Many of us have shared struggles, especially now. But we don’t always know how to cope with it. The Covid-19 pandemic has had negative impacts on all of us. It has deprived us of things that are crucial for our happiness and health. We haven’t been able to freely see family and friends in person, and it’s hard to exercise wearing a mask. Staycation is nowhere relaxing as taking a trip. The pandemic also creates stresses that slowly drain our mental energy. For example, a thought of contracting an unexpected illness frightens us because it might force us to visit hospital and risk getting infected with the virus. Commuting can be exhausting because of decreased public transit service. At work, the requirement for a low workspace density has created new kinds of stress. We have less time to do experiments in the lab, we need to coordinate with each other to keep the density low, and we cannot go to a coffee shop for a change of scenery when we are tired of staring at the same dataset or draft. Besides these obvious effects, I have noticed that there are also stresses less talked about and perhaps less obvious. For those who work in the laboratory, less freedom in the work schedule creates more pressure to control experiments. This is mentally demanding when research is inherently unpredictable and it’s hard to execute experiments perfectly even under a normal work schedule. For example, getting multiple cell lines to reach a perfect density on a particular day could be challenging to begin with. When I have to plan for this to happen during a narrow window of my assigned shift, it adds an extra layer of uncertainty and anxiety. An increased amount of computer work that we all experience is also a difficulty less talked about. We spend more time on computer planning, writing, reading and attending seminars than usual, but it’s easier to be distracted during computer work and we need a greater effort to stay productive. And for those of us whose productivity relies largely on the data that we generate from laboratory-based experiments, computer work is less likely to give us assurance that we are making progress with our project. But perhaps the most difficult thing about the pandemic is that we never experienced this before, and we struggle to put our finger on exactly what is causing a vague sense of stress and anxiety. Methods to manage these emotions, which each of us have developed throughout our life, might not be useful in this unprecedented situation. Opening up about our emotions helps us cope with stress and anxiety. Sharing our feelings with others helps us cope with stress and negative emotions in multiple ways. For example, when we have concerns, we can get stuck in a cycle of evermore negative thinking. But if you share your feelings about a situation, others might be able to suggest a different or more realistic interpretation of the situation. Personally, explaining my feelings to others helps me boil down my thought process, so I talk about the same issue to multiple people. Another example is when we have doubts about ourselves, we might wonder if our personality traits are responsible for our struggles and if we might be doing something wrong. We often assume that ‘others seem to be doing just fine’ and wonder why we can’t do the same. But when we talk to others, we may learn that others share a similar struggle, and this makes us realize that it’s normal to be affected by the situation in a way that we are. In addition, knowing that there is someone you can safely open up to gives you a sense of belonging. This is particularly powerful during pandemic, because our physical distance makes us mentally isolated as well. On a more practical note, the person you open up to might teach you a coping method that worked for them and you might come out of a conversation with a concrete solution. Even when you don’t gain any new insight, simply having somebody listen to you and not disagree with you lets you know that your feelings are valid. In these ways, opening up about our vulnerable feelings can help us navigate tough times. In our lab, we share our feelings a lot. Our lab hosts people who deeply care about creating a happy working environment. Our PI took the time to ask us how we are doing every time there was a significant shift in our working condition during the Covid-19 lockdown. All of us in the lab value open conversation about each other’s feelings, so we share not just what makes us happy but also our struggles. We check in on each other when we sense that somebody is not having a good time – it’s as if the entire lab is a support group for each member of the lab. More recently, we each have a tiny jar at our desk, in which we leave each other a positive note. In the notes, we express the appreciation for helping with an experiment or simply say something nice about the person. These notes have helped me feel motivated and appreciated when I am feeling down. And when I am distracted from work because of a concern in my life outside of the lab, I know that it’s safe to let my lab mates know about it. Usually they offer to support me in any way they can, and this helps me feel at peace and focus on work. There is also a benefit to supporting others. When I can provide support to somebody having a bad day, I feel consolation in knowing that the lessons I learned from my own struggles are useful for others and that I didn’t struggle for nothing. Postdocs and senior lab members can help normalize the conversation about vulnerabilities. In a working environment where everyone is capable and expectations are set high, more junior trainees like PhD students, junior specialists and younger lab technicians might worry about appearing not confident in front of their colleagues. They can find it hard to ‘admit the weakness’ or allow themselves to be affected by ‘small things that shouldn’t be an issue if you are capable enough’. In my personal experience both as a former PhD student and a postdoc, if postdocs actively open up about their own struggles, it sends a powerful message to more junior trainees that it’s okay to talk about vulnerabilities. By normalizing such conversations, postdocs can embody an idea that vulnerabilities do not discredit our competence as a scientist. Younger trainees might learn that it’s natural for them to experience self-doubts and insecurities if they know that even postdocs can feel uncertain about themselves. The conversation on mistakes might also become more productive if postdocs encourage a non-judgmental narrative. Oftentimes the harshest criticism comes from our inner voice, and many people tend to see their errors in a disproportionately negative light. I’ve heard many younger trainees talking about themselves as if they are a total failure when they made a tiny mistake. They might also speak as if they are responsible for an experiment that didn’t go perfectly although an oversight that led to the outcome was inevitable. When people engage in these conversations of self-blame, they tend to beat themselves up for a prolonged period of time. If senior lab members promote a more compassionate narrative, however, they may find it easier to accept the mistakes and move on faster to a conversation about a preventive measure for future experiments. As a postdoc, our words and actions carry more weight than those of younger members in the research community. While day-to-day research activities remind us of our responsibilities, it may be harder to feel the positive impacts that we can bring to the lab and the community. I know from my experience that being open with my lab mates has helped normalize the conversation about a mental aspect of research experience, and helped create an even more supportive lab environment than before. In a career field that inevitably creates competition for opportunities, postdocs may not feel comfortable advertising our struggles to those who are in more senior positions, but we can certainly talk about it to younger researchers to create a safer space for them. AUTHOR
Miho Tanaka
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The prompt “How I found my postdoc,” on its surface, is a simple one. However, a good bit of deconvolution is needed to trace the series of decisions that ultimately led to my postdoctoral position here at UCSF, all of which were influenced by changing career goals, a desire to explore the country, and perhaps most of all, the “two body problem”. Each of these key influencing factors could be the topic of posts in their own right; however, here I will give the relatively streamlined version of my path to my postdoc, with some nods to these various themes along the way. To begin, we need to go back about 10 years, to my junior year of college. Not to get overly sentimental, but this was when I met my to-be wife, Amy, who was a fellow Biochemistry major and student researcher at our mid-sized liberal arts college in St. Paul, Minnesota. At the time, I had spent the prior two years of my studies focused exclusively on gaining admittance to a medical school and eventually becoming a physician. However, over the course of those two years, I had become increasingly involved in the small, but lively undergraduate research program. There were no graduate students at our institution, so both Amy and I led our own projects. Progress was glacial in pace, but I was enamored with the research process. By the time I started gaining clinical experience, my desire to be a physician had slowly waned, and I decided to simultaneously apply to both medical schools and PhD programs. As the application season began in earnest, Amy and I also started dating. Initially, we didn’t know where the relationship was going to lead, but when we each had independently decided that grad school was our likely next step, we started applying to a few common schools. As we began to interview at different institutions, our relationship deepened. In April, we went on a date to Khan’s Mongolian Grill in Minneapolis and had the conversation that had been six months in the making. An interesting aspect of the scientific path is that career-defining decisions often align with the big life decisions. We had to not only decide what graduate school would be best for us, but also if we wanted to embark on a cross-country move with a significant other, all at the ripe age of 22. Ultimately, we decided that we did want to take the plunge together. We chose to expand our horizons beyond the cold upper Midwest and move together to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill to pursue our PhDs. Five years later, as our PhDs were winding down and we started to consider life after graduate school, we both knew postdocs were likely for each of us. However, over the course of our graduate studies, our paths had diverged, with Amy leaning towards a career in industry, and I towards the academic journey. This led to a broad, nationwide search for postdocs where we would each be fulfilled. Given the Bay Area’s stature as a biomedical research hub, much of our search focused on labs in this area, and Amy was soon offered an exciting position at Genentech. Unfortunately, there weren’t any research labs working in coagulation, my field of graduate study, which forced me to look for other potential landing spots. I had always had an interest in protein engineering, so my initial search focused on labs in this field. As Amy already had secured a desirable position in the Bay Area, the next few weeks for me were anxiety-ridden as I sifted through hundreds of potential labs. Fortunately, Amy’s new PI was willing to have a couple conversations with me about protein engineering labs he felt would provide a good postdoc experience, which was a tremendous help. As stressful as this period was, it was a blessing in disguise. After reaching out to around a dozen labs, I managed to secure a spot in my current lab doing proteomics and protein engineering, which were two topics I was keen on learning coming out of graduate school. Now, we are both about two and a half years into our postdoctoral journeys. Looking ahead, I am hoping to integrate the new approaches I have learned as a postdoc into a coagulation-focused research program. I’m not sure what our next step together will be, but it will be an exciting one! Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash AUTHOR
Jamie Byrnes |