I’m an NIH-funded researcher, drowning in uncertainty

From ScienceMag:

When I started on the tenure track, I knew securing external funding was crucial to my success. And for health equity research, my specialty, NIH is the obvious choice. In graduate school, I spent countless hours refining my grant-writing skills, knowing that no matter how strong my research was, none of it would matter without funding to support it. I worked with mentors and researchers who invested in me, who believed in my ability to become an independent researcher. They guided me through NIH’s proposal process, helping me sharpen my ideas, strengthen my applications, and navigate the often-opaque world of grant review. In my first year as an assistant professor, I was elated to be awarded the prestigious NIH Director’s Early Independence Award. It was supposed to be a launch pad to accelerate my research and career.

But now, I submit proposals into a system where even NIH officers don’t know what will happen next. Will my grants ever be reviewed? What can I research?

Every researcher understands rejection—that’s academia. At least it came with a clear timeline: feedback would arrive, resubmission would be encouraged, and the next steps were relatively predictable. I used to tell myself that every unsuccessful grant was a learning experience—that even if I didn’t get funded, the process of writing the proposal would help me sharpen my research questions.

How do you strategize around an unpredictable funding landscape?

• Violeta J. Rodriguez
• University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

The sheer ambiguity of the current situation, on the other hand, is much harder to manage. This uncertainty is affecting every aspect of my work—and my current and potential future students. Every week spent writing grant proposals that may never be reviewed is a week not spent mentoring my students, analyzing data, or publishing. As early-career researchers, we are told to be strategic in how we allocate our time—one of our most valuable resources—to make sure we are focusing on the tasks that will advance our careers. But how do you strategize around an unpredictable funding landscape? What does it mean to “work smarter” when there’s no clear path forward? I recently made the difficult decision not to recruit a new graduate student for next year; given the unpredictability of my research funding, I can’t justify bringing someone in when I’m not sure I’ll be able to provide the stability graduate school requires.

And then there is the added layer of identity. I am a Latina scientist, an immigrant, and a non-native English speaker. I have felt the pressure of those labels throughout my career. And now, I can’t help but feel that weight even more keenly. In the broader context of what is happening to my community in this country, it feels trivial to worry about my personal funding and career progression. But it’s larger than me. So much of the support for minoritized scientists has come through targeted funding initiatives, mentorship programs, and institutional commitments to increasing diversity in research—opportunities that are disappearing.

Where do we go from here? I don’t have an answer. I don’t know what the next year will bring, what paylines will be, whether future proposals—or my research—will find a home. For now, my NIH application portal remains filled with blanks. I’ll keep checking. I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep doing what I can to move my research forward. But I, and so many others, can’t do this indefinitely. Something has to give.

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