despite my embarassment and the vulnerability that I felt, these people cared for me. They assured me that I was indeed enough, and helped me find my footing again.
But even then, even after I was starting to get back onto my feet, things were progressing in fits and starts. I felt like a sputtering engine, sometimes finding traction on the road and able to inch forwards, othertimes slipping on a wet patch and careening towards the guardrails. Even as research began to move again, I would find myself waking up to a mystery, unsure if this would be a day where I could last through everything, or if I would again feel the call to retreat midway through.[3] Even after moving to be closer to campus, even after rearranging my schedule and my expectations, there was a sense of apprehension over everything... where it was just so hard to be excited for things, when I couldn't tell if that feeling would last, or just immediately evaporate.
So, that was the case up through the middle of September, and slowly... I think, the wound began to properly heal. The good days started to outnumber the bad, in a slow way that I could not precisely track. I finally began to build up my confidence again, where I didn't feel disgusting and gross all the time, and able to meet with people spontaneously without freaking out. I had formed enough regular rhythms that I was able to pick myself up even when those feelings of guilt and shame reappeared, where I could focus on some smaller joy that would permit me to recover enough to reset myself.
I'm still hesitant to exactly say where I am right at this moment - I feel like I had thought throughout this entire period that there were many turning points that didn't quite pan out. But, the hope has returned. The expectation, that tomorrow would be another day that I can indeed face, that I am a complete person with goals and passions, has been at least partially restored. I find that happiness, music, and laughter has returned like a quiet butterfly, and that I am able to become more engaged with the world around me without becoming drained. There are certainly times at which I am still worried and nervous that I have too much (mental, emotional, physical) debt to repay, that I will again slip. But, I do hope that this experience has given me a bit more resilience.
Why did I write all of this out? Truthfully, I look back at this period and realize so many shortcomings in myself - but also, some aspects that I think would have been better if I just had a little bit more foreknowledge. I would have never expected to be facing the symptoms of burnout only after the stress was taken away from me, as if some rapid depressurization event corrupted my brain. I didn't think that the lack of community, those insiduous seeds that were planted as I first arrived back on the west coast, would grow to become such toxic weeds, choking away my happiness. And in the worst of all of it, in the eye of the hurricane where everything seemed perfectly still, I do wish there was simply just more hope in the future.
One thing that I feel like I can say with some certainty: it simply does take time. Well, not just time - it also needs effort, a network, and so much more - but time is a necessary ingredient in all of it. Trying to rush through things, or impatiently trying to will things to be better than they are does very little.
When the joy does come, cherish it. This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it!
Postscript: Here are some scattered thoughts that do not quite fit in the flow, but I still wanted to share.
Some of the media that I consumed during this time, that at least made me feel less lonely in the experience of it all:
I still need to finish a few thoughts here...
[1] In fact, I never truly *needed* to be so stressed in the first place - it was certainly some amount of overworrying, and perhaps not a small amount of egoism, overstating my own role in the lab build effort.
[2] Even now, I struggle recalling. Usually, writing these kinds of reflections flow incredibly naturally, where my thoughts just want to leap from my brain to my fingers. However, for this period, it seems like any attempt to reflect is met with strong resistance, where I need to actually look back at my old writings, at my empty gcal, at whatever I had put to paper, in order to piece together what had actually been happening.
[3] Again, what I can only consider as "bizarre" events were happening - I would find myself unable to move from my car after parking in the morning on one day, and then the next, feel completely well and able to talk and work with anyone as if nothing was happening. (One contributing factor - I had certainly made many work related mistakes during this past year. Having to constantly face dumb decisions that I made was not doing me any good - and the fact that I had put all of my chips into work certainly led my mood to be so closely dependent on how I felt my work was going.) Yet, my conversations with therapists were going well, to the point where we agreed to end treatment for this severe depressive episode by late August. Deadlines slowly came and went, and lab continued to become more stable.