#phd thoughts

There is something about trains that makes me introspective. The slow rhythm, the blurred landscapes, the brief halts in between—each stop feels like a memory, a stage of my life. Some stations I chose. Others I stumbled into. Sometimes I barely looked outside before rushing off to the next destination.

I am on the ride back home from a week in England. I got to see R.F. Kuang in Cambridge, promoting her new book Katabasis. I also got to spend time with family in London. Sitting here, with the train swaying and the stations flashing by, I can’t help but think about my own academic journey.

I always was a school girlie. I loved books, loved classes, loved learning. But I also felt awkward and often bored because everything looked too easy.

I wanted to study social sciences or anthropology, but my Indian parents did not understand. I ended up in medical school for two years, feeling miserable, depressed, and failing twice. It felt like a train stop where I got off at the wrong platform, and for a while, I thought the journey had ended there.

But I had a fighting spirit. I fought hard with my parents to switch to psychology. They weren’t supportive, but in Belgium, university is affordable and I had a scholarship, so I could make that choice. My parents being South Asian meant everything was about academics, but on top of that, they were also abusive, so making autonomous decisions was complicated. Honestly, if my studies hadn’t been paid for, I don’t know if they would have let me.

Starting psychology felt like a renaissance. I finally rediscovered the joy of learning and got better grades. My confidence slowly came back. I even started dreaming of teaching and doing research. I didn’t know back then that I would actually teach at that same university years later.

I wanted to do an exchange in Canada or England, but my parents refused. Still, I went on with my studies.

The more I advanced, the less diversity I saw. So I did a postgraduate in social and intercultural psychology. At the end, I had two offers: a PhD or a project manager position at the university on a program against discrimination. I chose the latter, because it allowed me to work in academia without the full commitment.

At that time, I realized something important: I wanted a PhD because I loved learning, writing, and fighting for social causes. But the working conditions were terrible. Competition, isolation, no boundaries. I wanted to learn, not burn out.

So I said no to the PhD. The first time.

I worked at the university for five years. It was a good experience, but watching my PhD colleagues confirmed many of my fears. The loneliness, the stress, the lack of balance. After those years, I was again offered a PhD. And again—I said no.

Instead, I joined an NGO doing antiracist work: political advocacy, educational workshops, writing papers. I loved it. The young depressed student had become a woman in her thirties with a purpose.

Last year, I was even asked to teach practical classes in group dynamics for postgrad students. Teaching—something my 19-year-old self would never have believed possible.

But from September 2024 to March 2025, my NGO job became toxic. My manager was overworked and perfectionist, and our friendship turned into manipulation. I burnt out. I crashed. Depression took over and I went on medical leave.

I am still recovering. And while trains usually rush you from point A to B, this one forces me to sit still, to look out of the window. To reflect.

What place does work have in my life? What place does learning have? And what place does writing have? I don’t always have the answers. But writing here on Tumblr, in English rather than French (my working language), is a way of reclaiming joy. A way of finding myself again.

I think about 19-year-old me, depressed, failing exam after exam, wondering what was wrong with her brain.

I think about 6-months-ago me, burnt out and doubting if I was good at anything.

I wish I could hug them both. Tell them it’s going to be okay. That life is not linear, that the stations we pass by still lead us somewhere. The train keeps moving, even if the path is not the one we first imagined. It’s not going to be medical school. It’s not going to be the NGO work. But it will be something else—something that is ours.

This trip felt like a small hug from God (or the universe, if you prefer). I dreamt of studying at Cambridge or Oxford. And here I was, sleeping in a Cambridge dorm, meeting one of my favorite authors, wandering through colleges. Maybe not the exact dream, but still—something beautiful.

Now I am thinking about the future. About maybe doing a postgrad in South Asian Studies at SOAS London, maybe even applying for a PhD later. It feels scary in my mid-thirties, when I also want to build a family, have a slower life, and a stable home. But thinking about it again gave me a spark I hadn’t felt in months.

And today, I feel more confident going into a PhD than I ever did in my 20s. I think I would be able to see it as a professional project like any other, have better boundaries, and not let myself be crushed by competition or toxic academia culture. Even if I’ve never been in research, I have always lingered around that area, and I know enough about the field to understand what I’d be stepping into—something my 20s self did not.

I also realized that I would rather work on South Indian Studies than social psychology, which was my postgrad base. Social psychology allowed me to do a lot of antiracist work, but always for the white gaze. South Indian Studies would be for myself. A way of reconnecting with my roots and reclaiming my own narrative.

But that would mean uprooting my life from Belgium. Organising a whole shift with my husband far from my sister, my friends and my habits.

Trains remind me: the destination remains, even if the route changes. I am not sure PhD and academia is the destination, but it might be a route I can take to live my passions. I don’t know what waits for me. I don’t know if, amid recovering from burnout, I will have the energy to uproot my life from Belgium to England and go back to studies.

So it is common for people from North America to start undergrad University at 17. I have met someone who is part of a University acceleration programme in North America that skips two year of secondary school, so one could go do undergrad at age 15. And if that person is real keen and do lots of AP courses you could skip a year in a four-year undergraduate degree (I have seen people done this too), So one could technically graduate undergrad at the age of 15+3=18. It is totally possible to skip Masters and go straight to do a PhD (if the person is really good, not uncommon). And now, I know we are switching country here, but just want to do this under the premise of being possible routes in real-life, you can move to the UK and do a 3 year PhD programme (yes those are common in the UK and some people do finish in 3 years). Then someone, of course very bright and highly driven person, but probably not near the intelligence level of Reed, could graduate with a PhD at the age of 21... I know there are people who graduated at age 23 (top uni in the world)... and is aware an age 21 PhD is very rare, but just want to write something to clear my thoughts on that technically age 21 PhDs are totally plausible in real-life situations. And if Reed is home-schooled...self-taught whatever, who kinda could go to uni at any age..he could have gotten a PhD even earlier??