I didn’t think I needed mentorship training—but it reshaped my approach

From ScienceMag:

My undergraduate mentee needed advice after yet another failed experiment. Sitting across from me, she looked exhausted—frustrated even. I heard myself say something like, “This is part of research. You just have to push through.” But even as the words left my mouth, I felt uneasy. She nodded silently and shifted her posture. Afterward, she began showing up less frequently. Eventually, she stopped coming altogether. For a long time, I tried to explain it away: Undergrads sometimes get busy with coursework, lose interest, or change direction. But deep down, I wondered what I could have done differently.

I became a mentor during the second year of my Ph.D. after my adviser encouraged me. I was excited about the opportunity to pass on what I was learning and help someone else discover the joy of research. But I didn’t get much guidance on how to do it. I learned only by doing.

There were moments I felt proud of. One mentee started out quiet and unsure, barely speaking above a whisper during lab meetings. Over time, she grew into one of the most independent and confident young researchers I have worked with. Before graduating she told me, “You are the reason I stuck with this.” That moment stayed with me.

But so did the other one—the silence, the absences, the slow fade-out. And the question I could not shake: Had I failed her?

It wasn’t until the final year of my Ph.D. that I came across a flyer for a summer mentorship training workshop. I was surprised such a thing even existed. A class for mentoring? I was skeptical. What exactly does one learn in a mentorship class?

By that point I had mentored several undergrads, and for the most part I thought I had done a decent job: I showed up, listened, and offered guidance. But I kept thinking about the student who had quietly walked away. I decided to give it a try.

The program, called Entering Mentoring and modeled after a book of the same name, brought together graduate students and postdocs in a weekly discussion circle. For the first time, I had the space to explore the invisible labor and emotional complexity of mentoring.

One session asked us to reflect on our own mentors—what helped, what hurt, and how those experiences shaped our own approaches. I thought back to a micromanaging mentor who demanded incessant updates, often raised their voice when experiments went wrong, and rarely acknowledged that students had lives outside the lab.

That experience, I realized, had influenced my mentoring style. In striving not to perpetuate the same pattern, I tried to be overly patient. At other times, however, my approach echoed the tough mentoring I had received: I defaulted to “This is how science works” without acknowledging how hard it could be, or how disheartening repeated setbacks could feel.

I also began to understand what might have been missing in my relationship with the student who had drifted away. I realized I had never explicitly invited her to share her goals or worries, and so I may have failed to notice when she needed more than technical direction. I could have been more attentive to her unspoken struggles and more willing to acknowledge the weight of frustration, rather than brushing past it. I don’t think I failed her entirely—she still gained time at the bench and exposure to research—but I do think I missed a chance to make her feel seen in the moments when it mattered most.

After the workshop, I drafted a mentoring philosophy and began changing how I interact with students. For example, instead of diving straight into experimental details during our weekly check-ins, I now start by asking how they are doing and what their biggest challenges—scientific or otherwise—were that week. That small shift has opened the door to more honest conversations, and I have noticed students are now quicker to ask for help.

As I approach the end of my Ph.D. and prepare to move on to a postdoc, I carry the lesson with me that good mentors are not born—they are built through reflection, training, and community. That lesson has led me to wonder why so many mentors are never trained in mentorship. I wish I had taken that workshop 3 years earlier. But I am grateful I took it at all.

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