Beginning a PhD feels a bit like being dropped into a maze with a notebook, a laptop, and a vague sense that you are meant to “discover something new”. Some people run through the maze sprinting; others stare at the walls, convinced the exit is hiding behind a paywalled paper. Over the years, I have watched many students lose momentum by their second or third year, not because they lacked talent, but because they lacked a plan. The work piles up quietly, like laundry, until suddenly it resembles a small mountain.
Before discussing what helped me, it is worth acknowledging that there are two main flavours of PhD.
The first is the project-based kind, common in places such as Imperial College London, the University of Manchester or the University of Southampton. You join an existing team, working on a well-defined project with clear goals. It is a bit like boarding a train that is already moving; you still need to run quite fast, but at least the direction is obvious.
The second type, which I tackled, is the wide-open PhD. You are given a broad research area and invited to find your own corner of it. The freedom is delightful: you can chase the questions that genuinely spark your curiosity. Unfortunately, you may discover, after days of excitement, that somebody answered your question in 1992 and did it rather thoroughly. The early phase can therefore feel like archaeological work: digging, brushing away dust, and trying to work out what still counts as “new”.
During my own doctorate, I set a few strict rules that kept me moving forward. They did not make the journey easy, but they did stop it from becoming chaotic.
Time must be tamed.
I treated my PhD like a full-time job. Everything, from reading to lunch breaks, went into my calendar. Even walks were scheduled. This structure becomes essential if you are juggling part-time work. Chaos may be romantic in novels, but in research it simply eats your progress.
See the big picture early, even if it’s blurry.
At the start, most of us have only a rough sense of what we are doing. I created a three-to-four-year Gantt chart anyway. It was imaginary, but it gave shape to my goals. Year one: literature review, research questions, one conference presentation. Year two: study design, ethics approval, data collection, data analysis, ideally a journal article. Plans change, of course, but having a direction is far better than wandering aimlessly with a stack of PDFs. Have a list of potential journals and conferences you would like to submit your work to.
Mastering the art of being supervised
Supervisors are busy people; some are practically forces of nature. To make the most of their time, I booked weekly or fortnightly catch-ups. I always arrived with something concrete, potential problem statements, ideas, questions. Telling a supervisor you have “read a few papers” is like telling a dentist you have considered brushing your teeth. They need substance. A PhD is not designed for spoonfeeding; it is designed for sharpening your thinking.
Network as if your research depends on it, because it does.
Talking to colleagues, attending conferences, chatting to senior researchers over coffee… these small conversations often unlocked ideas I had not considered. Do not wait until your topic is “perfect”. Discussing your work in its messy, early stages is how it grows.
Forget perfectionism. It is the enemy.
Writing an 80,000-word thesis in a few months is impossible unless you have been writing all along. I forced myself to write a little every day, even if it was nonsense. Brain-dump paragraphs later become useful paragraphs for thesis chapters. Use Zotero for references; learn LaTeX early; future-you will thank present-you for this kindness.
Protect your sanity.
Brain fog is not a myth; it is a loyal companion during a PhD. Some days your brain behaves like a well-oiled machine; other days it resembles a confused potato. This is normal. The loneliness can also be real, especially if you do not have a large research group. I made a point of keeping hobbies, meditating, and taking weekends off when possible. Trips, rest days, and doing absolutely nothing occasionally are not indulgences, they are maintenance.
Across the years, I experienced the usual mixture of breakthroughs, meltdowns, and existential questions (“Why am I doing this?”, “What is knowledge?”, “Should I simply become a florist?”). Yet I also discovered a great deal about myself: that resilience grows quietly, that ideas mature slowly, and that I was capable of far more than I assumed.
A PhD stretches you in strange ways, but it changes you. Very few people choose to wander this path, and even fewer finish it. If you are starting yours now, know that it will challenge you, surprise you, and ultimately shape you into a researcher with your own voice.
And that is the real prize: not the title, but the transformation.
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