Finishing my PhD (in the midst of a global pandemic)

By Julie Primon, School of English, Communication and Philosophy

The end of my PhD was not the big fireworks display I would have expected, long ago, when I embarked on this journey. Rather, it was a series of smaller, more modest fireworks, the kind you might hear coming from your neighbour’s garden, but that you wouldn’t really notice from a few streets away.

In April 2020, as we got used to lockdown and slowly began to understand the impact of COVID-19 on the world we knew, I felt grateful to be at the end of my PhD, reading and re-reading through my novel and my thesis, editing a paragraph here, a sentence there, checking footnotes against my bibliography.

‘I don’t think I could have produced anything new at such a stressful time,’ I told a friend. Of course, the limited access to library services was inconvenient, and I wished more than once for a working printer – my eyes hurt from scrolling through chapters on my laptop’s screen. Still, at least the bulk of my research was done, the novel finished, my critical chapters needing only adjustments. I could not imagine the way in which COVID restrictions would affect students starting out, especially when their research depended on field trips or archival visits.

I submitted my PhD on 10 August. With the pandemic, the rules have changed: instead of getting copies of the thesis printed, instead of walking through familiar corridors of the John Percival building and talking to the friendly staff in the postgraduate office, I just emailed a PDF of my thesis and the required forms. ‘Underwhelming’ doesn’t quite cover it. I had heard that submission was about reaching the stage when you simply cannot work on the thesis anymore – you cannot stand to spend another minute looking at it – and this turned out to be true in my case. I had a list of changes I wanted to make, and I ended up picking the things that I felt were most important on that list and letting the little ones slide. It’s important to keep in mind that there is a window of opportunity, post-viva, for making small changes when readying the thesis for final submission.

Submission was one of the small fireworks; getting through the viva was another. I was awarded a Category 3 pass, which meant I had some substantial changes and corrections to make – the most important was cutting out one of the critical chapters, which the examiners felt did not bring much to the thesis overall. I was given three months. Out of those three months, I would say a good one and a half were spent fighting my reluctance to return to the thesis. One of my close friends, who went through her viva two weeks later, was awarded a Category 1 pass (no corrections!). I was thrilled that her hard work had paid off, but in the following months I wished desperately that the same had happened for me. I wanted the whole thing to be done. The thought of opening the document filled me with dread.

Eventually, I overcame this inner resistance, following the advice of former PhD students – start with the small, easy things, the typos, the addition of a footnote. I cut out my first chapter and edited the rest accordingly, removing references to it, adjusting the summary of the thesis, the introduction, the conclusion. In the end, I think the actual process took less than a month. I just needed to reach a place where I could start working again, without bitterness.

Submitting the corrections; hearing that they had been accepted; sending in the final PDF of the thesis for the ORCA repository: all small fireworks, sighs of relief. I don’t know if, maybe, graduation will embody this moment of triumph that has eluded me. I’m enjoying the little things: I have the head space to begin new projects, short stories, poems, to start working on an old novel. I’m translating one of my favourite French YA novels, because I can, because it’s fun. The thesis was, for so long, a heavy coat draped over my shoulders, buttons coming undone, needing attention. Now, it feels as though I have stepped out of the coat: it hangs on a mannequin so it will keep its shape, and in a certain lighting, it looks almost perfect, the defects too small for anyone but me to notice.

Without the coat on, I feel exposed, a new-born lamb blinking in the world’s harsh light. But I also feel weightless. I feel free.

To anyone submitting their PhD in this difficult time, I would say – even though it may feel impossible – to celebrate every little step, be it submission, viva, or corrections. Bake a cake, order a book you’ve been wanting to read which has nothing to do your research, go for a long walk in the park. Breathe. Whatever form the celebration takes, give yourself that space, that mental pat on the back. Try to enjoy your newfound freedom.

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