or: my journey to learn to embrace effort and failure
^I like this figure to show the hallmarks of each mindset, and I can find examples in my life for each of these mindsets.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently about the course of my life, and why I am in the position I am in currently. From the outside, I am “successful.” I’ve earned a Ph.D, I make enough money to survive, I have hobbies and interests, I have friends, I have my two dogs, I am healthy. Before I get into my experiences, I do acknowledge that I’m in a better position than a lot of people, and I have the privilege to be taking the time and space to figure out my values, interests, goals, and future path. I also want to acknowledge that I do not regret anything in my journey thus far (except the insane amount of student loan debt); I would not be here today reflecting on my life if I did not pursue higher education and have the experiences I had during my Ph.D.
That said, I’ve been a bit lost recently, having finished my degree and no longer having the stalwart presence of my identity as a student. As I’ve spoken about in other posts, I finished my degree and took what was meant to be a short break to regroup and recharge. However, less than a week into my break, I felt like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized I had been carrying such a large burden, and it was a real shock to realize I had felt so trapped. I was doing well mentally compared to a lot of my peers. My research work and dissertation were not overly stressful, and I wasn’t having breakdowns about my workload or the stress of the academic job market. I assumed that because I wasn’t in a deep pit of depression, or because I wasn’t crying over my dissertation every night, I was fine. But I quickly realized after finishing that I hadn’t been fine. I was seriously burned out.
In the months that followed, I found myself resentful of any research work or academic pursuits. I had committed to a number of projects before finishing my degree and deciding to take a break, and now having to work on these things felt like being dragged over hot coals. Tears would prick my eyes at the thought of doing anything research related, and I found myself getting irrationally angry at work when asked to (quite literally) do my job. Yes, I realize this may sound dramatic, but it's the unfortunate truth. While time and separation has lessened these reactions a bit, I am still not motivated to do any research-related activities whatsoever.
About six months removed from completion of my degree, guided by realizations I had during my self-imposed break, I began to examine... well... my life. I wanted to explore why I had done my degree, what my goals were in finishing my Ph.D, and how I might want to shape my future. This was reflecting that I probably should have done prior to starting my degree, true. But that wasn’t the space I was in when I was 24-25 and considering a Ph.D. I could only make choices with the information I had available to me.
After a lot of reflecting, I realized... I’m not sure why I did my degree.
Beyond vague notions of “oh, I like teaching and could maybe deal with doing some research,” I didn’t really have any professional goals following the completion of my degree. I threw out some applications to liberal arts colleges and teaching colleges, none of which even lead to an interview. While the rejection stung a little bit, I was able to move on quickly and was eventually glad to have been rejected; starting an academic career would have trapped me into a role that would have added to my burden and burnout. It just seemed like the logical next step, just as graduate school had seemed like the logical next step when I graduated from college nine years ago.
I also wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted my research and my work to accomplish beyond, “oh, this is cool and I’m interested in it.” I can list some applications of my interests, but this lack of clarity added to my long held feelings that research and publishing only serve me and my CV and are rarely applied for people and communities. I didn’t want to continue doing work that, while interesting, wouldn’t realistically have much of an impact on others.
As I came to the recognition that I wasn’t certain what purpose my degree served, I also began to explore alternate career options. I joined groups for people leaving academia, I made profiles on job exploration sites and took career aptitude tests. I had been looking for non-academic jobs for years, and keep running into the same issue: nothing appeals to me. I don’t want to do research full-time, so research think tanks and non-profits are not for me. I don’t want to teach full-time either, so teaching colleges are out. Policy work is a hard pass, as that’s essentially research and writing full-time. Basically, I realized that there is nothing I like enough to do full-time.
But this post isn’t about the woes of job hunting. In my reflection, I keep asking myself: “How did I get here?” “Why did I do this degree?” “What was this all for?”
One major conclusion I keep coming to was that my degree was the goal all along. I wasn’t doing my degree to eventually land a better job, or work in a specific area. I did my degree to just show that I could. I did it to reach the pinnacle of studentness. I remember being 21 and telling my family that I had decided to drop my education major to pursue psychology and eventually get a Ph.D. One family member said, "Why would you do that? You'd do better as a teacher." From that day on, there was no turning back - that was the path I was committed to. Now that I’ve finished my degree, I can check this box off and move on to other pursuits.
My mindset early in life was what made doing my Ph.D THE goal, the only goal, and left me goal-less thereafter. Throughout my life I had cultivated my primary identity as a student, or more specifically a “smart person” or one who is “academically gifted.” This identity stemmed from my fixed mindset, where I thought that I was “meant” to do the things I was naturally gifted at, and was not meant to do the things that did not come easy to me.
Fixed versus Growth Mindset
Fixed versus growth mindset was first posited by Carol Dweck (1999). Simply put, a fixed mindset is the belief that qualities and abilities are set at birth and cannot be changed. A growth mindset, on the other hand, is the mindset that qualities and abilities can be learned and developed (Dweck, 1999; 2007). See the figure at the top of the page or below for a comparison.
People who hold a fixed mindset are likely to believe that qualities and abilities are innate, and as a result any failure suggests one does not possess that quality or ability. For example, if one does not believe themself to be smart and subsequently fails a test, their belief is confirmed and they may continue believing they are not smart. This may lead them to stop trying on future exams, or give up on school entirely. They may think there is no point to studying harder, because they are too stupid to ever do well. When they do do well on an exam, they may chalk it up to luck. Similarly, people with a fixed mindset who believe positive things (e.g., they are smart) feel the need to prove their abilities over and over and over again. [This was me.]
Someone with a growth mindset, in contrast, may fail the same test, but as a result will believe they need to study differently or work harder to learn the material. They embrace the challenge of studying in a different way, or embrace new and challenging concepts. They view the process of learning as integral to development of the skill or ability. They are less likely to feel the need to prove themselves or provide evidence of their abilities. [This was not me.]
As you can imagine, there are a number of benefits of a growth mindset. People with a growth mindset are more likely to persevere when facing challenges; this makes sense, as people with this mindset view challenges as an opportunity for growth. As a result, people with growth mindsets are more likely to exert effort on various tasks, and view that effort as fruitful. Growth mindset also leads to improved self-regulation and better goal-setting (Burnette et al., 2013). People with growth mindsets are also more likely to develop grit, or perseverance and determination in the face of obstacles (Duckworth et al., 2007; Duckworth, 2018). These are just a few of the many benefits of having a growth mindset.
There are some cases where a fixed mindset can be useful. It can help people better understand and accept the realities of life, such as aging (Dweck). The goal here is not to argue against fixed mindsets or promote growth mindsets (although I generally think a growth mindset is more beneficial), but to share my experiences of having a fixed mindset and how it hindered my life.
My Identity as a Student/Smart Person Came from My Fixed Mindset
(*cue the deep dive into my past, sorry*)
I, like many of you, grew up with the mentality that if I was good at something, it meant that was my calling, or something I was predetermined or destined to do. If something came naturally to me, I was meant to be doing it. If I struggled with something, or failed at it, it was a sign that the thing wasn’t meant for me. That is, I had a very fixed mindset about my skills and my path in life.
From a young age, I was good at school. Learning academic subjects came easily to me, and my confidence in academics was only bolstered by positive comments from teachers, good grades, and academic awards. I was also good at sports, particularly basketball. From third grade on, I was consistently praised by coaches and other adults about my athletic prowess; I made all-star teams and won MVP awards that furthered my confidence as an athlete. My natural aptitude at both school and sports, combined with the positive feedback from others, made me want to continue pursuing both and doing well in both. Until I found out that sports were not my "true calling."
Seventh grade was the first time an adult literally didn’t care about my status as a "basketball star" in my town. For years, my peers and adults alike touted me and my sister as rising stars in the youth basketball scene, calling us the “Twin Towers.” Coaches wanted us on their teams, and regardless of how hard we worked and how we performed, we were given loads of praise and accolades. Enter my seventh grade basketball coach. New to the town, he literally could not have given less of a fuck about my reputation in the community. For some reason (maybe because of my entitlement and attitude), he didn’t seem to like me all that much. For the first time since like, the third grade, I was reduced to second string and rarely started a game that season. I watched as girls I thought weren’t “as good as me” started in my place; being better than me didn’t matter, they all worked harder than me and wanted to improve. At the end of the season, when the coach signed my yearbook and wrote “UConn 2013” in it, I felt like he was mocking me.
Although my confidence was boosted a little by my travel team performance in my eighth grade year, seventh grade was really the beginning of the end. I went into high school and, though I swung JV and varsity, was surrounded by girls who were better than me and, more importantly, worked harder than me. I began to put pressure on myself to perform better and better, aiming to be the highest scorer each game. Incidentally, the more pressure I put on myself, the worse I would perform. I would get the ball during each game and panic, thinking that I have to score lots to show everyone how good I am. I needed to produce to have value. Inevitably, I’d make a stupid move or end up giving the ball away.
My mantra at that time was that I needed to “redouble my efforts.” But redoubling my efforts really meant putting double the pressure on myself, not working twice as hard. By my junior year, I was done with the pressure I’d put on myself and done with not feeling good enough. I gave up the identity of “basketball player” that I’d had since I was eight, hung up my Nikes, and quit playing. It was evident to me, at the time, that I wasn’t meant to play basketball anymore because I wasn’t good at it. My failures suggested I had reached the limits of my ability, so I gave up.
While my burgeoning sports career was faltering, my academic career just kept getting better. I was excelling in all of my classes come high school, without even trying. Again, my success promoted my mindset that because I was good at being a student, that’s what I was meant to be. Embarrassing anecdote to demonstrate how important my academic abilities were to me: when I was 15, right after my freshman year, I had the privilege to go to Spain and France with a small group from my school. Sitting in a hotel in France, I called my mom one night to say hi and update her on the trip. She told me my first high school report card had arrived, and she had opened it. She said that I was ranked 7th in my freshman class! I was surprised and elated. Granted, my class only had 120 kids, but still! I was in the top ten. I took the pen by the phone and wrote a small 7 on my ankle, and kept it there for the rest of the trip. I was so enamored by my success as a student that I thought it was the most important thing about me. This was proof that I was valuable. I wanted to rank higher and higher. I graduated high school ranked 4th in my class, and thought this was so cool; it affirmed my identity as a student and affirmed that I was a valuable human being. I wish I could go back and tell my 18-year-old self that my high school ranking doesn’t matter.
Some days I wish I hadn’t been ranked as highly in my class, or hadn’t taken my identity as a “smart person” so seriously. If I hadn’t been so tied to school, I could have spent my energy pursuing other activities or putting more time into improving at sports or developing new hobbies. But I didn’t. By the time I graduated high school and moved into college, my primary identity was that of student. I had next to nothing else on which to ground my identity, and didn’t engage in any active reflection or evaluation of myself, my values, and who I wanted to be. With each ‘A’ my identity was reinforced. A student was all I was meant to be.
My fixed mindset bred my identity of “student.” This was all I had ever known, and all I thought I would ever be. I wouldn’t be content until I had reached the zenith of studentship: the Ph.D. So I embarked on a journey through graduate education, first in a Master’s program, then moving on to the Ph.D. I went into my program because I felt it was the next step, the final step, in a lifelong journey. I didn’t have any concrete goals, but wanted to prove I could do it. As a result, I puttered around from goal to goal during my five years in my program, and spent more years than I care to admit just scraping by and doing the bare minimum to succeed. Effort was futile, as I should have been naturally good enough to succeed, right?
As I finished my degree, I felt a brief sense of accomplishment. I had done it! I had leveled up and reached the peak of studentship. But now what? Now, reflecting on my accomplishment and no longer having that identity of “student,” I am confronted with the harsh reality: I am more than a student, but my fixed mindset blinded me to that truth.
How My Fixed Mindset Failed Me
Having that fixed mindset from an early age and never challenging it seriously failed me. My fixed mindset meant I only thought I was meant to do the things I was good at - that is, school - which kept me from working hard in other areas, like sports, art, theater, etc. It also made me quit when I wasn’t immediately good at something and pass over opportunities that might have paid off with a little hard work. My fixed mindset influenced how I worked on the things I considered myself “good” at.
Because I had such a fixed mindset, I never learned to work hard in school. I was, in my view, naturally gifted, and needed to study less and work less hard than others. As a result, I quickly gave up on studying topics on college that I might have excelled at with a little hard work. For example, I took a chemistry 101 class my first semester of college, thinking I might go to medical school or become a forensic scientist. Because I had aced high school chemistry, I assumed I was set for this class. I zoned out during class. I barely studied. While my classmates were going to weekly peer-led teaching sessions, I was napping or spending time with my boyfriend or dicking around on the internet; looking back, I realize now that I was pretty much the only one who didn’t go to these PLTL sessions. Imagine my surprise when I got my first test back and I had gotten a D! I had never gotten a D before in my life. Instead of thinking, “Oh, this means I have to work harder and change how I’m studying,” I thought “Oh, maybe a career in biology or chemistry isn’t for me. Maybe I shouldn’t go to med school.” Again, my poor performance represented the limits of my ability; I thought I just wasn’t capable, so it wouldn’t be worth my time to try. While I shaped up a little and ended the semester with a B-, the damage was done.
After my dismal performance in chemistry, I avoided taking any subjects that might challenge me, like biology. I was on the lookout for the thing that came the easiest, because easy = natural talent = destiny. That next semester I took a psychology 101 class and passed with flying colors. This was it! This was what I was meant to be doing! I didn’t stop to interrogate what I enjoyed about psychology or why I wanted to study it; I was good at it, and that was enough.
I also avoided hobbies or activities that I might fail at. I remember avoiding ultimate frisbee during my first two years of college, refusing to play friendly pickup games with my friends because “I’m going to suck at it.” So I would sit in the shade, feeling left out as my friends had a great time without me. Fast forward a year, and I was playing on the first team for my university's ultimate team during my year abroad. Fortunately, I didn’t avoid ultimate forever, but I initially let my fear of failure stop me from trying something I might be good at.
My fixed mindset also made me equate doing things I liked with “meant for.” I saw this in a lot of my psychology classes, and this was ultimately how I ended up studying romantic relationships for a year in graduate school. In a research methods class my senior year, my partner and I chose to study attraction and romantic relationships for our research project. I enjoyed the research class, and enjoyed the topic of romantic relationships. Because I enjoyed these topics more than other topics, I assumed that these were the topics I was “meant” to study. Of course, liking something should definitely be one criteria for continuing to do it; it would be silly to continue studying something you dislike. But I took it one step further and felt that the things I liked were “meant” for me.
Further, my fixed mindset simultaneously exacerbated and interacted with my perfectionism. I always put too much pressure on myself to be the best at things. After deciding I was “good” at something, like school or basketball, I would internalize that goodness and feel like I had to be the best every single time I would perform. This meant getting the highest grades, scoring the most points, getting the most awards. If I wasn’t perfect at something I a) felt like it might not be “for me,” and b) felt bad about myself and took a hit to my identity as a student or athlete. This deadly combination of fixed mindset x perfectionism lead me to avoid or quit a number of things throughout my life.
By the time I graduated college, my fixed mindset had led to a very narrow path. A successful path, by all accounts, but a narrow one. I had spent the last 22 years of my life thinking that the only thing I was particularly good at was school, and that I should stay in school for that reason. I had also pigeonholed myself into a small area of psychology, and committed myself to research, solely because I liked it. I had not critically interrogated my life and thought through why I was doing what I was doing. I did it because I assumed it was the right path, based on the fact that I was “smart” and did well in school. It took me until I was 29 years old to say “I could have done literally anything” and mean it. My fixed mindset kept me from interrogating why I was doing my education, and prevented me from asking, “Am I actually fulfilled? What would make me fulfilled?” I can now ask myself these questions, and use the answers to cultivate a growth mindset.
How I Am Moving Forward to Cultivate a Growth Mindset
Even today, recognizing that I had such a fixed mindset, I still struggle with it to some extent. It has been a process to reflect on my fixed mindset and begin to reshape myself into someone with a growth mindset. In fairness, this process began long before I finished school, probably around the third year of my PhD. It’s a lengthy process.
At some point during the summer between my third and fourth year of my Ph.D, I realized I just wanted people to THINK I was smart, and that was enough (see the “Two Mindsets” figure above). I was cool sitting back and letting people think I was smart and successful, and didn’t actually have much to back up that I was smart and successful. I remember thinking, “It’s not enough to make people think I’m successful, I should actually act accordingly.” This is one of the first instances I can think of where I stopped relying on my natural aptitude, stopped coasting on others’ perceptions of me, and actually started putting in work. And you know what it yielded? My most productive year to date: multiple publications, two dissertation grants, a book chapter, a teaching award, and a proposed dissertation. This was evidence that working hard was worth it, and I shouldn’t just coast on my natural intelligence and ability.
While I started working on changing my fixed mindset years ago, I am still working on it, perhaps even more so now that I’ve finished my education. Without the identity of “student” looming large, I can focus on cultivating aspects of my identity that have laid dormant for years and discover things about myself that I never gave myself the chance to learn. For example, I am working on cultivating my identity as “athlete” again, having taken up weightlifting, rock climbing, and curling over the last year. I have picked a basketball up for the first time in years. So how am I working towards shifting my mindset to be one of growth?
First, I am focusing less on things I’m already good at. I recognize now that academics and scholarly work is something that I have been “good” at. It would be easy to continue working on these things only, but I have de-prioritized the academic projects and commitments I made prior to finishing my degree, and have set strict boundaries around the amount of time I spend each week engaging with these projects/commitments.
On the flip side, I am focusing on things that interest me that I could possibly be good at, if I put in effort. For example, I have loved writing for most of my life: creative writing, blogging, memoir. I am making efforts to write more for fun (including this blog), not for scholarly publications, as a way to improve my writing outside of academia.
I am putting effort into things that I am not good at, may never be good at, but still find fun. I am not the world’s next rock climbing prodigy, but I have a lot of fun going climbing. Not to mention its a great workout! My new mantra is: “You don’t have to be good at something for it to be fun. You don’t need to be good at everything.” It takes some practice, but for many things, I find I enjoy them more now even if I’m not instantly the best.
I am enjoying the effort I put into my activities and am focusing on growth, not outcomes. With my fixed mindset, I would focus intensely on outcomes as evidence that I was good enough. Points scored, A’s, a published paper. Now, I am enjoying actually putting in effort to improve on my hobbies, and am less focused on achieving a goal. I am also focusing on sustainability of my interests; I am focusing on them, but will not allow myself to get so intent on them that I burn out quickly or eventually hate them.
Today, I struggle with the fixed mindset I had in the past. It’s hard not to dwell on the past and wish I had had a different mindset, that I had worked harder, that I had made different decisions. However, the good news is that it’s never too late to change your mindset and, as cliché as it sounds, change your life. [God, I never thought I’d be spouting stuff like that on the internet.] Through reflecting on my past mindset and past choices, I have learned a bit more about myself and my identities and have recognized why I made the choices I made. With this knowledge in hand, I have been able to actively focus on cultivating a growth mindset.
And honestly? I have never felt so free to choose what to do with my life. I have not felt this level of possibility since I was a child.
Bottom line and last bit of cliché advice: You are allowed to have fun doing something even if you suck at it. And just because you aren’t immediately good at something, doesn’t mean its not for you! If you keep working at something you enjoy, you will never be wasting your time.
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