Margins of My Dissertation : Life Lessons that My PhD Taught Me

By Chhavi

I expected a spark of joy upon graduating from my PhD. Instead, there was stillness. A quiet that didn’t celebrate the finish, but asked: What did all of this truly mean?

Was it just about writing papers, answering reviewer comments, and collecting citations? Or had this long, often messy journey transformed me in deeper, more personal ways? Once the noise quieted, reflection surfaced. Not just on my research, but on who I had become in the process.

The answers, I realized, lived not in the main chapters of my dissertation, but in the margins — those blank spaces that don’t carry equations or arguments — but carry what truly changed. The breakdowns, the risings, the softening, the hardening, the unlearning, the relearning, the pauses, the unexpected kindness. These reflections became this piece. This isn’t a success story or a guide to academic glory. It’s a deeply personal account of growth, written for anyone who’s been through—or is about to begin—the long haul of a PhD. 

Are we forgetting the human behind the author? Do I recommend doing a PhD? What parts of me did it sharpen and what did it soften? What did I have to unlearn and relearn? Read on to find out.

Kindness is Not a Footnote — It's a Foundation

I’d heard that “words can heal,” but it wasn’t until I sat across from people on hard days—mine and theirs—that I understood how powerful gentle words can be. Not hollow flattery, not surface-level positivity, but real, sincere, warm words.

Many think that to be taken seriously, one must be harsh and emotionless. But some of the most thoughtful and intellectually rigorous people I've met are also deeply kind. And yes, many of them are men, despite the stereotype that emotional warmth is a feminine trait. I’ve learned that choosing compassion doesn’t diminish your intellect, it deepens it. Kindness doesn’t take away rigor, it humanizes it. You don’t need to be harsh to be right and you don’t need to wound to make a point.

A kind word after a failed submission that soothes an aching heart, a moment of listening during burnout, the simple act of checking in -- these don’t show up in your CV, but these are what keep people going. Especially newcomers, who're still building their sense of self and in professions where people suffer silently and often feel alone.

The Human Behind the Author

Guilty as charged, the naive me used to subconsciously judge others—and myself—by citation counts and the shine of CVs. But slowly, I saw how misguided—and frankly, how pitiable and inhumane—this mindset was.

Even the most decorated scholars are just people. There can be brilliant minds who can leave one feeling cold, and soft-spoken researchers whose presence can bring warmth and ease. What matters to me now is the character of the person. How do we treats others. Do we listen. Do we uplift. Do we rise after falling.

This shift feels even more urgent today, when paper acceptances are often random, culture is fueled by hype, and visibility can overshadow thoughtful work. Tying worth to these moving targets is a guaranteed path to exhaustion as one will always be chasing.

Now, I care utmost about the human behind the author. Everything else is secondary.

Becoming THE Author

There was a time when I did research to prove something, I cannot pinpoint exactly what I was trying to prove, perhaps seeking validation as a serious researcher?? Nevermind, that part of me feels distant now. I started working not to prove anything, but to discover what I actually wanted to say. And slowly, I moved towards becoming THE author — not just of papers, but of my own questions, voice and direction.

I still care deeply about research, but I do it with a different intent : to feel at peace and for clarity. Because these questions keep tugging at me, and answering them feels meaningful, even when no one is watching. This resonance is far more grounding I must say.

Keep Moving—You Never Know When It Clicks

One of the most profound lessons of my PhD is: things shift when you keep moving.

There were months when nothing worked, when rejections piled up, writing stalled, or I doubted the point of it all. But something always changed when I stayed in motion. An idea clicked. Stuff clarified. Help arrived unexpectedly.

It didn’t mean pushing relentlessly or ignoring rest, it meant not abandoning everything completely. So much of progress is not about brilliance, but about staying in the game just long enough for the tide to turn.

Confusion, I’ve learned, isn’t a sign to stop. It’s a sign to lean in.

There’s a quote I’ve come to live by: If you feel lost, study harder. If you feel behind, move with discipline. If you feel unsure, create something anyway.
Clarity comes through motion and self-authority is earned in small, quiet ways.

Real Friends, Real Breaks, Real Joy

One of the most unexpected lessons of this journey was about rest and friendship.

Burnout doesn’t knock politely—it arrives unannounced. The only way I survived was by building rhythms of recovery: real vacations, long walks, weekend hikes, moving my body, eating food I enjoyed, talking to people I like. Some of my best thinking didn’t happen at my desk—it happened while traveling, laughing, swimming, or just being deeply present with life. And through this, I found my people. Friends who were honest and real. Who celebrated my wins and held me during losses. Who reminded me that I am more than my research — why limit yourself to research anyway when you could be soooooo much more??

Do I Recommend doing a PhD?

Only if you know it’s going to break you—and rebuild you—in ways you didn’t expect. If you come in with a romantic and rozy idea of research, it will shatter away extremely quickly. But if you’re curious, willing to unlearn, and open to being reshaped by failure and growth—it can be profound.

Just don’t go in expecting only answers. You’ll come out with better questions.

So yes, my PhD didn’t just teach me how to publish, present or argue a thesis. It taught me how to be a better human. One who is gentler, wiser, and a little more peaceful. These are the margins of my dissertation and they hold more than any chapter ever could.