As of this summer, I am no longer a PhD student.
A lot of factors went into this decision, but the pickle I was in really started to show itself last winter, when no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get anywhere with the dissertation proposal I was supposed to be writing. I did pretty well in my coursework and passed my comprehensive exams, but somehow, this particular step, where one has ostensibly proven their knowledge in their subject areas of expertise and finally has a chance to focus on their own work, just had me spinning in circles.
What is now obvious to me but wasn’t at the time was that I was going through severe burnout, and it had been happening for months, if not years. I hadn’t finished any new games for an entire year. My ability to concentrate and make anything resembling long-term plans had completely diminished, and I was flaking out on a lot of personal and professional commitments. I wasn’t the most depressed I’d ever been, but my faith in the quality of my work was at an all-time low, and since I have historically derived a lot of my self-worth from the work I do, that definitely took a significant hit.
On one hand, my inability to thrive in an environment as hypercompetitive and uncaring as academia seemed inevitable. A part of me was aware of this from the start, and I tried my best to protect myself by treating grad school as nothing more than a badly-paying job and claiming that I wasn’t married to the idea of becoming a tenure-track professor. But I did enjoy my master’s program, for the most part, and hoped that I could mould my PhD to work in a similar way. Making weird art games in an environment of supportive peers and mentors felt like the best possible job I could ask for, and justifying it as “research-creation” felt like an easy enough way to convince an academic institution to let me do just that.