TW: Mental health issues.
Well, it’s only taken 5 years, but I have decided to update this website. It has been a truly crazy few years, and almost everything seems to have changed. Except of course, my love of Psychology and my determination to become a lecturer and researcher. I’m going to continue to use this blog to track my progress, to share any advice or tips I have, and to have a laugh at some of my terrible first essays. I will also use it to showcase everything I have achieved and remind myself that my imposter syndrome is wrong, and that self-doubt will not win.
Since I last posted any of my work I have: completed my Undergraduate and Postgraduate degrees, started my PhD, got engaged, bought a house, adopted two cats, and lived through a global pandemic. I did say it has been crazy! My Undergraduate degree went by relatively smoothly, despite having to work three part-time jobs just to get by. I enjoyed living in Huddersfield and I loved the University, and staying on for my Masters degree was logical- so I did. After me and my partner moved into our first house, I enrolled on a Masters by Research in Psychology course.
My Masters degree is the hardest thing I have ever done. Even now, having graduated and moved on to another university and another course, I’m still recovering from the mental and physical effort it took to keep going. 6 rounds of amendments and 3 years of studying (for what should be a 1 year course) left me absolutely exhausted. This was all right in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic, so it really was a hellscape. I was disillusioned with research, academia, and especially with the University of Huddersfield. I felt let down by the system- 6 rounds of amendments is just outright unacceptable. This is where I just want to put in a big signpost about mental health. I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety since I was 13, and although I have ups and downs as everyone does (especially my comrades who are also depressed), persevering through my Masters degree had me at the lowest point I have ever been. Intrusive thoughts, dissociation, panic attacks, the works. But it got better, and I got through it. What really helped me was being honest with my friends and family, and finding an outlet- finding an escape. Just after the lockdowns lifted, I decided to try netball again. This was a sport I loved in high school (despite being fat and the stereotypes around that, I actually loved PE, just not athletics) and was quite good at it. I looked into local social leagues and got cracking. I loved it straight away. Now I play, watch, and live netball. When I play netball, it demands all my attention. I can’t think about the amendments I need to do, or that email I need to reply to, or start spiraling about my self-image. All I am focused on is “sh*t, where is the goal attack?”, “I need to keep the goal shooter out when she leaves the circle”, and “what’s the score?” I zone out for the best part of an hour, and get my body moving. Some weeks, netball was the only thing that got me out of my head. An hours relief from the crushing weight of everything in my life.
Why am I rambling about netball I hear you say? Well because my little bit of mental advice would be to find your netball. It doesn’t matter what it is (within reason!), but find something that consumes your mind and use that as a tool. You get added points if it is exercise or productive too, but it could be anything. Painting, walking, crocheting- anything. You don’t even have to be good at it! I might have been passable in high school, but I am not a good netballer. I am unfit, over-emotional, and too short. But I don’t care. It makes me happy, gets me moving, and distracts me from everything, and that is absolutely fine. For a moment I did take on too many netball games and stress myself out there too- but making something fun into something stressful is my superpower.
Thanks to my partner, family, friends, and netball, I made it out out of there alive. By some miracle, I was able to put a good application into a PhD Studentship project at Nottingham Trent, in an awesome research group that really ignited my love of research again. Thanks to my imposter syndrome, I had convinced myself that I was going to be rejected. In retrospect, my application was actually really good and I know I prepared for weeks for the interview. I had a postgraduate degree in research and had worked as a research project assistant for a year, so I was an excellent candidate. Oh, and I was a named author on one publication already. But I would never actually think positively like that. When I saw an email come through from Nottingham, I nearly had a panic attack. I managed to sit down on the edge of my bed, and left the open email on my bed for a good few minutes. Then I finally read it. Then I re-read it before screaming for my partner. I cried. I sobbed. I called my parents and my brother. I felt proud for the first time since I was accepted into University. It didn’t feel real. I’ve always used the words “hopes to carry onto PhD” but I genuinely never thought I would be good enough to even get on a course.
And now I’m two months in. I’m just getting my project approval going at the moment, and I’m still recovering from what was clearly academic burnout. But I am hopeful. Nottingham Trent has been the breath of fresh air I needed if I was going to continue in academia. When I look at the image above, of my red faced post-crying self, I’m reminded of how badly I want this. Of teenage me dreaming of being Dr Canning. Of my highschool history teacher calling me erudite and suggesting I go into research. I’ve always wanted this. When I rang my parents and I could hear their pride- especially when I rang my Dad and he started screaming and whooping for me. I was the first Canning to go to University and now I’m going all the way. This is such an opportunity and I am not going to do what I did during my Masters. I am going to steer this damn ship and I’m not just going to let the waves pull me under. I’m working on being kinder to myself, and I’m still playing and watching a hell of a lot of netball, but I am trying to start fresh. Starting with this website. I’ll work it out as time goes on, but for now this is an academic diary filled with my terrible essays, professional development, and some shameless plugs to my publications.
“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”- Oscar Wilde
PS- Hi Ellie, love ya