When I was writing my Ph.D. thesis, all I could think about was babies.
This is undoubtedly not what I am supposed to write, as a working mother, as a former scientist, as a feminist.
I will be the first to admit that my growing dissatisfaction with laboratory research spurred some of those baby fantasies.
I was reaching the end of a Ph.D. program that I’d long assumed would lead to a postdoctoral fellowship, the standard next step on an academic research career track, and then a faculty position leading my own lab, like the scientists I’d worked for in my career to date. But at some point during graduate school, that path stopped making sense to me. I’d fallen out of love with science — or at least, with doing science.
It was a weird feeling, to be making progress on such a well-defined career track and then to just suddenly — not be.