To succeed in my Ph.D., I had to rethink my mother’s story

From ScienceMag:

I went into my Ph.D. with one goal: I would not end up like my mother. When she became pregnant with me while pursuing a mechanical engineering Ph.D., her adviser cut her funding and she was forced to leave the program. What happened was of course not her fault, and later she went on to successfully complete a Ph.D. Still, I saw it as a cautionary tale. I was determined her story would not become mine. I would make sure to find a supportive supervisor, and I would never do anything that could give the possible impression I didn’t deserve my place. I didn’t realize my focus on protecting myself could go too far—and that I’d completely misunderstood my mother’s story.

It was my mother who first inspired my interest in science. In raising my brothers and me, she developed a passion for science education. Once we were all in school, she began her new Ph.D., studying methods for teaching engineering concepts. I grew up testing out her classroom experiments, helping transcribe recordings, and ultimately attending her successful thesis defense.

For my own doctoral pursuits, I knew from my mother’s first Ph.D. experience that I would need a supervisor whose support I could rely on, even in difficult times. I turned down offers from otherwise appealing programs because of misgivings about potential advisers. I also wanted to be sure any program I joined would give me a chance to rotate through multiple labs and gain a deeper understanding of each lab head’s supervision style before choosing my ultimate Ph.D. adviser.

Despite my precautions I could not quiet the nagging worry that any vulnerability I showed could be used against me. If a pregnancy cost my mother her adviser’s support, why not a failed experiment, or an illness? As I went through my lab rotations, I was guarded and cautious. Rather than ask for help, I chose to figure things out myself, even if it took me much longer. When well-meaning colleagues offered constructive feedback on my work during lab meetings, I felt myself become defensive, seeking to validate that I was “on track.” I evaded meetings with my rotation advisers, dreading that they’d tell me they were dissatisfied with my progress.

This pattern came to a head when I found myself struggling to understand a paper I was to present for a journal club. Instead of either choosing a different paper or seeking help, I froze. When the moment came to give my presentation, I claimed I’d been too busy to prepare. What I intended as a face-saving excuse was received as disrespect, and the professor told me I was his worst student ever.

I feared I was repeating my mother’s story—my academic journey ending because of a single deviation. But as the shock wore off, I recognized uncomfortably that my defensiveness had contributed to the outcome. Instead of protecting me, the walls I’d built were getting in the way of the very things I had come to graduate school to do: learn and grow, with guidance from my mentors.

I also realized I had misinterpreted my mother’s story all along. She had started her Ph.D. halfway around the world, far from her support system, and after her setback, she restarted in a new field and persisted to earn her degree. She chose bravery over caution in order to achieve her goals. The lesson was not to guard against every risk, but to press forward anyway, even when it meant being vulnerable.

From that point on, I tried to do the same. When my rotation period wrapped up, I chose a supervisor who had been open and kind. I still carried the fear that anything personal I revealed could somehow be used to undermine me. But as I settled into the lab, I slowly let my guard down. During one meeting with my adviser, I brought up my mother. He in turn opened up about his mother, whose schooling had been interrupted as a child. Because of her experience, she had become a fierce advocate for my adviser’s education and his brothers’, the same way my mother had always been for me. Now, as my graduation date nears, instead of treating my mother’s story as a cautionary tale, I aim to be exactly like her.

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