Researching from the Heart 💗
Bringing joy, harmony, and peace in research by shifting our view of the process
TL;DR Mental health amongst PhD students is notoriously bad. In this post, I’ll talk about my own experiences and offer concrete, practical suggestions for bringing more joy, harmony, and peace into the research process by shifting how we view the research process.
Okay, so, last August, I took a whole month away from my PhD. As a (recovering) compulsive planner, the plan was to have no plan, so I flew to Portugal and just did what felt good. And, as you might imagine, after a month of eating (vegan) pastel de natas, walking round Lisbon aimlessly, and reading solely for the joy of reading rather than for “progress”, I felt pretty relaxed. Peaceful, even. Open-hearted. Warm. I felt pretty great. Awesome, I thought, holidays are great.
But when the first day back rolled around, literally within minutes, it all came back. Anxiety. Stress. Fatigue. Ugh. My journals from those days started at“i’m pretty tired … there’s aversion and fear”, progressed to “there’s lots of fear … my body was hit by a wave of fatigue”, before panic finally set in: “am i usually like this ? … this level of stressed and disconnected”. Did it take me a month of holiday to realise what being relaxed actually feels like?
It took me 2 days to decide that I wasn’t OK with this. How can it be that all that peace and contentment and joy vanished just like that, within hours of starting work again? Surely there are ways of doing research that don’t feel like this? Surely I can find a way that works better for me?
Cutting to the chase, yes, there are better ways to approach research, at least for me. This post contains concrete suggestions that helped me find freedom within research. Most of these ideas are inspired by ideas from meditation circles, particularly Rob Burbea’s teachings. You might think—what’s meditation got to do with it? But, it turns out the way I relate to research, an uncertain environment with clear notions of “progress”, closely mirrors the way I relate to meditation1. Of course, I’m still a beginner, still learning what a wise relationship with research might look like. I’m writing this post in the hope that it might be helpful, perhaps even in just realising that there’s always something you can do. There might be more freedom possible here.
Setting the Scene
But, before we dive in, I want to emphasise that mental health is notoriously poor amongst PhD students.2 Stress, anxiety, burnout within academia are well-known problems, in part due to the incentives and culture.
But, despite this, there can be a stigma about discussing mental health. It can feel vulnerable, scary, even shameful. Talking about your mental health difficulties might confirm that yes, you are the imposter here, and so it’s too scary. If you’re reading this and finding things difficult, please know that you’re not alone.
Opening the Door to Wellbeing
You might read a headline like “You have to suffer during a PhD” and think, well, PhD’s are goddamn stressful, it’s part and parcel of doing a PhD. Stress is somehow part of the definition of a PhD, so there’s nothing to be done really, other than to grit your teeth and grind through this. How can we unlock the door and get some well-being in here?
The key insight is this: the stress is just as much in how we relate to the PhD as much as it’s in the PhD itself.3 In Rob Burbea’s words:
“Sooner or later we come to realise that perhaps the most fundamental, and most fundamentally important, fact about any experience is that it depends on the way of looking.”
So, maybe rather than PhD equals stress, a more nuanced story is a PhD combined with a specific way of looking at the PhD leads to stress. Perhaps stressfulness is not necessarily an inherent, fixed, real, static quality of a PhD or research. And, if that’s true, maybe there are different ways of looking at PhDs, different ways of relating to research that alleviate streses. Perhaps there are even ways of relating to research that lead to joy, freedom, and peace.
I like to think of this as researching from the heart4. Not researching because we “should” or because it’s “expected of us” or because that’s the way we assert ourselves to be worthy or to avoid shame or guilt. Instead, researching from a place of joy, of generosity, of life-enriching energy.
Ways of Looking at Research
So, maybe all of this sounds great, or maybe it sounds like hippie bullshit about love and peace that isn’t at all actually useful. The idea that it’s the way we look at research that leads to stress is nice, in theory, but can we do anything useful with it?
In the rest of this article, I’m going to outline some concrete, practical suggestions of different ways of relating to research that I found helpful. But, before we do that, here are some suggestions on approaching this whole business:
Play and experimentation are key. There are countless ways to relate to research, some of which are helpful and many of which aren’t. I suggest approaching this whole endeavour lightly, seeing and playing to find out what approaches work for you. This helps to keep the whole thing fairly light and fun.
There are no magic bullets. Stress is a part of life. This isn’t a list that’s going to “fix all of your problems”—such a list doesn’t exist. It’s important to keep our expectations grounded and realistic, lest we become discouraged or beat ourselves up for not “researching from the heart” correctly.
In general, we want to stay sensitive to what’s actually happening for us, on a day-to-day basis, and then we want to (learn how to) respond well to what’s happening. Gently asking—how am I feeling today? How am I relating to research today? what is needed today?—can be really helpful. We need different ways of looking at different times, and to know what we need, we need to take a look at what is actually happening for us.
Practical Suggestions
So, with that said, let’s dive into things more deeply.
#1: Who are we doing this for?
The “publish or perish” mindset and culture of scarcity within academia can lead to some nasty things. I would be worried about when my next paper would be published, because I needed a “good” PhD to give me the best chances for my career. Say hello to stress, tightness, and constriction.
Opening the intention up, even just a little bit, can be helpful in reducing stress and constriction and bringing in joy and beauty. We can ask and reflect—who am I doing this for? Can I experiment with viewing my work as a gift to myself, as a way of contributing to a community, or for the benefit of others? What does it do to the stress and pressure, to my sense of wellbeing, when we research from different places?
For me, viewing research less as being about of my career and my work, and looking more as researching as a way of contributing to a body to knowledge that our species has built together across decades brings energy, motivation, and wonder. And a huge decrease in pressure. The release of energy, previously trapped in anxiety and stress, can be channeled into joyful research.
Of course, this is not to say we stop caring about our careers or our impact. Of course, we care. But, at times, adopting a shift of view, even just a really small shifting of intention, can be helpful.
These ideas are incredibly compatible with other social movements. Right Livelihood is part of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path, and members of many other communities (e.g., Effective Altruism) make impacting the world a clear goal for their careers.
#2: What is this about anyway? What’s the bigger picture?
I used to believe (implicitly) that the PhD that I’m doing is mostly about the paper’s that are published along the way. After all, that’s what people read, that’s what gets talked about, and that’s what gets transferred into real-world impact. And, of course, there’s a huge amount of truth in this viewpoint. Trying to publish papers is clearly a good idea. But, overfly fixating on the research outcomes can be incredibly counterproductive. It often leads to black-and-white thinking that ultimately yields anxiety that suffocates the whole process, leaving it devoid of any joy, wellbeing, or energy.
Let’s take an example. Suppose that someone is at the start of their research career, and hears this whole “publish or perish” business and internalises the message—I need to publish. This might be useful, this might inspire the researcher to go out there and do really great work. But, it might introduce a whole load of anxiety about whether she is publishing enough, about whether the current project she is working on is going to lead to a publication, when it’s going to lead to a paper, how it’s going to lead to a paper … I’ve been there. The anxiety and stress, it drains energy, leads to procrastination, and is just not much fun When, as it inevitably does, progress in a project stalls, panic might set in. The whole thing might become too difficult or scary to look at at all. Not so good.
What’s the alternative? Well, suppose that the researcher knows publications are important, but she also recognises that, well, research is hard. It takes perseverance, courage, a willingness to keep showing up. That doing good research takes many skills—writing, experiments, conceptual thinking, reading effectively. And, suppose that she knows that the act of doing research, it’s cultivating and growing all of these qualities and skills. She recognises that the value of the research is not just the publication at the end of the project, but also what is learnt and grown along the way. When, as it inevitably does, progress in a project stalls, it might be difficult and stressful, but she’s more able to stay grounded and steady. She recognises that she’s learning how to navigate in this difficult environment where the stakes seem high and feedback is slow, and she sees the importance of that skill.
This shift in framing, recognising that it’s not just about the paper, it’s also about what’s being grown along the way, was absolutely transformative for me. For a few months, every morning, I would ask myself: what am I doing today? What do I need to do today? And what is doing this thing growing? What is it cultivating? I had a spell of 6 weeks where I felt stuck and was amidst the difficulty of that, but this perspective gave me stability. I recognised that I was learning how to navigate this scenario, to hold the uncertainty and redirect myself are incredibly valuable skills. That there was something that could be learnt there.
#3: It’s not personal.
Given we live in a capitalist society, it’s not surprising that we build our self-conceptions with our work, identify with what we “output”, and tie our self-worth to what we produce. In research, we might identify with our work, thinking it’s ours, which is all fun and games when things are going well, but if our publication has been rejected or a project is in a bit of a sticky spot, can be quite tricky. We might think “oh, damn, I’m so bad at research”, or, “I’m a useless researcher”, or even graduate to thinking “I’m so stupid”.
Loosening this identification and taking things less personally can be incredibly helpful.5 We might reflect that there are a whole number of things that contribute to a paper being published, some of which we control but many of which we don't. We can control how we show up, whether we show up. But we don't know who is reviewing our work, and we don't control a whole host of circumstances in our lives that affect us. We might also reflect that, well, doing research can be pretty challenging at times,6 especially when things are not going as well as we'd like. And that stumbles and mistakes are to be expected when things are challenging—they don't have to mean that something is wrong. It's just part of research.
In short, we don’t need to think “I’m a bad researcher” when our paper gets rejected. Maybe challenges come up because it’s just part of doing research, or maybe we can think “that wasn’t a good paper”. There’s much more space here rather than taking things personally and constructing stories about self.
#4: Learning to letting go of “not good enough”.
Because we tie our output with our self-worth, there can be a real tendency to measure. Is my research “good enough?” Am I “good enough?” Is the progress that I made today “good enough?” And, so often when I’ve asked this question, the answer has been no. How can we work with this inner critical and measuring voice?
This, on it’s own, is a huge topic. Some potential ideas that can help loosen the “not good enough” mindset are:
Recognising that, probably, the next paper, the next talk, the next publication, it will not ultimately satisfy7. It might be enough, for a time, but then, probably, the inner voice saying "not enough" comes back, and we are back to where we started. We can turn around and ask—what would be enough? Is it possible for there to be enough? What does good enough research, or a good enough day actually look like? And is that grounded in realistic expectations? You might find the answer is that there is never enough.
Instead of asking “is this good enough?” we could ask “how can I respond here?” or “what does this situation need of me today?” This focuses less on what is happening, and more on responding well to what is happening, which is a lifelong cultivation. One reason we ask “is this good enough” is to help ourselves respond well.
Opening to the pain and hurt associated with the measuring tendency can help soften the voice. Instead of hating the inner critic, we can turn towards it with kindness and compassion.
When the measuring that happens occurs in relation to self rather than in relation to experience (e.g., I’m a bad researcher), we can use ideas from #3 (it’s not personal) to loosen the identification.
We don’t want to stop caring or stop striving, but to do so from a different place. Rather than striving from a place of perpetually not being good enough, which leads to stress and suffering, perhaps we can strive from a place of deep care.
#5: Can we celebrate what’s going well?
One of most well-known habits of attention is the tendency to go towards what isn’t working well. After all, this can be pretty helpful at times; we find things that we could improve, which empowers us to improve our lives. But, in research, where we are already focusing on improving the parts of our work that need to be worked, this tendency can drain our joy and energy.
I remember publishing my first major paper and being able to celebrate for about 6 hours until the familiar “not enough” voice kicked back in. I remember one of the first times I DJed for a crowd, receiving compliments, but being totally unable to enjoy them because my mind kept going to the mistakes that I made. And, in both cases, what a shame.
We can hold an intention to open to and allow ourselves to celebrate, if we feel able to do so. And sometimes we feel blocked, and in those moments, we can bring a gentle inquiry. Why can I not celebrate? What do I believe about celebration? Do I believe if I allow myself to enjoy what went well I’ll stop improving or caring or working or doing good things? And, if I do, have I actually tested those assumptions?
Every day, I try to ask: how did I win? What can I celebrate here? Especially taking a view where I value what is being grown in research as well as the output itself (#2), this can be powerful. Even on the shitty days where my mood is a bit low, just showing up builds persistence and steadiness. And on the great days, where results are going well, I can allow myself to enjoy and cherish it.
Wrapping Up
Returning to the story, I spent some months playing around and experimenting with different ways of looking at research and the research process. It was transformative. There’s still stress, of course, but there’s also more joy, more energy, more freedom. Harmony.
In the future, I aspire to lessening the duality between my professional and my spiritual life, instead working and researching from my heart and soul as well as my mind and body. In Rumi’s words: why can’t our work be just another way we kneel and kiss the ground?
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened. Don't open the door to the study and begin reading. Take down a music instrument. Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground. Rumi
Thank You. Thank you for reading and for your attention. If you have any feedback, want to share ideas, or want to otherwise reach out, I’d love to hear from you. You can find me on Twitter, or you can subscribe below.
Further Resources. There’s a huge amount to be said about improving research skills and developing a wise relationship to research. Some good places to start might be:
For specific research skills, you can check out: You and Your Research by Richard Hamming, An Opinionated Guide to ML Research by John Schulman, A Survival Guide to a PhD by Andrej Karpathy. The second two links are geared towards machine learning research.
Rob Burbea’s teachings. Good places to start might be the Ending the Inner Critic Talks, this talk on Attitude, Effort, Achievement, and View, or his book Seeing that Frees. Rob was a meditation teacher, so these teachings need to be “translated” to be applied for research.
There’s a body of work around self-love and self-compassion. You could check out: this set of retreat recordings from a lovingkindness retreat, Sasha Chapin’s How I Attained Persistent Self-Love, or, I Demand Deep Okayness for Everyone, Tara Brach’s books Radical Acceptance and Radical Compassion, Charlie’s post You are probably underestimating how good self-love can be. I also found Brene Brown’s work, especially The Power of Vulnerability to be very helpful. You could also check out Love Yourself Like Your Life Depends on It, by Kamal Ravikant.
Non-Violent Communication (NVC) resources. Although imperfect, NVC can be a useful “way of looking” to increase how connected we are to ourselves, and helps us relate to our inner critics in kind and compassionate ways. A good place to start is Marshall Rosenberg’s workshop recordings.
Acknowledgements. Though written by my hands, these words are a result of earnest love and support from dear friends, teachers, and mentors. Thank you. In particular, I’d like to thank Tasshin, Ivan, Charlie, and Fazl for their feedback on this post.
Turns out that there are loads of different arenas like this in life: relationships, dating, research, meditation, the list goes on. The idea that we relate to these fields in similar ways is a great argument, in my opinion, for doing some meditation. Meditation can be a playground to try on different hats and seeing what’s helpful.
There are a bunch of articles that discuss mental health in academia more concretely. Here are some examples: Stress and uncertainty drag down graduate students’ satisfaction, Mental health risks in research training can no longer be ignored, You have to suffer for your PhD, Is doing a PhD bad for your mental health? I’m also drawing this from my own experience and perception from talking to people within academia.
In Buddhist language, this insight is known as emptiness. Said differently, we might think that a PhD is inherently stressful, and the stress belongs to the PhD, but actually, PhDs are “empty” of any inherent stressfulness.
Language inspired by Marshall Rosenberg’s giving from the heart, popularised in Nonviolent Communication.
This is a classic example of an Anatta way of looking: not me, not mine. The example here uses Anatta both for self—the “bad researcher” is not inherently real, but also for the research output itself.
This is a bit like an Anicca way of looking. Poor progress in work isn’t permanent or real, even the sense of progress will fluctuation within a day.
This is a classic example of a Dukkha way of looking, which recognises that the paper or publication we might be craving for does not ultimately satisfy. The inner measuring voice might be satisfied for a time, but probably not forever.
Bravo, an excellent article... This should be part of the 'learning how to learn' curriculum from the earliest years of schooling!