For PhuD’s sake!

The deed is done, the doer (me) undone. The die is cast. I’ve only just gone an’ effin’ dun it, ’av’n I! Having believed so passionately in October 2023 that it was “A PhuDder’s life for me”, I’ve come to realise that, well, actually it isn’t. This week, I submitted a PhD-withdrawal request, which was processed quickly, unnervingly so. A bit like, ‘Get thee from our nunnery’.

What went wrong? Nothing really. Prior to signing up, I researched the commitment (obviously not well enough), worked hard, did all that was expected of me and more, got brill feedback, engaged frequently with my über-intelligent, amiable, patient supervisors, and learned an awful lot, I mean, honestly, off the scale. Yet I ended up being miserable; just ask Hubby.

One indication that all was not well in the state of PhuDland, apart from the miserableness, was the hours I was studying. Part-time PhuDders are expected to work an average of approx. 20 hours a week. I was working over 30 and felt I was still falling behind. This meant that I wasn’t fully engaged with my other commitments, most notably family and friends. When Hubby had his knee bionic-ed, I did the bare minimum to get him back on his feet. When Sis went into hospital for another op that required several weeks of recuperation, I phoned her the night before and said, let me know how you get on. When my best friend needed to meet for a girly chat, I said I could give her an hour, a week on Tuesday. And I missed my Goddaughter’s 21st birthday.

As for my numerous committees, the night before an AGM, I noticed an error in the accounts. I really should have looked at the papers earlier but I was fighting fires. The day before another meeting, I realised that the minutes hadn’t been circulated. Then there were the action points assigned to me that I didn’t get done for 11 months. And I’m the Chair!

So why did I have to work that many PhuDding hours? Well, when you start a PhD, it’s a good idea to have at least a grasp of the basics of the subject. My subject was geography and environmental psychology; I only have an ‘O’ level in geography (albeit an A) and diddly squat in psychology. I had some catching up to do. So far, so bad. This handicap was compounded by my need to understand stuff on a deep level before moving on, so I spent a lot of time going deeper and deeper into space and place, sound and noise, hearing and listening, reality and relativism, liminality and dialogicality. As such, I sacrificed breadth for depth, and when the mandatory time came to write a prescribed broad-brush account of my project, I simply couldn’t. There was nothing there for many of the boxes that needed ticking.

I wondered if I could apply for a study break or an extension to buy me some time, but one fundamental problem would always remain, a problem that was aired transparently during induction week that I had summarily dismissed: a PhD these days is not a magnum opus – it only has to be good enough. I remember thinking when I first heard this, “ *ugger that for a game of soldiers. My PhD is going to be brill.” Because that’s what I do. I give something my all and try to make everything excellent. Even if it ends up being mediocre, starting out with an anticipation of mediocrity is an anathema to my mindset. The thing is, because PhDs are expected to be ‘just good enough’, the process and systems are designed accordingly. A truly brilliant, Nobel-prize-winning student might be able to split a quark under these circumstances, but not me. I’m Mrs Mediocrity perpetually flirting with Mr Excellence (I hope Hubby doesn’t read this).

Over the Christmas break, I spoke to academics, family and friends who had always been supportive of me doing a PhD and would obviously support whatever decision I made now. They were as much sounding boards as agony aunts. It was telling though, that when I told family and friends I’d made a decision to withdraw, the reactions were along the lines of, “It will be nice to see more of you again,” and, “You seem happier already.”

The toughest part was telling my supervisors that I’d decided to withdraw. They had done nothing wrong. In fact there was nothing they might have said or done differently that would have led to a different outcome. It was all about me and my undiagnosable, unofficial, unique, unfathomable kind of neurodiversity. The team had every right to be miffed, but instead they were kind, caring, trusting and accepting, which if anything made withdrawing harder. Sob.

As well as my supervisors, there were a few other people at the OU I wanted to tell personally before the paperwork was finalised and my OU email account cancelled. To be honest I probably should have told a lot more but it turned out to be emotionally draining and I had to call a halt before I changed my mind about withdrawing, which would have been for the wrong reasons. Some of the responses I received were mind-blowing. My favourites are:
• You have my sympathy
• We are so sorry to see you go!
• Your comments/feedback have always been very useful to me and to colleagues
• Making such a decision shows real strength and self-awareness
• It’s always been great to talk to you, in campus and virtually, you'll be missed.
• If you ever want a coffee – you know where The Hub is
• Please phone me
• I will certainly miss your contributions and ideas as you offer a different perspective which is really important, especially in academic circles which, like lots of places with similar political perspectives, can be suspectable to group think!

I’m not listing these comments to blow my own trumpet (well, maybe I am a little bit) but to illustrate that all these people are scarily bright, absorbed in if not consumed by their own research projects and struggles, politically polar opposites to me, and friendly rather than friends. Yet they found the time and wherewithal to respond to me kindly and sensitively. I’ll really miss them.

Maybe I’ve made the wrong decision … only kidding!

So what am I going to do now? Well, I need to be there for family and friends, catch up with committees, spring-clean the house, decide on new curtains (no way was I letting Hubby do that), renew my exercise regime, update my LinkedIn profile, shave my legs, and commit to dry January. Yeah, only kidding on that last one as well.

One of the things I really enjoyed about the OU was the extra-curricular webinars and conferences that had nothing to do with my PhD but I found fascinating nonetheless. I will miss those, but I’m now free to attend more talks in Cambridge, Free Speech Union events, and maybe stand as an MP. Which party though? I could always stand as an independent, or form my own party with a name like:
• The Living Daylights
• The Two Genders
• The Common Sensicals
• The Free Marketeers
• ForeverUK

Hubby suggested The PhaileD PhuDders. As a result, my flirting with Mr Excellence just got a lot more streamy.