If I had a choice, I would NOT do a PhD again.

And if someone asked me if I would recommend doing a PhD, I would immediately say no. 

The romanticised image of a PhD is often just the final photo of a happy graduate in a cap and gown. The reality of a PhD is a difficult, often painful, journey of self-discovery, intellectual struggle, and personal resilience that tests a person’s limits in every possible way. 

In January 2021 when  I initially embarked on this degree, I thought the hardest part would be the research itself… The data collection, the analysis, the writing. Turns out, the hardest part was everything BUT the research.

My PhD journey had me questioning the validity of the entire academic system particularly it ties to capitalism and exploitation. In this post I am going to share my personal observations from my experience. I want to say that if you work in academia, then the things you will read in this post will not be new to you. Nothing here is groundbreaking. But you aren’t my intended audience for this post. I am writing this in the hope that someone somewhere resonates and feels that I have articulated thoughts they have been too drained to express. Alternatively, if you’re interested in pursuing a PhD, this might help you to make an informed decision. 

Before reading this post you should also know that I worked full time as an international school teacher throughout my PhD, and there was a 9 year gap between completing my Masters and my PhD. The reason I mention this is because often advice about doing a PhD will come from people who work at universities or from people who studied all in one go with no real world industry experience outside of university. These people’s experiences do not reflect the majority of us. I hope my perspective provides a more realistic view for the average person.

These are the hard truths I wish I knew before embarking on undoubtedly what was the most mentally and physically draining journey of my life:

The insulated nature of academia confounded and frustrated me

Have you heard of the “ivory tower“ stereotype? This is the idea that academia is a self-contained world disconnected from the “real world.” For the last 4 years I tried my hardest to immerse myself in this world but it left me feeling disconnected and unable to conform to its highly nuanced structure. The endless titles, the medieval procedures, lengthy timelines… everything just seemed at odds with my “real life”, where I had reasonable deadlines, met them and I moved on. Going back on things, editing, revising, reflecting, waiting months for feedback… I felt like the reality of a PhD was unnecessarily long and inefficient. 

This academic insulation stems from a combination of institutional structures, cultural norms, and communication barriers that create a world of its own. To some extent, all industries are like this but it’s particularly jarring in academia where the industry needs non academics to survive. After all, even if every person employed by a university was pursuing a degree, it still would not be enough to sustain the industry. And yet, this world is incredibly unwelcoming to us.

The success metrics within academia often diverge from what the public needs. Academics are primarily rewarded for publishing in high-impact scholarly journals, securing research grants, and earning tenure. These activities are critical for a scholar’s career but often do not prioritise public outreach or communication- which is what I always thought should be the guiding principles of research.

Out of the Ivory Tower: Why Academia and Industry Don’t See Eye to Eye

The stereotype that academics are “out of touch” is a deeply ingrained one, and from my personal experience, it’s not without some basis in reality. While it’s an oversimplification, it points to a genuine disconnect that can exist between the academic world and the public. I can relate to two incidents from my journey that highlighted this to me.

For context I pursued my PhD in a country away from my chosen university. This is the nature of expat life and I didn’t feel that this posed any kind of disadvantage for me due to the digital nature of today’s education.

Early on in my writing journey, one of my supervisors asked me if I could find a local university in the city where I was living, ask for permission to use their library and make weekly trips to sit there and work so I could feel immersed in ‘the university atmosphere’. I thought this was kind of a bizarre suggestion because going somewhere not open to the public and asking to use a space others are paying for seems somewhat… audacious? In the same conversation, the other supervisor suggested taking time off to go on a writing retreat with other PhD students. Which probably sounds like a wonderful suggestion. But when you think of the fact that I worked full time while pursuing this PhD (while moving countries in the middle of the degree), organizing a retreat (where would I find these other students willing to go on this retreat?) taking precious time off to travel somewhere to do something I could easily do in my house seemed rather peculiar. 

A few months before I submitted my final thesis I was told that this was the hardest part. My one supervisor shared that “many students take weeks off work to complete the writing of their thesis- maybe this is something you could consider?” To me, this implied that I wasn’t working hard enough because I wasn’t considering this. Now yes, universities do grant academic leave to their staff who are pursuing academic goals- it can be anywhere from a few weeks to a year depending on the specifics of the sabbatical.

But NOT EVERYONE IS IN ACADEMIA.

I work full time- in my industry- as the sole breadwinner for my household. If I asked for a month off from work to stay home and type up my thesis, I would have no job to return to. It was insane to even suggest such a thing in my opinion. 

The concept of someone working outside of academia and how different their profession and life is structured is something that most academics cannot comprehend. Even if they did once work in industry, with the rapid evolution of the career landscape in the last 5-10 years I truly don’t believe that they can understand the demands of what it means to immerse  yourself in one world (your job) and throw yourself into another completely different world (academia) because for them this is one and the same.

The confusion of tradition with best practice

The PhD process is often seen as a place of pure intellectual freedom, but my reality of a PhD was that it’s a rigid system that can stifle creativity and forces students to conform to traditional methods. While the goal is to produce original work, the journey itself felt like a tightrope walk where I had to adhere to strict, pre-defined rules.

From the beginning to the end of the journey, you are expected to conform to a set of age-old practices and ways of thinking/writing that haven’t shifted significantly in the last 50 years. 

Just because something was always done this way, doesn’t mean that is the best way.

Starting with the thesis topic; this is judged by how well it fits into and extends this existing body of work. A project that is too radical or unconventional may be deemed “un-publishable” or “too risky” by your advisor and peers. My field of study is humanities, specifically education. I soon learnt that there is a strong bias towards quantitative research (data, statistics, surveys) over qualitative research (interviews, ethnography, case studies). If your creative idea involves a more narrative or interpretive approach, it may be dismissed as unscientific or less rigorous; you have to work twice as hard to justify your methodology. 

You are expected to write in a way that is objective and impartial, which can feel unnatural and limiting. The pressure to conform to this rigid style made my writing process feel less like an act of creation and more like a tedious technical exercise. The joy of discovery and the personal journey of the research felt excised from the final thesis submission.

I know what you’re thinking- the PhD is supposed to be an original contribution to knowledge, BUT you have to achieve this originality within a very narrow, pre-defined structure. This creates a paradox. You are encouraged to push boundaries, but only within the confines of established norms. 

The academic reward system also works against true innovation. The ultimate goal of a PhD is to produce research that is publishable in a top-tier journal. These journals are often conservative and favor incremental, low-risk research over truly disruptive ideas. A project that is too innovative will be rejected by peer reviewers because it doesn’t fit neatly into existing paradigms. 

While PhD programs are designed to teach you to be an independent thinker, the reality is that the structure can often feel like a cage. Your creativity is limited to finding a small, unexamined corner of a well-lit room, not building a new room entirely.

Peer review is a filter, not a stamp of credibility

While peer review is widely considered the gold standard for academic credibility, it’s a system with significant flaws and biases that can exclude valuable knowledge and voices. You only need to publish- actually no- just submit- ONE article for publication before you realise this. 

Peer review is an evaluation process in which a scholarly work, such as a research article, is assessed by experts (peers) in the same field to determine its quality, validity, and significance before it is published. But who gets to decide what is considered worthy of publishing when the criteria itself sets to exclude the vast majority of the global south?

Some of you reading this already know that English is my native language. I hail from a part of South Africa within a community where English became the lingua franca thanks to centuries of colonialism. Yes I code switch but English is what I speak, consume media in, teach my students in and of course write my works in. 

But even I struggle with the nuanced, formal, and often complex language required for a scholarly article. And in case you didn’t know- I even taught high school English for ten years. 

Look, let’s unpack this- the vast majority of top-tier academic journals are published in English. This immediately places non-native English speakers at a disadvantage. The very notion of what constitutes “good writing” in academia is tied to a Western, English-language tradition. An article written by a researcher whose first language is not English may be rejected not for its content, but for its grammatical errors, unusual syntax, or unconventional phrasing. This bias can unfairly penalize a brilliant mind from, for example, Brazil or China, simply because they haven’t mastered the specific writing conventions of English-language journals. Which is exceptionally hard to do.

Peer reviewers are trained to look for logical structure, clear argumentation, and precise language. While these are important for communicating ideas, an innovative or revolutionary idea from a researcher who is a less-skilled writer may be dismissed out of hand. I’ve had comments for reviewers to change the number of apostrophes and placement of ellipses. Honesty… how does these details affect the research? 

Come on let’s be real- Who is a peer to an oral historian or an elder from a community with a rich oral tradition? Does someone’s research become less credible if they aren’t reviewed by a certain subset of the population? The peer-review system is set up to find and validate peers within a narrow, Western, academic framework, making it difficult to find a relevant and unbiased reviewer for a paper on, for example, a cultural norm. The knowledge itself may be deemed “un-scientific” and rejected. It just seemed to me like a huge scam. 

How “Publish or Perish” promotes exclusivity

As per the requirements of the university I chose to study at, in order to receive the PhD I needed to show evidence that I had submitted two articles to at least two journals for publication. And when I did have the proof of submission, it wasn’t enough. I was pushed to write more articles, and aim for actual publication. I couldn’t understand this at first. I had met the requirements so why was I being pushed to do more article work when I had an entire thesis to write?

I soon learnt that the primary measure of success for many academics is publishing in specialized, peer-reviewed journals. This process is rigorous and essential for creating new knowledge, but it often prioritizes a narrow, incremental approach to research. An academic’s career depends on these publications, not on how well they communicate their work to the public or how much immediate, real-world impact it has. This didn’t sit well with me.

It still doesn’t.

Let’s now talk about the cost of getting published. Because this was NEWS to my ears. When I heard that I would have to pay a journal to publish my work I almost keeled right over. The core of the issue is that academic publishing is a highly profitable industry, with some major publishers reporting profit margins of up to 40%. My frustration and sense of injustice come from a simple fact: the publishers don’t pay for the most critical components of their product. Let’s unpack the process:

• Authors: Researchers write and submit their articles.

• Peer Reviewers: Academics volunteer their time, often without pay, to review and critique articles to ensure quality and rigour (I am peer reviewer for a leading academic journal focused on education, so I know how the process works)

• Editors: Many journal editors are also unpaid academics, managing the peer-review process in addition to their own research and teaching duties.

If the reviewers and editors decide the article should be published (yay what a coup), the author has the indignity of not only doing the research and writing the article  but also forking out money to have it shown to the public. Excuse me? The Article Processing Charge (APC), for a reputable academic journal can vary significantly, but generally ranges from around $1,600 to $4,000 USD. The high costs of academic publishing create a profound barrier that disproportionately affects certain groups:

• Researchers from the Global South: Scholars working in low- and middle-income countries often do not have access to the same institutional funding as those in wealthier nations. A single publishing fee can be equivalent to an entire salary, making it impossible to publish in top-tier journals without external grants. While some publishers offer waivers, they are not a universal solution.

• Independent or Unaffiliated Researchers: Not all research is conducted within a university setting. Independent scholars, citizen scientists, and researchers working outside of academia (e.g., in non-profits or community organizations) lack the institutional support to cover these fees. They may have groundbreaking work but are shut out of the formal publishing ecosystem.

• Early-Career Researchers: PhD students have limited access to funding, face immense pressure to publish but may not have the financial means to do so, especially if their research topic doesn’t attract major grants.

And when a student publishes a paper while studying for a degree, the supervisors automatically become authors of that article- despite not having written a word or even read the submitted article- which in turn goes on their record for having published new work for the year. So I identify the journal, write the article according to the journal guidelines (which are VERY stringent and differ from journal to journal), pay the publishing fee and then someone else gets to appear as an author and take credit. Does that seem fair to you? It seemed to me that higher level academics stop studying and doing research completely after they reach a certain tier. They will say this is because they lack the time, incentives, etc. However, you will find such bureaucratic professors very “busy” shaking hands and giving out speeches, while actually they’re pushing “students” to work in their place.

I eventually published in an open access journal with which my university had a fee waiver agreement with. Because the (financial and mental) cost of a post graduate degree is more than enough in my opinion. If you want to read any researcher’s work, just find their email and let them know. They will gladly share their work with you- for free because they very rarely ever profit from publication.

The Loneliness of the Long-time Scholar

As I mentioned before, a PhD is, by definition, an original contribution to knowledge. This means you are working on a project that, for a time, no one else in the world knows or cares as much about as you do. Your peers- if you have them- might be working on different topics, and your supervisor might be too busy to provide the frequent, in-depth engagement you crave. This intense, singular focus can make you feel like you are on an island. I had no peers and lived 700kms away from my chosen institution. The loneliness was staggering. It threatened to overwhelm and engulf me so many times. There was one point where I even stopped writing for 6 months simply because I wanted to give up due to the feeling of isolation. 

That’s not to say I didn’t have friends and people in my life who were invested in my success. But none of my friends or family had ever done a PhD- they could not truly understand the pressures, the slow progress, or the highly specific nature of my thesis. The cult-ish norms of academia. Its beastly demands. I couldn’t explain it to them and trying to do so exhausted me. The number of times I had to decline social engagements because my weekends were reserved for thesis writing- since I was working full time at my actual job during the week.  And no I couldn’t “just pop in for an hour” because I needed time to rest and recover if I wasn’t working or writing. 

The academic system is also set up in a way that promotes impostor syndrome. The feeling that you are not smart enough, that your research is not good enough, or that you are a fraud who will soon be discovered is a constant companion for many PhD students. It was for me. The harsh corrections, vague feedback and reasoning of “well we do it this way and you have to follow suit” almost broke me down every single time. While you’re doing the degree the internal struggle is often kept private, further contributing to a sense of being alone in your inadequacy. You can’t share with friends and family because they will tell you that you chose this life- and yes I did. You can’t share with other academics because then they might think you’re weak. And for most students, after the degree is over you are so relieved to be done that you never share those feelings ever again. But the trauma remains. 

Supervisor or Gatekeeper?

The role of a PhD supervisor is one of immense and often unchecked power, making it one of the most fraught relationships in a doctoral student’s journey. This power imbalance is not just personal; it’s baked into the structure of academia, creating an environment where a student’s success is almost entirely dependent on their advisor. For me, one of the most problematic aspects of this power imbalance is the lack of formal accountability for supervisors. While students are held to strict standards, there are few mechanisms to address a supervisor’s poor behavior, neglect, or demands. Because my success was so dependent on my supervisor/s, most problems were handled discreetly, if at all. Reporting a difficult supervisor can be seen as an act of academic- and in some cases professional- suicide, leading to a culture of silence where a supervisor’s misconduct goes unchecked. I remember when one of my supervisors advised me “not to upset the people who are going to grant me my degree because academia is such a small world”.  

I don’t know how this system can be fixed. In many ways I wish you could somehow ‘vet’ a university before you choose to study  a PhD with them. Like some kind of speed dating situation where you figure out if your style aligns with the advisor offered to you.  I know for me personally, I could NOT graduate without my supervisors’ approval due to the rules of my institution. This meant I swallowed a lot of my concerns and complaints even when I didn’t agree with everything simply because I wanted this journey to culminate in an actual degree.

What began as genuine intellectual curiosity became drudgery under pressure to publish, meet deadlines, and navigate academic politics. I cried and I lay awake with anxiety. I lost people in my life who could not understand the path I had chosen and the demands it took on me. And you know what’s crazy? I’ve lived in 6 different countries. I’ve been a victim of countless harsh incidents both professionally and while travelling to 90+ countries. And still, this degree brought me to the brink of a breakdown. I shudder to think what it would do to someone softer. 

Yes, my thesis is technically sound. But when I read it, I feel that it lacks the passion, excitement, and intellectual flair of a truly original work created by me. The joy of academic inquiry was lost in the grind of writing a document that was designed more for archival rigour than for intellectual vibrancy. It saddens me.

When I look back on my PhD journey, I can honestly say I wouldn’t recommend it to most people. Not because I regret what I’ve learned or the resilience I’ve built, but because the cost—emotional, financial, and personal—was far higher than the reward. Would I take back the experience entirely? Probably not—I grew in ways I couldn’t have without it. But if someone asked me whether they should do a PhD, I’d be honest: unless you have an exceptional mentor, guaranteed financial stability, and a very clear purpose for why you need the degree, think long and hard.

Passion alone is not enough to make it worth the sacrifices. 

You may be interested in my other posts where I write about expat life and teaching:

Why I finally moved away from the Gulf

The racism of teaching abroad

International teaching: When good schools go bad

If you enjoyed this post about the reality of a PhD, please pin it using the pins below:

For further reading:

Mahsood, N., Mahboob, U., & Aleem, S. (2025). Navigating the doctoral journey: A qualitative study on PhD scholars’ well-being in Pakistan. Pakistan Journal of Medical Sciences, 41(5), 1402.

Prendergast, A., Usher, R., & Hunt, E. (2023). “A Constant Juggling Act”—The Daily Life Experiences and Well-Being of Doctoral Students. Education Sciences, 13(9), 916.

Pretorius, L. (2024). “I realised that, if I am dead, I cannot finish my PhD!”: A narrative ethnography of psychological capital in academia. In Research handbook of academic mental health (pp. 32-47). Edward Elgar Publishing.

Sifford, K. (2025, July). Veiled by shadows: A graduate student’s tale of becoming and dissent in quest of the ivory tower. Scope: (Art & Design) 29 – Hospitality & Tourism, Reflective Piece. Otago Polytechnic Press. https://doi.org/10.34074/scop.1029008

(All photos taken by Estilo Photography)