Becoming a parent in academia – when science fails you

B. Muehlroth

[su_boxbox title=”About”]B. Muehlroth M.Sc. recently submitted her dissertation in Psychology/Cognitive Neuroscience. She is currently working as a postdoc studying the interplay between sleep and memory functions across the lifespan at the Max Planck Institute for Human Development in Berlin, Germany. You can follow her on Twitter @b_muehlroth or LinkedIn. Cover image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay. [/su_boxbox]

[su_boxnote note_color=”#c8c8c8″]Story Key Points

• Trying to become a parent can be very costly, time-consuming, and cause tremendous emotional and physical distress.
• Although infertility is mostly dealt with in silence, its experience can have a lasting impact on the prospect of early career scientists.
• Academia needs to provide supportive as well as predictable and secure working conditions not only for parents, but also for those trying to get there.[/su_boxnote]

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] devoted the last 4 years of my life to my PhD and to science. I worked in a great lab, travelled to conferences, met fascinating people, acquired invaluable knowledge and skills, and enjoyed being part of a community that I consider to be very supportive and extraordinarily intimate and affectionate. But what’s my next step? Find a postdoc position and then have kids as soon as I get a ‘more permanent’ job?

B. Muehlroth

I’ve always been a big planner. I had my life planned out. Long before I chose to do a PhD in Cognitive Neuroscience, my husband and I had decided to grow our family by having a child. But sometimes in life, things end up in ways you never could have imagined.

I had started my scientific endeavors during my undergrad studies in Psychology. Initially, I was very skeptical about ‘doing science’ and, to be honest, I did not dare to think that researching how memory develops across the human lifespan would be something I would end up doing. But, the more I learned and understood how human memory functions, the more I started to catch fire. I wanted to know why some of us can remember everything, while others fail to do so. I wanted to know why kids manage to absorb the whole world surrounding them so easily, while older adults need to make great efforts in order to simply remember their shopping list. And, finally, I wanted to know what role sleep plays in all of that – this special and mysterious reoccurring state in which we spend so much time. I was eager to study how sleeping helps some of us to remember, while it does not for others. I was excited to do a PhD in order to find an answer to all these questions. I was sure that it would turn out to be a great adventure and opportunity for me, during which I could advance my knowledge, my skills, and lay the grounds for a fulfilling professional and personal future.

Although I managed to continue devoting a major part of my life to my PhD, my life with infertility made me aware of my own boundaries and forced me to overstep them many times.

When I started my PhD, I was 24 and my husband and I had already been trying to conceive for more than a year. With every month of my dissertation, work took over more of my life, as did our desire to have a child. During the last years and months, working on my PhD meant I had to juggle a gazillion of doctor appointments each week with my above full-time workload. It meant I had to maintain a tight schedule of treatment drugs and injections. It meant I had to anticipate which side effect of the current drug I would suffer from at a given time – and to plan my work accordingly. It meant to accept that, on some days, I would have such bad pain and cramps that I would not be able get any work done. It meant I had to miss conferences and meetings because they coincided with another treatment cycle. It meant I had to be flexible and change work plans on short notice because I had just been informed that I would have another surgery the following day. And finally, it meant that I somehow had to budget both my costs of living and my medical treatments – not a trivial matter if every treatment cycle costs you 2 to 4 times your monthly doctoral income. 

Although I managed to continue devoting a major part of my life to my PhD, my life with infertility made me aware of my own boundaries and forced me to overstep them many times. I was never sure how my life would look like tomorrow, in two weeks from now, and whether I would be able to work next month. The longer our desire to start a family lasted, the increasingly invasive the treatments became. I was facing permanent frustration because of failed treatment cycles, negative pregnancy tests, paper rejections, and harsh reviewer comments. I started to stay at home, reduced my workload (and output) massively, and skipped unnecessary tasks and meetings. But the more I cut down on my work, the more my goal of completing my PhD seemed to disappear and become unachievable.

It took me a long time to realize that I cannot blame an entire system for being oblivious to my personal battles. Yet, I hope that by showing the courage to tell my story, I have the chance to raise the system’s awareness of these struggles.

I had to acknowledge that I would not be able to finish my work within the designated time frame. I had to tolerate that this would mean ending up without a work contract, accepting a very insecure position with even less money. I became frustrated and disappointed with a system I had devoted major parts of my adult life to. Although I had made the right choice in giving my mental and physical health and well-being the highest priority, I allowed my discontent and frustration with the academic system to take away all my belief in science itself as well as my motivation to contribute to it. In the end, during my internal struggle with the academic system, I lost sight of science itself.

It took me a long time to realize that I cannot blame an entire system for being oblivious to my personal battles. Yet, I hope that by showing the courage to tell my story, I have the chance to raise the system’s awareness of these struggles. I hope to encourage people within academia to be open-minded about the hidden struggles some of us are confronted with, and encourage those affected to take their personal goals, their health, and their sorrows seriously.

Uncertain and precarious job situations along with the expected compliance to frequently move houses pose challenges for ‘young’ scientists that complicate planning their academic and personal future. Academia forces couples to have children later in their career and many scientists will postpone their family plans until they have a more secure or even permanent position. As life scientists, we are well aware of the risks that delaying our family planning holds – and yet, for many of us it seems like waiting is the only solution. As a woman facing the extreme unpredictability of nature, the insecure job situation within the German academic system has increased the unpredictability of my already uncertain live tremendously. The perspective of temporary short-term contracts does not provide appropriate conditions for family planning. In my case, I had to constantly count months and remaining cycles, estimate possible birth dates, all the while knowing I could end up being pregnant and unemployed. Like many other women in STEM careers, I failed to balance having a family and pursuing a scientific career – I slipped through the ‘leaky pipeline.’

Luckily, in recent years, our society has started to acknowledge the difficulties of balancing a family and a career. I am deeply impressed by everyone who manages to have a family and a successful academic career – yet, I often resent these ‘science parents’ for the appreciation their struggles and stories receive. I don’t have children that tie me to a certain place, for whom I have to leave work early to pick them up from kindergarten. I have doctor appointments. I have embryos waiting for me in a freezer. I have physical and emotional pain and immense treatment costs. I am not flexible, but no one can see it. Appreciating and facilitating parenthood in academia is just the first step. Academia, and society altogether for that matter, needs to recognize that trying to become a parent is sometimes just as important and stressful as being a parent. Therefore, it needs to provide support and predictable as well as secure working conditions for parents as well as those trying to get there.

One in seven couples is infertile. It is very likely that several people in your department have faced, are facing or will face the burden of infertility. The needs of people affected by infertility are as diverse as its manifestations are, including intense medical treatment, surgeries, pregnancy loss, donor conceptions or adoptions. There will always be hidden struggles we do not see and there is no universal measure to meet everyone’s personal needs. But there is one bullet-proof method: be sensitive and supportive and praise your mentees when they did a good job. Acknowledge that ‘young’ scientists experience a lot of distress that requires special attention. Not because their work is more stressful than that of their seniors, but because most of the things you will experience while pursuing your PhD are first-time experiences. There is no go-to method of coping with all these minor and major rejections and failures. If you are a mentor, keep in mind, that all these experiences will feel very differently for your PhD student than for you. Care about your colleagues and their success – within and beyond the academic world. Luckily, I have always been blessed with colleagues and mentors who respected my privacy, yet looked behind the curtain, cared for me as a person, and gave me all the freedom and support to pursue my personal goals. A small gesture, a few words, can and will make a great difference.

Rather than having a perfect plan that might just end up being shattered, acknowledge your current feelings, your physical and emotional health. Pursue what you think is important in your life at that specific moment in time – even if this means taking unconventional routes.  

Although the last months have been the toughest of my life – both professionally and personally – I have never regretted the decision to try conceiving at an early age. My life could have turned out very differently and it certainly will still take many unpredictable turns. As a scientist, I know that it is very unlikely that one will experience the same unfortunate course of events my husband and I are currently facing. We ended up in that extreme part of the Gaussian distribution that, as a scientist, I am used to ignore. We are one of these extreme outliers – and yet the experience is very real and significant. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past 5 years, it is that there is absolutely nothing you can plan or rely on in life.

Rather than having a perfect plan that might just end up being shattered, acknowledge your current feelings, your physical and emotional health. Pursue what you think is important in your life at that specific moment in time – even if this means taking unconventional routes. And never grant the system you are working in the power to determine your well-being. Many experiences within everyday academia can be hurtful. It does not mean you are wrong, if you are having trouble handling these moments and situations. It means the place is wrong for you.

Almost 4 years ago, I started my PhD because I was motivated to go on an adventure that I expected to be one of the most challenging, demanding but also eye-opening and inspiring experiences of my life. On my way, I learned that pursuing a PhD was much more challenging and demanding than I could have fathomed. Facing these challenges forced me to go beyond my own limits and surpass myself.

Completing my dissertation was unquestionably the biggest achievement of my life so far. Yet, all these experiences are nothing weighed against the burden of infertility. I would never have thought that finishing my dissertation would be so much easier than meeting one of the most basic human desires. My wish to have a child has lasted longer than the journey to my PhD. I will soon hold my degree in my hands – but I know that something will still be missing.

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