Mentoring
Women are still underrepresented in long-term faculty and leadership positions in science. And that’s without even touching on the challenges faced by other marginalized groups. The reasons are many — from social conditioning and limited professional networks to less visible self-promotion. I became intimately familiar with these obstacles after becoming a mother.
Toward the end of my PhD, with a newborn at home, I canceled a conference for the first time. Before, pulling an all-nighter had been manageable if I could recover the next day. But suddenly, there was no “next day.” The reality of juggling research and parenting hit hard.
Looking for guidance, I applied to Pro Academia, a regional mentoring program for women in science. I hoped to learn how others balanced academic careers with life at home — and whether it was even possible. I was accepted into the program and soon matched with a mentor. Meeting her was valuable, and I learned a lot. But looking back, I realize my expectations of mentorship have evolved.
At the time, I thought it would be helpful to have a mentor from the same research area. But sharing personal struggles — whether it’s imposter syndrome, difficult colleagues, or career uncertainty — is deeply personal. I’ve come to see that these conversations don’t depend on overlapping fields. In fact, they may be easier with someone slightly outside your area, or someone less senior who still remembers what it’s like to be in the trenches — especially in today’s precarious academic landscape (hello, Wissenschaftszeitgesetz).
Still, I gained a lot from the experience.
What helped me most, unexpectedly, were the stories shared by the other peer mentees. Stories of toxic work environments, burnout, and deeply unfair treatment. It gave me perspective. I realized how fortunate I’d been: I had PhD supervisors who supported and trusted me, who encouraged independence and provided meaningful feedback. Not everything was easy, but overall, I had a healthy and respectful work environment — something everyone deserves, but not everyone gets.
The most valuable part of the program, though, was the time it gave me to reflect. Whether preparing for a workshop or a mentor meeting, I was forced to think deeply about what kind of researcher I want to be — and what kind of life I want alongside that. One of my favorite exercises was mapping a path to my “ideal” career, along with alternative routes. Another was charting the emotional highs and lows of my PhD and identifying what caused them. These moments of reflection, though sometimes uncomfortable, were incredibly clarifying.
I didn’t walk away with a formula for how to be both a good researcher and a good mother — and maybe that’s okay. It’s rarely about perfect balance. Often, it’s about making thoughtful compromises and giving yourself permission to adapt. What I did walk away with was clarity about what I want in the future and which paths are truly worth pursuing.
