I do not need to work 60 hours a week to succeed in academia*

*or It's Just a Damn Job

I recently suffered a short bout of ill health, a benign but strident virus that sent me to bed for a few days. It was the longest I’ve spent convalescing for a few years and whilst unpleasant and frustrating, it gave me the chance to reflect on how long my work-life balance had been out of whack. How long it had been since I hadn’t been tired.

I had been trying to shake off the same cold for a few months. It had manifested as the bogus-sounding ‘leisure sickness’ – a boomerang-like lurgy that seemed to stream only at weekends, when I allowed myself to relax from work a little. In the process of flooring me on a Saturday or Sunday, it stole me from much-needed time with the family, before being suppressed come Monday morning when the academic hamster wheel cranked up again.

A little research suggested what I suspected; leisure sickness is a symptom of workaholism. In one of the only studies on the phenomenon, many of those affected were found to share certain characteristics: a high workload, perfectionist tendencies, eagerness to achieve, and an over-developed sense of responsibility to their work (van Huijgevoort & Vingerhoets, 2001). Sounds boomingly familiar, even without the structural issues in academia that necessitate a long-hours culture.

I hadn’t allowed myself enough rest time to recover from my crazy weekly schedule for a long time. Weekends were a whirl of chores and obligations, a period to get through before I could lozzack on the sofa for an hour before going to bed (and lying awake, insomniac, but that’s another symptom).

On this occasion, the cold had taken hold and wasn’t taking shutup for an answer. A colleague warned me to rest, mumbling something softly about pre-ME symptoms and ‘long roads to recovery’. This spooked me. While I wanted to succeed in my job, I craved rest and headspace, and did not want to be incapacitated.

So, at that point when being ill in bed tips from being boring to secretly being a bit nice, I thought a lot about how I can regain my balance. My list of wants is modest, but have a common factor:

1. More time to see / talk to friends and family;
2. More time to allow me to run more regularly;
3. More time to just be; to be with my husband and daughter, and sometimes just with me.

To get there I have a simple (though not necessarily easy) to-do list:

1. I’ll use a basic app to accurately track and limit my working hours. Feeling like I’m always working has got to contribute to these feelings of exhaustion. Documenting the hours might reveal things aren’t quite as heavy as I feel they are, and when I hit my daily target; 40 hrs a week (give or take), I’ll stop. Limiting evening working will help my wellbeing hugely. I can still catch up on tasks left undone when I have to razz to the school run, but when the time’s up, I’ll stop and relax or do those things on my little wishlist.
2. I’ll switch off email push notifications after my clock-off time each evening, and for the whole of the weekend.
3. I’ll take my 25 days annual leave.

I’ve made these resolutions before, but this time feels different. This semester is the first time I spoke out against a massive teaching load coming my way, and this time, my managers (and some amazing colleagues) have diverted it. As a result, I'm breathing easier, writing regularly (thanks also to the writing group my School has implemented), and enjoying work more than I have in a while. This time I’ve been ill, not seriously, but enough to kick me into action.

The Twittersphere has recently been ablaze after a tweet asserting that you’re not a #RealAcademic unless work=life. It’s been a great conversation about our toxic overworking culture, and has led me to revisit some wise blogposts such as Meghan Duffy’s You do not need to work 80 hours a week to succeed in academia and Arjun Raj’s timely How much do PIs work?

I turn 40 in a couple of months. As a measure of success, I heard some people aim to have their pay packet match their age. For me, for now, it’s not to let my weekly hours exceed my age.

Re-engaging brain

Today was the last day of my Maternity Leave L

It’s been one of the best times of my life. I’ve loved spending time with C and trying my hand at housewifing for 9 months. And I reckon I’ve done alright.

I was a bit confused at the start. It took me a while to work out that Mat Leave was for giving C a secure, healthy start (my google history may just throw up the question ‘what is maternity leave for?). Anyway, apart from the (now) obvious, I had a few aims at the beginning of my leave. In rough order of importance, they were:

1.  find good baby groups
2. travel to see friends/family
3. go to exhibitions etc whilst Clara is tiny
4. take more holidays/trips
5. try the baby cinema (grown up films but babes in arms welcome)
6. make a monthly video diary
7. write a monthly blog
8. learn how to code
9.  do a car maintenance course 

Ignore 8 and 9, what was I thinking? For the first 3 months, it was achievement enough to make sure she and I were fed, clean and reasonably happy. 7, meh. I did do a bit of work which I’m very glad about now (I even got promoted). Keeping my toe in the water means going back is less of a big deal, and taking Clara to a conference while I could was excellent fun. But the most important things were the quality time with loved ones, i.e. 1-6, and I’ve done - and enjoyed – those in spades.

We’ve joined premmie groups, baby massage groups, singing groups, messy play groups, and had a blast. I’ve tucked C away in a sling and walked for miles, walked in the forest, whiled hours away in cafes.  We’ve hung out at home playing on the floor, eating together, swimming in the hot tub most days. We’ve explored new parts of the UK and found new ways of holidaying. We’ve seen more of my family than I’ve done in years. Not to mention some fantastic new friends I’ve made through NCT classes, those always surprising, hilarious, wise women have been a lifeline and sanity check.

Having C around makes everything more fun and exciting. At times it’s been hard, of course, when a grouchy refluxy baby could not be calmed and the hours dragged. Having Prev here working from home has been amazing, here to help with poosplosions and to share cute moments with. I’ve never missed adult conversation like people told me I would. I’ve enjoyed keeping C fed, medicated, clothed, and clean. I’ve developed an unlikely obsession with cloth nappies. I’ve spent way too many hours on Mumsnet forums.

And as for returning to work, I’m optimistic. Friends have found unexpected confidence and efficiency at work since becoming mothers, I hope something similar happens to me. I’m glad I’m starting out part-time, as leaving C is hard when she’s still so very titchy. And knowing that if the working mother thing doesn’t work out, we have options (though secretly I suspect that I’ll dig being back at work and my new life and old life will blend in all sorts of new and interesting ways).

Sending C to nursery is a headfuck. Well, more like a heartfuck actually, since my head knows it’s a good thing for everyone. I need to work, I want C to see me working and contributing to the world, the nursery we’ve found is amazing, and can offer her brilliant things to learn and have fun with. But then I want to hug her tight and inhale her smell and never let her go. She fits into my 1950s housewife fantasy just right. But maybe I don’t.