So it’s come to this. Maybe you’re staring down some experimental results that sink the hypothesis that’s the premise of your work. Or maybe a conversation with a thesis committee member made you realize that there’s a major, no-coming-back-from-it flaw in the logical foundation of your project. Or maybe sequencing results show that what you thought was a cool new protein is actually just contamination in your sample. However the need to pivot presents itself, I want you to know three things: (1) This happens to everyone at some point and usually more than once, (2) it’s okay to have feelings about it, and (3) you will come out a better scientist on the other side.
I’ve experienced the need to pivot scientifically a few times. I’m a fourth-year PhD student and my project focuses on using natural photoreceptors to engineer new optogenetic tools. In the first year of my program, I inherited a project that had been on the lab’s backburner for a few years. In theory it should have been really cool—characterizing a new photosensory protein and using it to catalyze intracellular reactions. A few students before me had worked on it and couldn’t quite get it to work, and after months of trying (spoiler alert!) neither could I. The second pivot point came when I thought I had found an exciting new fluorescent photoreceptor which turned out to be the result of contamination in a communal media stock. Both experiences were bummers in different ways, but both taught me how to change direction, deal with the feeling of failure, and grow as a researcher in the process. In this post I’ll take you through the lessons I’ve learned when projects hit a dead end and provide a roadmap to help you navigate the pivot process.
Identifying a dead end
How do you know a project has failed, or at least needs serious rethinking before more progress can be made? Sometimes the decision to pivot is straightforward: the project has crashed and burned. You find a paper that’s accomplished exactly what you were trying to show, or a well-designed experiment pokes a hole in your foundational hypothesis. For me, it was sequencing results. A persistent plasmid contaminant had found its way into my glycerol stock, using the same promoter and terminator as my gene of interest, making it difficult to spot with sequencing alone. Eventually, after many sample preps and bacterial colony isolations, I figured it out, or the sequencing company did: the impressive phenotype I thought was coming from a previously-uncharacterized photoreceptor was actually contamination by a well-known fluorescent protein. It was an unpleasant result to receive by email, but it was clear that the path forward would have to change.
Other times, projects fizzle out over time. While less dramatic and acutely stressful, slow-burn project collapse can feel worse: it’s accompanied by longer-term, low-grade stress that something isn’t working in the lab, and it forces you to make the decision to pull the plug on an idea you like that you’ve invested a great deal of time and brainpower into. When you know you’re close to project breakup but aren’t sure if it’s worth two more weeks of work, here are some questions to consider:
1. What would need to be done to get this project to its goal?
Write down the experiments or findings that would push the project past whatever its next finish line is (a publication, conference presentation, thesis chapter…). Then assign values to these steps. How long would it take you to complete six more rounds of directed evolution on your catalyst? How much of your training grant would be eaten up by the cost of sending out the samples for mass spec? Importantly, what is continuing to work on this project preventing you from doing at the same time? It’s possible that your project is closer to the finish line than you thought, or that there’s no clear way to get it over the hump. Either way, concretely laying out the project’s direction will give you clarity as you decide whether and when to move on.
2. Am I equipped to carry this project to its next endpoint?
Once you’ve identified the project’s next steps, think about your experimental and analytical skills as they relate to these steps. Does your research right now require extensive statistical analysis when you’ve only taken an undergrad stats class? Are you ready to compare thousands of fluorescence spectra but your lab only has a single-cell spectrophotometer? Naming the disconnect between what your experimental plan calls for and the resources you have at your disposal will help you decide on a path forward. Could you get a postdoc to help you fill in the gaps in your knowledge, or pause on the project until after you’ve taken next semester’s course load? You also may decide to punt on the project until your lab has higher bandwidth. Looking for gaps between your capacity and your project’s needs can keep you from running into an experimental wall.
3. Does this project as it exists align with my personal and professional goals right now?
Ask not only what your project needs from you, but what you need from your project . It may be that you’d be ready to publish if you devoted six months only to mass spec. That might work for your trajectory as a student, or you may decide that such a narrow focus will prevent you from learning other skills you want to get out of your PhD. Think about your graduation timeline, too: will finishing the project as it’s designed allow you to defend on a schedule that works for you? Research projects are a two-way street; you should be getting value out of what you put into them.
Communicating the need for change
Once you’ve identified that you need to pivot and change what you’re working on, it’s time to get your adviser on board. I’d recommend talking to your adviser as soon as you can, both to reduce your personal stress and to keep everyone on the same page for conference talks and grant writing. If you have a quality research mentor, this conversation can be extremely helpful in deciding where to go next and reflecting on the project you’re leaving behind for lessons the lab can learn. If you have a Tormentor (the Double Shelix podcast’s brilliant term for substandard PIs), this conversation can be intimidating.
I want to remind you that research failure is not personal moral failure: unless you intentionally set your lab bench on fire or falsified your data, you haven’t done anything wrong; you’re just experiencing a scientific rite of passage that your adviser has also gone through. In many cases, especially early in your PhD, you might not have even chosen the project you’re working on in the first place! You’ve taken the project from the “interesting idea” phase to the “we learned something” phase, even if what you learned is disappointing, confusing, or not immediately publishable. Much as I, a cat owner, dislike the Schrodinger’s Cat paradox, you’ve opened the box and learned the truth, which is an essential and non-glamorous part of the scientific process.
While I’ve been lucky in the mentorship department, I know that the step of talking to your adviser about a failed project is probably the most difficult and stressful of the moving-on process. If you’re struggling to explain to your adviser why your project isn’t working anymore, here are some ways to frame it:
If none of these rationales appeal to your adviser, it’s time to get advice from others who understand your situation, namely senior lab members or other faculty. Other grad students or postdocs in your lab have likely had to break bad news to the boss before—what suggestions do they have for framing the conversation? Depending on lab dynamics, maybe one of them can also talk to your adviser to give their perspective on your project and how it’s no longer the best use of collective time and resources. If needed, get your committee involved —sometimes faculty will take the tough news more seriously when it comes from other faculty. This can be especially useful when thinking about how a dead-end project could negatively affect your graduation timeline. If you don’t yet have a committee, consider talking with your grad group chair or any professor you have a positive relationship with. They can help communicate your needs as a student to your adviser, which are just as important as the direction of the lab. Whoever you consult, having someone on your side as you navigate this change in research direction can help alleviate anxiety and make a plan of action.
Wrapping up a failed project
Perhaps the most frustrating part of stopping work on a project is tying up the loose ends. You’ve made the difficult decision to pivot, you’ve gotten your adviser on board, and maybe you’ve even gotten excited about a new idea, but you still have to spend more time thinking about a project that isn’t worth the time?! When I got my contamination sequencing results back, the last thing I wanted to do was spend more time and energy looking at my notes and going through old samples. In the long run, though, I’m really glad I did: I ended up being able to use some of my DNA primers to prep other genetic constructs down the road, I’d written protocols over the course of characterizing “my” protein that were really helpful for other experiments, and it gave me some closure as I looked back at all the work I did, even though it didn’t come to the end I’d hoped for. Even if you’re sure that none of your work on the old project will benefit you in the future, it’s possible that another student will come back to it years from now when the lab has a new piece of equipment.
Keeping good records is part of good science, and spending a few hours closing out a project is a public service for future lab members. In fact, the Dark Reactions Project developed a machine learning algorithm to predict more efficient chemical syntheses from the unsuccessful chemical reactions detailed in student lab notebooks! Who knows where your work will pay off?!
As you wrap up your old project, here are some steps to consider:
Assessing your skills
While you’re going through files and materials from your old project, you will probably come across evidence that even though it may not feel like it, you almost certainly learned something over the course of your work. Challenge yourself to make a list of good things you’re taking away—to get started, you definitely improved your ability as a scientific decision maker in figuring out you needed to step away. What “hard skills” do you have now that you didn’t have before? Can you do a pulldown assay, work with primary cells, or code in MATLAB? How about types of analysis or computer programs you can now work with? If you’re mad at your old project, you can even list things you wish you’d known before, like how to detect contamination for samples in similar plasmid backbones.
While it was really difficult to walk away from projects, there’s no question that they changed me as a scientist. Trying to characterize a “novel” protein taught me to interpret macromolecular mass spec; even though there was nothing novel about that protein, I still know more about how proteins fragment in response to degrading agents. Give yourself a gold star for every new thing you can do now, and take them with you as you move onto greener pastures.
Dealing with feelings
I know that so far I’ve made the process of admitting you’re at a dead end sound pretty clinical, but the experience itself can be messy. Allowing myself to feel sad that a project I’d previously enjoyed wasn’t going well, frustrated that the academic trajectory I’d planned out based on preliminary results was going to change, and angry with myself for not catching contamination sooner were important steps in my process of moving on as a scientist. Give yourself permission to grieve the loss of something you’ve put a lot of yourself into. Know that while you may feel like an impostor, you still belong in science. Your feelings, even the negative ones, are meant to be felt, and pretending everything’s fine will only make your life more difficult in the long run.
Some practical tips for coping emotionally with a project ending:
Starting something new
Deciding to leave a project and starting over is rarely a fun experience, but it does give you something of a clean slate. You can jump into a new research question, start a new lab notebook, and enjoy the possibilities of an early-stage project. But you don’t have to decide how to spend the next few months or years of your life right away—take time to make an informed decision that’s right for your work style, research interests, and professional goals. Here are some tips to set your new project up for success:
In closing, changing course in research is a difficult adventure. Every scientist experiences the need to pivot at some point, and the failure of a project to produce results is not an indicator of your worth as a person or a scientist. If you are going through the need to leave a project and find another, take a deep breath, go easy on yourself, and welcome to the club.
Erin is a PhD candidate in Bioengineering at the University of Pennsylvania studying optogenetics and cell signaling.
Justine is a science teacher for ESL high school students in the southeastern United States. She hopes that her students will gain the English proficiency and critical thinking skills that will help them to explore and shape their lives and communities. Here, she describes the challenges and opportunities of teaching science across languages and cultures during a global pandemic.
If I am being honest, I never really liked science much when I was in middle and high school. I know that’s probably not the best way to start a post on your friend’s women-in-STEM blog, but it’s true. The only science class I took in college was a meteorology class for non-science majors in which my two groupmates were a humanities major and a music major who played the string bass. We weren’t exactly passionate about cloud formation and cold fronts.
Ironically, though, I am now a science teacher. I taught middle school ESL for the past four years, but this year, I started a job at my dream school. It’s an alternative school that serves immigrant and refugee students who are new to the country, are in the early stages of learning English, and have experienced interruptions in their formal schooling. Our goal is to help fill in content-knowledge gaps for our students while simultaneously increasing their English proficiency. I am technically still an ESL teacher, but now I teach language through science content. And…science is growing on me.
When I found out that I would be teaching science, I signed up for a slew of professional development opportunities to learn best practices in science education. Through these trainings, I have learned that there has recently been a shift to a new way of teaching science. Instead of focusing merely on content knowledge, new science standards adopted across much of the country push students toward sense making and actually doing science. This “three-dimensional” model of teaching science is based on general content standards, seven cross-cutting concepts, and eight science and engineering practices. Teaching with this model involves students exploring a phenomenon in the world and constructing their own ideas about how or why it works. It is an asset-based approach that builds on students’ pre-existing knowledge and allows their voices and ideas to be heard. Instead of a teacher “depositing” knowledge into her students, “knowledge emerges…through the restless, impatient, continuing, hopeful inquiry human beings pursue in the world, with the world, and with each other” (Friere, 1970, 53).
When I was in school, we would often read about and take notes on a scientific concept, and then do a lab (that I could never complete successfully no matter how hard I tried) to demonstrate that the concept was true. I always thought this was so lame, pointless and boring. “Someone smarter than me already told me this is true, so why am I struggling through this lab?” I would wonder irritably. I think, however, that if I had been taught using the new science standards in which students explore before a teacher explains, I might have actually enjoyed science!
Although three-dimensional science teaching engages students and aligns more accurately with the work of real scientists, it requires a significant amount of creativity on the part of the teacher. And this is even more true in a COVID-induced virtual school setting with beginning English learners.
When I sit down to plan a unit, I start with a phenomenon. When we studied plants, I showed a time-lapse video of a plant growing. When we discussed the different kingdoms of life, I showed a (very relaxing) video of different sea creatures drifting around a coral reef. When we started our unit on cells this week, I showed a video about a little boy with cancer. Next, I have the students make observations and ask questions about the phenomenon. Then, I think of as many ways as I can to have students explore the content before I explain it to them. While the goal is for students to discover as much as they can for themselves, the reality of virtual teaching, the language proficiency level of my students, and simply the limitations of a K-12 science classroom means that I do eventually have to give them some direct instruction. But first, we explore.
Sometimes, students will draw a model of what they think causes the phenomenon. I use an online presentation platform that includes special slides where students can draw, answer poll questions, write short answers, watch videos, etc. For example, when we talked about weather, I gave my students a picture of the sun and earth and asked them to draw arrows to show what they thought caused seasons. Other times, they have completed different exploratory activities. When we studied the six kingdoms of life, for instance, I gave them a picture of different living things that they needed to sort into groups based on their initial thinking of how they should be classified. Then, I told them that scientists often classify living things based on their cells and showed them pictures of several prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells to classify. After we discussed the accepted method of classifying cells and some basic characteristics of the six kingdoms, I gave them example organisms from each kingdom along with pictures of their cells. Students had to “be the scientist” and determine the kind of cells each kingdom has.
As an ESL teacher, though, I am never just teaching the science content. I constantly weave language learning throughout my lessons. I show a lot of pictures. A LOT of pictures. I explicitly teach vocabulary, and not just content-specific vocabulary, but also what we call Tier 2 vocabulary—words like “categories,” “differences,” and “function” that are academic but not content-specific. I encourage students to use their first language to support their English language development by allowing them to use translation technology and to explain things to each other in their first language. I give them sentence stems and word banks to support their writing. I ask them to explain their models, and if they can’t, I point to a specific part of their model and ask, “what is this?” and if they don’t know, I say, “is it the sun—yes or no?” until I finally get to something that they can do.
Because that is the thing—my students, though struggling, CAN DO a lot. Through no fault of their own, they have so many strikes against them. Fleeing violence and poverty in their homelands, they have arrived in a country shouting “build the wall” and “send her back.” They are navigating poverty and racism and an immigration system that is stacked against them and their families, all while struggling to learn the language that could help them advocate for themselves. Some of them are young mothers of young babies. Some of them work the night shift until 6am and have to be in my homeroom at 8am. Honestly, the products of photosynthesis are likely the least of their worries right now.
Yet, they show up to class. They try to puzzle out what this random white chick is babbling on to them about so emphatically in English. They draw their models and they classify their cells and they read and answer questions about what they read. They planted the sunflower seeds that I mailed to their houses. They learn. They do science. Because, as I have been telling people from the moment I started teaching ESL, my students are the most incredible, resilient people that I know. They have dignity and they are worthy of and capable of thinking critically about how the world around them works.
And maybe, they will end up liking science more than me.
For more information about the new science standards (the Next Generation Science Standards), please visit https://ngss.nsta.org/.
Friere, P. (1996). Pedagogy of the oppressed (3rd ed.). The Continuum Publishing Company.
As the leaves begin to change color, cool breezes replace summer heat, and Trader Joe's exchanges their normal inventory for nothing but pumpkin themed food, it becomes clear. Application season is in the air. Whether it's a for a fellowship, graduate school, or funding for a virtual conference, now is the perfect time of year to cozy up on the couch and write multiple pages about your life's dreams and achievements. Even amidst the chaos that is our world, at least there are still some intact deadlines to construct a sense of normalcy. Having read >200 application essays as a member of the graduate student admissions committee for my PhD program, a teaching assistant for fellowship-seeking graduate students, and a peer mentor in writing workshops, I have observed some common pitfalls that students encounter when preparing their personal and research statements. Save yourself (and your mentors!) some time now by avoiding these common mistakes.
1. Telling instead of showing
In my experience, "telling" instead of "showing" is the most common pitfall as well as the most important to avoid. Telling instead of showing occurs when a student explicitly states how they generally think, feel, or behave instead of showing these abstract concepts through concrete examples of their work. For example, students often write that they "love science" or "work hard." However, saying "I am a hard worker" isn't really convincing. If I am the reviewer, how do I know that the student is actually a hard worker? How do I know that the student and I have a similar idea of what it means to work hard? Showing the committee that you work hard by relaying concrete examples of your work is much more effective. Imagine a student instead writes, "I developed a month-long synthesis protocol, tested the protocol in triplicate, and then assessed the purity using nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy (NMR)." This student clearly worked hard to develop the protocol and test it three times. This student has also efficiently communicated that they are skilled in basic organic synthesis and NRM without having to list these specific skills and the reader has learned about the student's unique work. Showing instead of telling increases the credibility, word efficiency, and interest of the work.
Note the showing should include specific details. These details paint a story in the reader's mind, helping them to understand and remember you. Names of your faculty mentors, the company at which you worked, a specific instrument you used extensively, or an organization where you volunteered are all details that are appropriate to include. Instead of saying you performed "experiments and assays," say "western blotting and qPCR." Instead of saying that you earned a scholarship, say that you earned the "Exceptional Student Award, which is given to one student at the University of the State per year for high academic achievement."
Another subtle form of telling instead of showing is what I refer to as a "reflective sentence". A reflective sentence is when students relay their personal thoughts or feelings about an experience retrospectively. For example, a student might write, "I learned how much I love science through this internship and decided I wanted to study biochemistry and go to graduate school." Students often include these as conclusion sentences. Note: not every paragraph needs a conclusion sentence. In addition, a few (1-3) of these reflective sentences throughout the entire essay is more than enough to assure the committee that you love your work. These take up space, are a bit cliché, and can easily derail into a personal monologue. Use them sparingly.
2. Research experience lacks appropriate scope
A close second for the most common pitfall is the failure to fully communicate key aspects of a research experience. Internships, research assistantships in a university lab, and intensive class projects that require primary research can all be considered as research experiences. Note that most class projects do not recapitulate the firsthand experience of being in a lab or company, so these should only be included if it is your only experience or your project had an exceptional outcome beyond the classroom.
How you frame a research experience is not just a list of bullet points from a resume converted to paragraph form; it is a window for the committee to see how you think as a scientist. Students often fail to explain the big picture (why is the study important enough to do), what their specific role was in the work (as opposed to the work of mentors and the lab), or the outcomes of the experience (whether the work led to a poster, publication, new protocol, a new direction in the lab, etc.).
Each experience should described in 1-2 paragraphs or more depending on the number of experiences or breadth of one experience. If you worked in one laboratory for four years, for example, you can break down individual projects as different experiences. The description of the experience should be broad in scope at the beginning, answering why the problem is important to study. Think, "this disease is deadly" or "this organism has unique properties." Next, describe the larger goal or approach of the lab. If the big picture is a need for renewable energy, perhaps the lab is developing new solar cell materials. Importantly, you should identify what work you actually did, such as testing the efficiency of the new solar material described earlier. Finally, you should connect how your work led to progress toward the previously identified goal and list any outcomes. Outcomes can include presentations, reports, publications, a new method or protocol, or any new direction that the lab will take because of the work. With the exception of using 2-4 sentences to describe your work, all other questions can be answered in 1-2 sentences. This change in scope from big picture to narrow to big again resembles an hourglass as shown below.
3. Personal statement is too personal
The personal statement is deceptively named, and students often are not sure what should actually be included. Instead of thinking of it as a personal essay, think of it as a "professional-personal" essay. Do not include your life's story. Rather, experiences that were a part of or significantly impacted your career and are unique to you (that's the personal part) should be included. Importantly, the personal essay is a chance to convince the reviewing committee that you will be a good return on their investment. You can also use this space to showcase attributes that are difficult to discuss elsewhere in your application such as teaching experience or volunteer work.
What should/can go in a personal essay
What should not be in your personal essay:
4. Informal writing for a formal occasion
This one is pretty simple conceptually, but it's easy to forget. Again, while it may be called a personal statement, this is really a professional declaration of your accomplishments with a persuasive element to convince the committee to invest in you. Unlike if you are writing a text to your best friend or a note to your mom, you should follow formal writing conventions in your essays. This means proper grammar, defined abbreviations, a professional tone, and my personal pet peeve, no contractions! Pick up a book on formal writing conventions and have some colleagues take a look at your essays if you need help.
Unnecessary negativity sometimes occurs when a student is trying to communicate challenges they have overcome, particularly when those challenges were other people. It is not appropriate to complain about other individuals or groups of people, including your family and hometown. Students may also use negativity inadvertently to emphasize a positive point. In an attempt to show that they are truly motivated to pursue higher education, for example, they may simultaneously suggest that their community of origin is uneducated, dispassionate, aimless, etc. There is no need to put another scientist, institution, family member, or people group down to build your essay. There is plenty of credit to go around!
Happy writing! If you are putting together applications for the first time, check out our podcast on how to ask for letters of recommendation as well.
What do you study?
Whether at a family reunion or conference poster session, you have probably had to explain your research at some point in your career. More likely, you have had to explain your research many, many times and to a variety of audiences. These short conversations often represent key opportunities to start a new collaboration, find a job opportunity, or share new science with the public. A little preparation can go a long way to turning these elevator pitch-style answers into conversation starters.
In our recent episode "Prep your research pitch - skill share! ", Sally and I craft a research pitch in real time and tailor it for a given audience. We challenge our listeners to do the same!
Here's the challenge:
Choose your audience:
Write down and practice a 30 second answer to "What do you study?"
Deliver your pitch! Call your mom, send a video to your friend, or zoom with your labmate. Ask them what they found exciting, memorable, and confusing. Don't forget to save your pitch somewhere, too. You can pull out your notes and practice before a conference, virtual or not.
Send your pitch to Double Shelix! Email us (email@example.com) an audio file, leave us a voicemail, or send us a tweet (@doubleshelixpod) with your name and intended audience. We will be thrilled to hear from listeners and may feature your pitch in a future episode - with your permission of course!
Toxic mentorship can thrive in academia, but is often hard to spot. Entrenched power dynamics and internalized imposter syndrome can make victims of toxic mentorship, and their advocates, question if things really are that bad.
The list below, while not comprehensive, details a few traits of toxic mentorship. My goal is to identify behaviors to watch for so that trainees can spot toxic mentorship before joining a lab. It may also make it easier for student advocates, including faculty, to identify and support students facing toxic mentorship.
Toxic mentors often set intentionally unrealistic expectations of data quantity or quality so that when the trainee inevitably fails to meet them, the trainee will work even harder to meet the goal. This kind of intense pressure can lead to bad science, especially when a toxic mentor is unwilling to consider alternate hypotheses, despite what a trainee’s data may show.
Science is hard and frustration is common. But when critique of a dataset turns to personal attacks against a trainee, this is toxic behavior (“I knew you weren’t good enough to do this work,” “Students who really care come in every Sunday”). Feedback should be free from personal attacks.
Many aspects of science are competitive, like funding, publishing, and hiring. But when mentors bring this strong sense of competition into their labs, this can be extremely toxic for trainees. Lab members may race to achieve the same goal, compare hours worked or experiments completed, or fight for limited resources. In a healthy lab culture, mentors encourage collaboration and support among team members.
Code of Loyalty
Many toxic mentors are deeply invested in lab members being “loyal” to the lab or to the PI (principal investigator). They may use “harming the lab’s reputation” or “spreading rumors” as reasons why it is not appropriate for struggling students to seek input or support from other faculty. This is preposterous; asking for outside help is a normal part scientists’ training, and good mentors know and encourage this. When anonymous criticism does arise (negative tenure letters, ombudsperson mediations, department interventions), PIs may intimidate students to reveal the complainant or stop trainees from speaking up in the future. This is the dark side of a “This lab is a family” attitude; you may tolerate many behaviors from your family that you should not have to accept in the workplace.
Success at any cost
It may seem like a PI with a strong track record of funding, publications, or institutional support couldn’t possibly be a toxic mentor, and potential advocates sometimes minimize students’ experiences as overblown or unbelievable. Academia, however, does not usually reward healthy mentorship. Well-regarded PIs can still be toxic, and their influence can follow students throughout their careers, especially if the PI is conventionally successful. In some fields, there are “leaders” whose toxic mentorship is an open secret; trainees and faculty peers alike tolerate this behavior because they think “Oh, it’s worth it to have X’s name on your resume.” Communities should seek to give opportunities (speaker invites, awards, etc.) to faculty who treat their trainees appropriately.
Toxic mentors must be doing something to continue to attract trainees to their group, get money, maintain collaborations, and publish. Often that thing is manipulation. This can take many forms, including high praise and big promises for prospective group members and first year students, while harshly criticizing or totally ignoring older trainees. Harder-to-spot red flags include weird attitudes about data sharing (like keeping data secret from other group members or collaborators) and funny business around money (like how it’s spent or if/when trainees will be paid).
Toxic institutional culture
In many communities, there is a sense that being treated terribly is par for the course for students and postdocs. That this behavior, which can resemble hazing, is a necessary part of becoming a “real scientist.” Even if many professors in your department/institution behave toxically, or if a mentor doesn’t seem “as bad” as someone else, that does not make it okay. Often, trainees in these toxic cultures will eventually adopt this same mentality, judging newer lab members by these same toxic standards and perpetuating the cycle. Faced with a bad overall culture, ask yourself, “Would this person have been fired if they worked at a company with good HR?” If yes, it’s toxic.
Dealing with a toxic mentor can be extremely draining and isolating for trainees. In the best-case scenario, a new trainee would identify toxic mentorship and choose another lab to join. Often, this is not possible, so support from peers and other faculty is crucial to trainees’ success and wellbeing. If you suspect a trainee may be dealing with a toxic mentor, reach out to them and offer to help however you can. Believe them. Trainees in toxic situations, it is not your fault. Ask for support from peers or other faculty and try to find sources of happiness outside the lab. Training scientists well is a crucial part of being a professor, and we should all seek to promote healthy mentorship practices and reward good mentors.
About the author: Sally recently completed her PhD in Bioengineering at UC Berkeley and feels compelled to mention that she did *not* have a toxic advisor, which is why she can speak freely on this topic. Many victims of toxic mentorship cannot speak freely about their experiences. It is important for everyone to be informed on these issues so we can collectively support students!
We are heartbroken at the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, and many others, and we condemn police brutality in all forms. Black lives matter. Fighting for change in unjust systems is at the core of our mission to promote inclusive science and, frankly, we are ashamed that we have not done more.
We hope that our audience will join us in taking action to help our communities (or department, lab, team, workplace, family) be anti-racist and support and promote Black peers, students, mentors, faculty, friends, and community members. Many in our audience are at an early career stage, and may not have much experience speaking with people in power to confront racist behavior or implement new anti-racist initiatives. We challenge our non-Black friends to get comfortable being uncomfortable and speak up anyways, recognizing that not everyone has the privilege of silence.
Going forward we commit to featuring more Black scientists, engineers, and leaders on our podcast episodes and other platforms. Below, we have linked a few resources for ways you can join us in donating, learning, and action.
Sally + Kayla
Resources and data
Hello listeners! Double Shelix Podcast is expanding into the blogosphere.
Content will feature skill building guides, metascience commentaries, and scientists' personal stories. We will also highlight studies on inclusive STEM education/research and how to put this information into practice. We envision these posts as resource for listeners looking for more information on topics we regularly discuss in the podcast (or at least a good excuse to procrastinate while feeling productive).
Want to contribute? Email us an idea pitch at firstname.lastname@example.org! We are interested in short (500-1000 words) or long (<3000 words) posts, and we are always excited to hear from our fantastic listeners.
Thanks for reading!
Sally & Kayla