My Best Friend, Self-Doubt

Abstract

Dr. Tristan Clemons completed his PhD in materials chemistry while simultaneously representing Australia as a goalkeeper on the men’s field hockey team. Despite these achievements, he often suffered from crippling self-doubt. Tristan talks about the importance of mentors in overcoming his imposter syndrome. Dr. Tristan Clemons completed his PhD in materials chemistry while simultaneously representing Australia as a goalkeeper on the men’s field hockey team. Despite these achievements, he often suffered from crippling self-doubt. Tristan talks about the importance of mentors in overcoming his imposter syndrome. In 2014, I was square in the middle of my PhD, where it seemed like every experiment I tried was failing miserably. Compounded with this, I was dropped from the Australian men’s field hockey team, the Kookaburras, after making my debut with them the same year I started my PhD. I was pretty low. I had come up against what seemed at the time like an insurmountable wall. I really didn’t know if I was smart enough to be successful in academia, skillful enough to get my spot back with the Kookaburras, or even good enough to manage both of these life pursuits simultaneously and at a high level. When I reflect on this time, I now am aware I was suffering from what is more commonly known as “imposter syndrome”.1Bothello J. Roulet T.J. The Imposter Syndrome, or the Mis-Representation of Self in Academic Life.J. Manage. Stud. 2019; 56: 854-861Crossref Scopus (61) Google Scholar Imposter syndrome is when you feel like you are not good enough or don’t belong, despite whatever achievements or credentials you may have in that arena. Some of the most accomplished people in their respective fields—such as Neil Armstrong, Tom Hanks, and Maya Angelou—have all been quoted as suffering from similar feelings of self-doubt, despite all they have achieved. Impostor syndrome is perhaps most epidemic in academics—from newly minted graduate students to professors emeritus. Many of the most respected scientists in the world wake up every morning convinced that they are not worthy of their position, that they are faking it, and that they will soon be found out. For me, just a few years earlier, I had felt like I was on top of the world. My research projects seemed exciting with so much potential and promise. Hockey-wise, I had finally attained a goal I had been working so hard toward: representing my nation on the international stage (Figure 1). Plus, having two passions helped keep me going. I felt I was a better scientist because of my hockey and a better hockey player because of my science. If I had a bad day in the lab, I could get out on the hockey pitch and enjoy working with my mates on something I was passionate about. Likewise, if I was injured or missed selection for a tournament, I could get fully immersed in the lab and my projects. It all came to a head in the beginning of 2014. On the hockey pitch, I had been a bit up and down the previous year, so I knew I was on the edge, but I was still hopeful about being selected for the World Cup squad. I was at work eagerly awaiting the email for the announcement, and when it came, I read it quickly. My name wasn’t there. I read again more slowly and confirmed: I had been dropped. I was stunned, sitting at my desk. This is the point I trace back to where the self-doubt really started to creep in; a voice inside me was getting louder that I might not succeed. On the hockey pitch, I was so focused on the other guys competing for my spot in the Australian squad that I lost sight of working on me and my own game. Likewise, in the lab, I only focused on the bad results that I couldn’t publish. I would wonder how I could possibly have a career in academia if I couldn’t get the simplest of things to work in my hands. I was viewing my world through this all or nothing, them-or-me Hunger Games-esque lens. That is the thing about imposter syndrome: despite your accomplishments, you still feel deep down that you didn’t earn those achievements through your own ability or hard work—you feel it was luck or chance that made it happen for you. Feeling like an impostor isn’t rooted in what you have done. It has to do with how you feel. I only found my way through with the help of my mentors2Malmgren R.D. Ottino J.M. Nunes Amaral L.A. The role of mentorship in protégé performance.Nature. 2010; 465: 622-626Crossref Scopus (106) Google Scholar—not that I would have called them my mentors at the time, nor would I say I actively chose them for this role. In hindsight, they have been pivotal in my success both in the lab and on the hockey pitch. The first was my PhD supervisor. A few days after the announcement, after a fairly simple experiment failed again, I was sitting at my desk frustrated, feeling sorry for myself, and probably crying a few tears of despair. At that moment, my PhD supervisor walked in to check on me. I quickly wiped away the tears, embarrassed, but he knew something was up. He simply said, “don’t worry about it. I want to talk to you about a new project idea.” More than research ideas, he provided optimism when I was struggling to find it, and he conveyed belief in me when I was doubting my own ability. When you are in that spiral of self-doubt, sometimes you just need someone to provide perspective.3Buechel B. Mechtenberg L. Petersen J. If I can do it, so can you! Peer effects on perseverance.J. Econ. Behav. Organ. 2018; 155: 301-314Crossref Scopus (11) Google Scholar To have someone who had achieved what I was hoping to achieve in academia confirm that setbacks happen in research was exactly what I needed. He directly pointed out some of the successful, positive aspects of our work together, which I struggled to see or believe without his validation. He also understood that hockey was a big part of my life and was supportive in my life away from the lab, providing me the flexibility to get extra practices in when I needed to, trusting I was working enough hours, and giving his support for me to continue to fight for my spot back on the national team. On the hockey front, I was contemplating giving up the game, thinking that my international career had maybe ended before it even started. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be fulfilled if I did this, and that the only reason I was contemplating it was because it would be an easy way to save face after being dropped. I needed someone who had been there before and, more importantly, someone that believed that I had what it would take to get back there myself. I sought out an ex-coach of mine who I knew would be totally honest and, over coffee, straight up asked him the question I feared the answer to: “Do you think I am good enough?” Not only did he tell me he believed I was good enough, he was willing to work one-on-one with me to get me back to the international level—all with my enjoyment in the game the paramount focus. He didn’t pressure me for results or to make a team with a deadline in mind. He just provided the opportunity to work on my skills, was there early mornings rain or shine, and was dependable and supportive. I ended 2014 with a National Championship win, probably the best publication from my PhD work, and earning a return in the national team. More recently, I made the difficult decision to retire from international hockey and move across the world to the US for a postdoc position. Not long after, my wife and I welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world. It would be safe to say I felt anxiety levels spiraling out of control again. What I learned, though—from my time in the Kookaburras and my early PhD—was the power of mentors; and this time, I wasn’t going to leave it to chance. I quickly found a great mentor at my new institution who has helped keep my self-doubt at bay—not my supervisor, but just someone I can have genuine conversations with about career, family, life, and research. Already, we have shared plenty of new father moments and have even been fortunate enough to start some collaborative work, which is a great perk. This self-doubt has been a double-edged sword my whole career. It’s this self-doubt that would challenge me to train harder and strive higher. It would make me get that extra gym session in even though I was tired. In the lab, it would force me to do an extra repeat of an assay “just to be sure”. But it has also at times brought on despair and become overpowering and paralyzing. I have learned that fear and self-doubt in moderation can be powerful tools when you control them. When they become overpowering though, they can even knock the most confident competitor off their perch. I have learned the importance of mentors and how powerful a respected positive voice can be.4Muschallik J. Pull K. Mentoring in higher education: does it enhance mentees’ research productivity?.Educ. Econ. 2016; 24: 210-223Crossref Scopus (38) Google Scholar It is an amazing opportunity to now be in a position to provide this measured voice for junior scientists and field hockey players alike, knowing first-hand the true power of the mentor.