Job applications

So the job hunt begins properly, at last.

At the weekend I completed an application to teach Politics (and possibly History) to 6th formers at an independent school. I felt enthusiastic about writing the application, even though I think my chances of getting an interview are slim. I don’t have a teaching qualification, I just have my four years of experience teaching Politics at university. And my degrees in Politics. I also don’t have a strong background in History. But the HR manager at the school encouraged me to apply anyway and suggested they might consider me to teach Politics part time.

Before making my decision to consider leaving academia and apply for other jobs, I started writing an application for a one-year lectureship in my field of research. In my town. I know, it sounds like the ideal job for someone who has just completed their PhD. Except when I discussed it with other people, in my department, at conferences, I discovered that everyone in my field is applying for it because there are hardly any other entry-level jobs to apply for in this cycle. In fact, there is one other one-year fellowship but it’s in London and I have no desire to go back to London and move away from my partner of 7 years.

So, feeling deflated about the job market and the competition for the one job I was applying for I started to consider my other options. Doing so made me feel excited about looking for a job, a feeling I hadn’t had about my academic job search. It made me wonder if I actually even wanted an academic job or whether I just felt I wasn’t good enough to get an academic job, especially with all of the amazing competition.

Today was the deadline for the one-year lectureship in my town. I had a look at it this morning and realised that I had done most of it and there wasn’t much left to do. So I did it anyway and I tried to make it sound enthusiastic but I don’t think my heart was in it. This was either due to me being excited about what else I could do instead, or due to feeling inadequate and almost certain that I won’t get an interview, let alone the job. I just felt it was silly not to apply when I had already written most of it, and did I mention it wouldn’t involve moving to the other side of the country?

I’ve also found two other jobs to apply for over the next two weeks, both at my local university and this time on the administrative side. What inspired me to look at this aspect of the university job market, having not considered it as a career option before, was reading a couple of the Transition Q&As on the From PhD to Life website. In particular, I looked at two Q&As with Philosophy PhDs who had happily transitioned into research support roles and found their jobs intellectually satisfying. If you are thinking of leaving academia or doing an alt-academic job then I really recommend you read these, and the other interviews in the series:


Moving On…

Moving On: Essays on the Aftermath of Leaving Academia

This book (which you can buy as an Kindle e-book here) was essential to helping me come to terms with my decision. That is, if you can really say I have come to terms with it. I’ve not made it public and don’t intend to do so until I’ve completed my viva or found a job elsewhere – whichever comes first. Not being open about it makes me feel like I haven’t fully accepted it yet because there’s always a chance I can still go back. I’m even halfway through a job application for a one year lectureship, though I don’t know whether I will finish writing it.

Anyway, this book is essential reading (and really cheap, so there’s no excuse!) if you’re thinking about leaving academia. Whether you’re still doing your PhD and having doubts, whether you’re on the job market already, even if you’ve been a tenured professor for years and you’re dissatisfied with your job, and especially if you haven’t started your PhD yet, this book is for you.

Each chapter is a different personal story written by people who have started but not finished PhDs, have finished but cannot find work, and people who are fed up with the whole system and its treatment of both early career academics and those who’ve dedicated many years to that system. There’s not a lot in the way of practical advice (though there’s a great resource list at the end of the book) but reading it is cathartic and will help you to either commit to academia or decide to leave. The editors of the book also run a great website on How to Leave Academia which has lots of blog posts and resources for if you’re thinking of making the move and changing your life.

It has made me realise that you’re not a failure if you leave academia after your PhD. You’re not giving up or letting yourself down, you are making a positive choice to do something else with your life that can be equally or more fulfilling. Because you’re not prepared to move across country chasing jobs, to sacrifice relationships or to compromise the other things in life which make you fulfilled.


The break-up hasn’t happened yet. I’m still trying to find a way to tell my partner of the last five years that I don’t want to be with him anymore. That he’s too possessive, all-consuming, elitist and that he offers me no future.

Academia, the ivory tower, is the former-beloved to whom I refer. Ever since I finished my undergraduate degree and my former teachers persuaded me back into the hallowed halls of the university to take up postgraduate study, because I achieved a an unexpected First in my degree and ‘I would be an ideal candidate for the MA in Political Philosophy’, I have had a love-hate relationship with the academy.

A year of disappointment in the real world, after achieving a first class honours degree in Politics and Sociology, left me craving the life of the mind. I wanted to be back in the seminar room discussing theories of the state, equality, wellbeing, the individual, the family and society. I missed writing essays and reading canonical texts. I had been unemployed when I graduated, worked in a call centre, was put on anti-depressants and eventually got a job as a university admin assistant when I finally decided to apply for that MA. I got on the course and I received some funding. I had an amazing boyfriend and I came off the anti-depressants. The anxiety that I was really suffering with would be with me for many years to come, however, and would only grow in strength.

After receiving an MA with distinction I moved to London to start a fully-funded PhD working on my favourite philosopher. I loved the research seminars and conferences, discussing my ideas with other academics. I met the philosopher, on whom my work was based, several times throughout the PhD process and he generously gave me feedback and support for my work. I taught students from a range of backgrounds, despite being initially terrified of the prospect, and I loved it. But it wasn’t all plain sailing. I often lacked motivation, I had many lows alongside the highs, I doubted my abilities constantly and I became increasingly agoraphobic to point where going to the corner shop was an ordeal. Academia became my life and my partner had to learn to cope with my erratic behaviour acting as a crutch and safety net on whom I became far too dependent.

When he decided to change careers and retrain, he had to return to university and the best university course for him was back up north. I went with him. I hated London and I knew I couldn’t survive there on my own, either emotionally or financially. I assured my supervisors I would continue with the PhD and visit regularly. By the end of the third year, when my funding ran out and I hadn’t finished my thesis I knew I had to get a job. Luckily for me I found a part time administrative job in a local university where I would have my own office, access to research facilities and was invited to participate in the research activities of the department.

And this is where I currently reside. My thesis has been submitted and I await my viva. I have one paper published in a decent edited volume. I have organised two conferences and 2 workshops. And I have teaching experience at three different universities. But it’s not good enough. The academic job cycle has offered up two jobs that I could reasonably apply for, one of which is back in London. Both are temporary one year posts. I knew things would be bad, but I never thought it would be this bad. The competition is fierce and I feel that I don’t stand a chance. So my options are to wait for the next cycle, spend the next year applying for postdoc funding, or cut my losses and get out of this destructive relationship now. I’m leaning to towards the latter choice.

This blog aims to chart my progress as a post/alt academic. It will provide some of the structural and some of the personal reasons for my decision to leave. The analogy of a relationship and a break-up is one you will see time and again in post-academic blogs, and it is the analogy I can relate to most. Only a romantic relationship with another person has brought me as many highs and lows, heartbreaks and disappointments.

The blog is mainly a cathartic endeavour and a way for me to force myself to keep persevering in the post-academic world. However, I have made it public (albeit anonymous) in the hope that it will help someone else who is in a similar position and feels like they are alone. I have come across lots of American blogs from heartbroken grad students and adjuncts who have also broken up with academia, and they have been immensely helpful in reaching this decision. But it seemed to me that there was space for another voice to add to the burgeoning conversation around leaving academia. I’m not in mourning yet because I’m not out yet. Instead I’m still trying to work out what I’m going to tell my former-beloved. For me, in my head, it’s already over, the relationship is doomed. But as far as most people can see, at least on the surface, we’re still happily married and we have a future. I’m not really sure how to break the news to them.