Since my early youth, I have been interested in science. Passionate about biology, I knew as a teenager that I wanted to be part of the academic community, working for the improvement of human knowledge, for a better understanding of the living world. I wanted to become a researcher.
After several years of hard work, aiming for this goal, I finally made it. I was pursuing a PhD, part of a laboratory in an institute held in high esteem: I was doing science. However, I quickly noticed discrepancies between the vision I had of academia and its actual reality. I observed people desperate for funding, working extra hours, writing application after application. I witnessed egos clashing, political maneuvers for a few square meters or a piece of equipment. For the first time, I saw the exploitation of students by PIs, individuals breaking down, people suffering.
I was actually lucky. I had a very understanding PI, present and enthusiastic, with enough funding to allow me to focus on my work. I considered my unhappy colleagues as victims of unfortunate circumstances, perhaps more fragile or unlucky than I was. During my PhD, I also realized I was quite proficient at my job. Despite being in a small lab, I managed to produce a more than respectable body of work.
Encouraged by this success and driven by my old ambition, I continued in science and started a postdoc in Dresden, here in Germany. Moving there, I was struck by the quality of the science being produced. How many of my scientific idols have roamed the Johannestadt campus? Excited, I began working immediately. However, I soon started to feel a void created by the transition from one country to another. I was suddenly separated from my family and social circles, in a country where I only imperfectly mastered the language. Although I know many of us go through this process, I can’t help but wonder how disruptive it is to be uprooted from friends and loved ones every few years. Each time, we have to rebuild everything, make new friends while keeping in touch with family, partners, and old acquaintances. But we have so little time to do so, to meet new people and learn their language.
Fortunately, my new institute takes social life very seriously, and many parties are organized to make all the international students feel like they belong to a festive family. Every week, we gather and celebrate. Occasionally, we party late into the night. It’s a blessing to release pressure and stress without having to laboriously rebuild a new social circle.
However, this comes at a price that took me some time to realize: alcohol. Since I arrived here, I wished to integrate and noticed it was challenging to bond outside of these social drinking times. Even to a point where we miss part of the scientific life and opportunities if we do not participate. Of course, no one forces me to consume alcohol, but everyone is tipsy, and beer is so cheap, if not free… So, I started drinking more regularly. As I realized this, I also noticed worrying behaviors from my colleagues, like people stashing beers to get drunk at every opportunity. This is not surprising; after all, there is so much pressure at work, and drinking provides temporary relief. As an eminent member of the TUD said in her introductory speech, “work hard, party hard…”. In my case, during the toughest moments, I resorted to drinking alone at home, just to pass the time and make the pressure bearable.
Speaking of pressure, I also noticed how demanding this new environment was. I saw people working themselves to the brink of nervous breakdowns. I saw a PI yelling at people, I witnessed abuse and harassment… I had seen some of it before, but here, it is more concentrated. As I mentioned, I’m lucky enough to be reasonably good at doing science, and no one has yelled at me so far. Actually, there’s no need for it. I’m very susceptible to pressure, and I dutifully started to work harder and harder as well. However, despite achieving some scientific success, this also took a toll on my mental health.
Spending hours in the lab, far more than what my contract states, I experienced alienation. I was doing my dream job, the one I had aimed for since my youth and at which I was skilled… and I was not happy. Week after week, the gap between expectations and reality, between success and satisfaction, grew wider. The pressure I was putting on myself to comply and meet expectations started to take a toll on my sanity. It dragged down my mood little by little until it reached a malaise so strong I had to seek the help of a psychologist, who diagnosed me with depression.
I arrived two years ago, full of hope and ambition, excited about the science I was to do here. My expectations collided on a world so selfish and competitive that it killed much of my enthusiasm. Despite clinging to my hopes and desires, despite being successful and probably destined for a career in academia, I ended up depressed and alcoholic, realizing in shock how common this situation is among my colleagues. How many of them have told me about their psychotherapy? How many drown their sorrows in alcohol to forget work for a few hours? What kind of system nurtures the brightest minds only to shatter them on a reality so harsh that we are forced to seek solace in drinks, drugs, or psychotherapy to bear the reality of our daily lives?