Boundaries in a Boundless Academic Culture
From "More Papers" to "More Life"
I developed a nasty habit during the final stretch of grad school: compulsively checking my Google Scholar profile. What began as curiosity—how many times had my papers been cited?—slowly transformed into a metric of self-worth. More citations meant better research, and better science meant better me. I convinced myself that more was always better, and last year's citation count became this year's minimum target.
Soon, I found myself stalking colleagues' citation counts and ranking them against my own, turning my career into a secret competition. If someone’s h-index outpaced mine, I’d feel inadequacy creep in. If mine edged ahead, for a moment, I’d feel validation. This unhealthy comparison was amplified through social media's distorted lens—a showcase of others' achievements with failures filtered out. The perfect storm of confirmation and survivorship bias reinforced my most destructive insecurities.
These rituals were the first symptoms of how the "publish or perish" mentality had enmeshed with my sense of self. Other warning signs followed: rejections that felt like personal failures rather than statistically expected outcomes; the inability to be fully present with my family—instead, my mind racing about research; the compulsion to accept every project, committee, and opportunity until my calendar became a tetris grid with no empty spaces and spilling into the off hours.
The boundary between what I did professionally and who I was as a person had dissolved completely. I wasn't working as a scientist—I was engulfed by science with all the vulnerability that entails. When experiments failed or grant applications were rejected, it wasn't just a professional setback but an identity crisis.
As academics, we chronically undervalue our time. Without deliberately established boundaries, work seeps into every corner of life. Our culture celebrates endless productivity—more papers, more citations, more grants, more respect—creating an insatiable cycle of "more" that ultimately costs us both personal and professional well-being.
As funding landscapes grow increasingly uncertain, examining the boundaries between self and career becomes vital. Many STEM academics pour decades into specialized research, allowing their professional and personal identities to merge completely—a fusion rarely acknowledged in academia. This raises crucial questions: What happens to your sense of self when experiments fail, grants disappear, or retirement arrives? What remains when being a scientist shifts from something you do to something you are?
In our research group, we intentionally try to break from these academic norms. We maintain that 40 hours weekly provides ample time for significant contributions—for graduate students, approximately 20 hours of coursework plus 20 hours of research. We deliberately promote—and share—disconnection outside work hours to foster well-rounded lives and sustainable careers. This philosophy starts with me. I rarely work weekends and remain unavailable after hours except for genuine emergencies. I've deliberately cultivated interests outside of academia*. Many center around quality family time and building relationships with people who either know nothing about microbiology or express only casual curiosity. These pursuits help me step completely out of my professional mindset.
Of course, certain periods inevitably require greater commitment—comprehensive exams for students, concurrent fellowship applications and time-sensitive experiments for staff or postdocs, and grant proposal deadlines for myself. However, these intense phases must remain exceptions rather than becoming the normalized standard that consumes our identity.
The journey from being consumed by my career to finding a more balanced outlook began with the simple yet powerful mantra: "Good enough is fine." This didn't happen overnight but evolved gradually as I incorporated practices that created a healthy separation between my professional and personal identities. By applying the following approaches, I began to disentangle my sense of self from my publication record and professional achievements.
Schedule non-negotiable personal time. Before my calendar fills with work-related activities, I block specific hours in my calendar for non-academic pursuits with the same commitment I give to my research and teaching. Whether it's a local sports league or a blacksmithing class, I treat these commitments as nonnegotiable. Taking care of myself first builds the foundation from which I can do my best work.
Establish clear boundaries with digital tools. I use dedicated devices or separate accounts for work and personal activities when feasible. I use apps, and strategic inconveniences, to block or avoid work-related emails and notifications during my personal hours. I extend this separation to social media, which subtly blurs the professional and personal boundaries (in addition to fostering anxiety about the state of the world). Finally, I enact intentional barriers against checking citation metrics, manuscript statuses, or academic social platforms during my off-hours—these quick "checks" often become extended work sessions that erode personal time.
Explore interests unrelated to your field. Deliberately choose activities that exercise different skills and mindsets than your academic work. If you spend your days analyzing data, try something creative like pottery or music. If you work in theoretical fields, try hands-on activities like gardening or woodworking. The cognitive contrast helps create distance from work identities.
Build relationships outside your department. Try to form friendships with people who aren't in your field or academia altogether. Join community organizations, recreational classes, or volunteer groups where you'll meet people with diverse professional backgrounds. These relationships provide perspective and conversations that don't revolve around complaining about the grind of publications, grant deadlines, or university drama.
Practice the "beginner's mindset." As academics, we're trained to be experts, which can make trying new things intimidating. Embrace being a novice at something—take an introductory class in a subject you know nothing about. The humility and curiosity required to learn something new counterbalances the expertise-focused academic mindset and reminds you that identity isn't tied to achievement.
My perspective transformed during the COVID-19 pandemic, forcing me to confront my academic identity fusion when the world paused, but my internal engine still raced at full speed. As we collectively navigated the uncertainty brought on by the pandemic, people showed remarkable understanding that life is complex and multifaceted. That brief window of understanding has given way to familiar pressures, but it revealed an important truth: our identities exist beyond our professional contributions. By intentionally creating space between who we are and what we do professionally, we build resilience against the inevitable ups and downs of academic life. The scientist in the lab and the person outside it can coexist without merging completely. Your research matters—but you matter more than your research.
*Over the years, I've explored fermentation (admittedly still microbiology-adjacent), sausage making, fitness, automotive repair, leatherworking, blacksmithing, and woodworking—with welding next on my list. The communities surrounding these activities couldn't be more different from academia, providing balance and reconnecting me with my core identity beyond my profession. Some of these are captured in the images below.
