A PhD can be a time of immense emotional as well as intellectual change. This week’s bonus post is about taking the time to fully process how you feel even when it seems easier to postpone these aspects of life until the thesis is out of the way. This is the first of a two-part series about emotion in the PhD by resident blogger Ebba, the second one about heartbreak coming out on 26 December.

My intention with this post is to leave room for the presence of emotion, change, and hope during the PhD, which otherwise, for me at least, feels like a time during which other parts of life are suspended. This may not be the case for those going into a PhD with a partner and/or family, who probably perceive of their doctoral years as a period of professional development that ultimately falls short of being as important as their private lives – see Jenny Brown’s excellent post about balancing PhDs and parenthood. From confessional posts on social media, I’ve also observed researchers expressing regret that they refrained from finding love and starting a family due to the difficulty in academia to maintain a stable life in one place over many years. Yet others may well appreciate this academic landscape, liberated from expectations of monogamy and family life, happy to be in a position to read, write and travel around the world without ties to a particular place.

My experience is that I embarked on my PhD journey as a young, single person who loved to learn and was hoping to share this love with someone of a similar disposition. My decision to do a PhD was not altogether compatible with my desire to leave room for love, intimacy and family in my life; most of my close relations were in Sweden when I started my PhD, but instead of moving to be close to them, I chose professional career goals over family. This was a difficult decision. The thought that kept me going was that the PhD that I had applied to do – a particular project about a particular place – was worth making sacrifices for. Now, I’m approaching the end of my PhD, and the beginning of something new. I try to celebrate this as often as I can, while my thesis – which is like a child to me – is constantly on my mind regardless of whether I’m in front of my computer or not.

Someone once told me that to be a single person searching for a partner is equivalent to working a full-time job. I’m not sure if the similarity hinged on the number of hours spent, or on the emotional toll connected to the ups and downs of a day job and a dating journey respectively. Perhaps a bit of both. If I was going to offer a piece of advice on the topic of love, I’d say to be aware of whether or not you’re someone who’s consciously or subconsciously carrying out this kind of labour. Feeling self-conscious about telling others that you’d like to find love is one thing, but telling yourself that you’ve got nothing significant going on outside of your PhD when you’re developing feelings for someone (or using dating apps) is quite another. This is a valid use of your time and it’s bound to impact your overall wellbeing.

On the other hand, I’m mindful that many people’s relationship to monogamy and romantic love is not straightforward. Our culture’s emphasis on (certain kinds of) love is excessive and often damaging. Those who are happy on their own often have to fight against the assumption that they must secretly be looking for love. I believe this cultural obsession with romance stems from a misunderstanding of what love really is. It’s too often portrayed as some vague state of grace that takes us away from the difficulties of everyday life, or the final stop on a journey we’re all on.

Falling in love, in my experience, is not a paradise. It doesn’t fix anything. You’re taking on someone else’s world – their thoughts, feelings, fears and desires – on top of your own, and this is a process as heavy as it is light.

Over the course of a PhD, someone may fall in love multiple times, once, or not at all. The presence of romantic love as an ideal that we either aspire to or actively reject likely takes a toll on many of us. If not that, then there are probably other close relationships that demand attention and emotional labour. Connection takes so many forms, and these connections exist side by side with the research we do. Sometimes our connections and research may even overlap (I’m currently writing about medieval spouses and the ways in which they conformed to and resisted ideals of marital unity).

For me, I’ve found it healthy to admit to myself that being 30 and in a relationship is not the same as being 26 and single. Some of the love that I used to pour over my research is now needed elsewhere.