When I told my graduate supervisor that I wanted to join his lab, he blinked at me and said, “Do you think you can handle it?” I was overwhelmed by self-consciousness as a wave of cold anxiety rushed through me. My inner voice screamed, “I thought I could, but maybe I can’t?” Outwardly, all I could muster was a small, squeaky, “Yes, I think so.”

This was not an isolated experience. During my PhD, frequently I felt overwhelmed by my supervisor’s expectations, to the point where I concluded that I did not belong in science and chose to leave research after my PhD. Throughout my training I often wondered: would I feel differently if I had a supervisor who had been trained in mentorship?

On days when I collected data, my supervisor would repeatedly ask me to “get as much data as possible”. He would inquire: “How many data points did you get today?” and “What is the data point count now?” These questions would be fired at me throughout the day and in emails late into the evening, oftenmultiple times in the same night, when he was expecting me to still be analysing and interpreting data from the day’s experiments.



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This demanding attitude was a reflection of my supervisor’s high standards and his drive to produce as many high-quality papers as possible. Although it can be good to be pushed hard, eventually it broke me. I wanted to make a real contribution to science, but the constant stream of requests accompanied by such little encouragement made me feel like nothing was ever enough. Not enough data, not enough publications, just not good enough.

One of the most stressful experiences was a big presentation in my first year. Not only was I addressing the other scientists in my field at my university, but other staff from different disciplines had also come to watch.

I needed to be knowledgeable, interesting and poised. But I was shaking and flustered, and I could barely advance my slides. Standing at the front of the room, it felt as though my supervisor was radiating judgment. I stumbled through my introduction, misspoke a few times, and generally missed the mark on the whole poise idea, but I managed to finish the entire presentation with only a few mistakes.

After the talk, I ventured back to my supervisor’s office. When I walked in, he turned to me and said, “You didn’t do a good job. You have done nothing to be proud of today.”

I was crushed. There is a line between constructive criticism and cruelty, and I

watched him cross it. I tried to stand up for myself, arguing that I was early in my

career and that I hadn’t done terribly. He simply disagreed and said he wouldn’t say anything different because he couldn’t tell me something that wasn’t true. I left his office, swayed into mine, shut the door and cried.

Many interactions with my supervisor were like this, and they left me feeling like nothing I did was good enough. My confidence was shaken – I questioned my identity as a scientist constantly. I thought: how do I know whether or not I am doing a good job? Am I lazy? Do I have low standards for my work? Maybe I just need attention and approval?

I even wondered whether I have a weak personality because I couldn’t take the continuous barrage of requests. I also wondered how my gender – female – affected both his and my interpretation of my progress. I questioned my work ethic constantly and routinely thought about dropping out.

I knew this was an unhealthy relationship. I felt totally unsupported and craved encouragement. But I also felt like I had nowhere to turn to. When I sought advice from other staff members, I was told their personal relationships with my supervisor meant they couldn’t help me. I felt totally trapped.

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The supervisor-supervisee relationship is generally awkward and confusing, and sometimes – maybe even often – uncomfortable and challenging. At my university there is no required mentorship training. Everyone has experience throughout their graduate and post-doctoral training, but in most cases, there is no formal course or body that guides staff in best practice. Most programmes that do exist are optional and ignored.



With the ever-present pressures to publish, secure grants, and become the next Nobel laureate, it is no surprise that staff don’t (or can’t) make time to develop their mentoring skills.

Academic institutions should develop and require mentorship training for staff at all levels, not just those who are early in their careers. Thisshould cover how to approach students who are struggling with mental health issues, how to advise students seeking non-academic careers and, most importantly, how to encourage students to persist in the face of the inevitable string of failed hypotheses and experiments that they will confront as a scientist.

A programme like this would hopefully teach mentors how important it is to just say, “Good try”. Two small words with the power to turn your whole day around.



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