Shortly after finishing the PhD people starting telling me that it was really common to get depressed after handing in and “did I feel OK”? The answer was “yes!” I felt lighter than I had in over a year. How ridiculous to think I would be down. What is not to like about seeing long neglected friends and family, and having those languid lie-ins and aimless wandering through shops? That was the first ten days.
The second ten days were a bit less indulgent and involved settling ooooold invoices, catching up on doctors’ appointments, unpacking boxes left over from our move but still seeing friends, getting my hair cut and updating my wardrobe. How could I not like this?
After the second ten days I woke up one day feeling really low. For me “low” looks like ratty, joyless, aimless, forgetful and compulsive sugar eating. One Saturday morning I sat on the edge of the bed and mumbled to Rob: “I’m not in a great space.” And then I burst into tears.
I decided to get professional help. I was feeling, I finally realised, bereaved in some way. It made sense, the therapist reassured me. A huge presence in my life had fallen away. This PhD had been a constant companion for over six years, had structured my daily ritual, how and when I exercised and ate, my focus, who I did and didn’t spend time with, my interests, my reading, my way of thinking about the world. It had provided me with some of my identity, and perhaps most importantly it had given me permission to live in a particular way. In a way which was unusual for mothers. Who wouldn’t miss that?
“You are in free fall” the therapist said. “The ground has fallen from underneath your feet. It’s scary. Question is, where do you want to land?” Where indeed?
Where do YOU want to land post-PhD?
PS. This is the last blog post of me blathering on about my PhD. Next blogging outing will be in a new format blog and about where I landed after that downer! See you on the other side.