Post-dissertation Blues

Every year, as March trips into April, the Ph.D. dissertation defense announcements patter in like spring rains. It is a time of stress, yes, but also joy and celebration as a huge career and life milestone is reached. 

These days, however, my first reaction to a defense announcement is to metaphorically grab the (ex-) student---be they friend, mentee, or stranger---by the shoulders, whispering intently: Do you KNOW yet? Has anyone TOLD you?

No? Well, I will: Get ready for the emptiness. The blues. The "what now?". The "so that's it?" And if you're already feeling these things? You are not alone. 

I've felt this way. Many others have felt (and do feel) this way. We just don't talk about it that much.

*

I've written before about the sudden pulmonary embolism that threw a wrench in my dissertation plans. I ended up defending and passing a few weeks later, but I haven't yet talked about the blues that followed. Of course, almost dying certainly played a role in my emotional state for the rest of 2023, but this was something separate.

I remember going out to a Mediterranean dinner the evening after my dissertation defense, with my mom and brother and a few local friends. What (I thought) should have been a happy and joyous occasion -- I defended! I lived! -- left me instead feeling a bit ... normal. Numb, even. It was like my brain couldn't grasp that I had actually reached the milestone I had worked four years to achieve. This troubled me, but I put the feeling aside, trying to enjoy the moment. 

A few days later, I sat with my mom in my parents' living room, ruminating. "Melancholy" is the word I landed on: a pensive, lingering sadness that dragged at me, but which I couldn't quite pinpoint. My mom, concerned, asked if I wanted to talk to my doctor about adjusting my antidepressants. "No," I replied, "I think this is... okay. Maybe?" It didn't feel like my usual depression -- that familiar feeling of standing at the edge of a metaphorical cliff, ready for a stiff breeze to knock me off the edge. This feeling was more a complicated emptiness. 

The more I turned the feeling over in my mind like a worn stone, the more I realized how familiar it was. It was the feeling of graduating college, not sure if I'd find another home quite like William & Mary. A distinct homesickness, less for a place than for a state of being, being sure that accomplishment should overshadow the uncertainty of change. 

In the face of incredible achievement, I was feeling unmoored. 

*

There's a term for this feeling: the arrival fallacy. Coined by Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar (but as usual, describing a feeling that has existed for a long time). This reaction happens with many milestones and accomplishments, not restricted to academics. Looking back, this sense of loss is completely expected -- how else should you feel when you've been working towards the same goal for quite a while, one which may have taken over your life, and that goal is suddenly met?

I'm reminded of many a cat-and-mouse cartoon, where Wile E. Coyote or Tom chases their quarry off a cliff or up a mountainside, then scrambles in the air when they realize the ground has left them. Our momentum can carry us to our goal, but sometimes our feet leave the ground and we are left without clear ground to trod. 

(My friend Dave often says he feels "like the dog who caught the car". This is also an apt metaphor for this feeling of "now what?")
​
*

I don't have any solutions for this feeling, but even acknowledging its existence is, I think, a step in the right direction. Emotions are not good or bad, but just signals that need paying attention to. The post-dissertation blues is not something that needs us to question "Shouldn't I feel happier?" This feeling is just a sign that our psyches are reeling from a sudden loss of ground. Let the loss exist. Acknowledge its usefulness, and know that it won't last. You'll feel like celebrating once the shock has worn off, I promise.

And remember: Happiness is something carved out one day at a time, through small choices on who we surround ourselves with, how our living situation makes us feel, what we feed ourselves, and how we exercise, create, and self-express. We can't expect it to come just from big events and milestones. Invest in those small happy things.

*

Further reading: 

• You Accomplished Something Great. So Now What? A.C. Shilton, The New York Times. 2019.
• Mastering the Post-Performance Blues. John C. Buckner, Percussive Notes. 2013. This short article focuses on the depression musicians can often feel after a big performance, but I find his advice particularly resonates with my academic experience.