It’s not me, it’s you: why I'm breaking up with medical research

Leaving a toxic relationship was the only solution, but it hurts us both

Non-renewal of contract and being forced to abandon the career path along which one was steadily progressing (albeit not at the “correct” pace) is an experience that is increasingly common among young medical researchers in Australia. In 2014, when our application for grant renewal was not funded despite receiving excellent scores, and I could find no other position in my field (women’s reproductive health) in Australia, I was one of those faced with the harsh reality of the modern scientific career. That reality was neatly summed up in a 2010 submission to the then federal Department of Innovation, Industry, Science, and Research (tellingly perhaps, the “Research” has since been dropped) from the Australian Association of Medical Research Institutes, who surmised that “increased casualisation of the workforce, over-reliance on short-term grants, lack of a sustainable career path and low salary scales relative to industry and other professions” results in “low attractiveness of research as a career”.1 Having been optimistic and, arguably, blasé to this point, I was blissfully unaware that this situation had already been recognised by several authors.2-4

After this experience, the “high” of discovery that drives all scientists was no longer sufficient to motivate me to pursue a research career. Broken-hearted and grieving for one of the loves of my life, I penned the following …

Dear Research,

I’m sorry, but we’re breaking up.

If we’re honest, I think we both knew this day has been coming for a long time. I’ve always struggled to keep up with your unrealistic demands, and as a result have just fallen further and further behind expectations over the years. I now find myself at the point where I feel I’ll either be enslaved to you for life, or I must get out.

And, as hard as it is, I choose the latter.

Because you know what I’ve realised?

It’s not me — it’s you.

Let’s get real: I’ve been as committed to this relationship as anyone could reasonably have asked me to be, and you couldn’t fault my devotion to you over the past 15 years. I’ve spent countless hours with you at the expense of my family, children, and friends (most of whom have never understood my attraction to you, and have regularly questioned why I’ve stuck with you for so long!). And you must admit that it has been a weird relationship at times — demanding that I come over in the middle of the night and on weekends to check experiments, or that I take equipment and samples home over the Christmas holidays for daily ministrations: these are NOT the elements of a normal, healthy working relationship!

I may not be the greatest scientist in the world, but most of my peers at least think I’m a pretty damn good one: resourceful, creative, and collaborative, for instance. It’s clear to me now, though, that all you really care about is the number of papers on my CV. But is that really the only important measure of my worth? What about the more than 200 citations those papers have generated? The 17 presentations I’ve made at local, national and international conferences over 11 years (and 12 grants I’ve won to get there)? The 12 students I’ve supervised or mentored since 2007? My contributions to the editorial process of nine scientific journals, teaching in three undergraduate and postgraduate programs, four research awards, or my advocacy to scientific societies and the federal parliament? The truth is that I will never be good enough for you.

Don’t get me wrong, you have many wonderful qualities and, occasionally, it was exhilarating being with you: those times when we were accepted for publication, the “eureka!” moments in the lab when you gave me an unexpected insight into the world, and the fabulous places across the globe we travelled to. And then there were the days when we were just in the zone, and hours would pass in blissful laboratory contentment. These are the moments I’ll treasure when I look back at our time together.

I’m sure you’re asking yourself the question, and yes, I do have a confession to make: there is someone else. Up until now I’ve resisted the temptation, but Medicine has made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I admit that I’ve been flirting with her for years, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t take my relationship with you seriously. I wanted us to work out so badly, and I gave it my all, but you’ve driven me into Medicine’s arms.

To be fair, I guess our timing just wasn’t right. When we first got together, you were so much more generous. Now you have commitments to many others, and I understand that you have to spread your resources more thinly. But I’m sorry, I can’t build my life around that.

I’m not naive: I know it will be hard work with Medicine. Long hours, high stress environments, and life and death decisions on a daily basis. But you know what? I CAN’T WAIT. Because Medicine promises stability and compensation commensurate with the workload, and that’s what I need right now.

Having said all that, I hope we can stay close. In fact, I think it’s possible that, after the dust settles and if you’re up for it, we could perhaps hook up again occasionally. I’m not normally the polyamorous type, but a relationship with Medicine, unlike with you, isn’t an all-consuming deal: she is totally open to me having other relationships — in fact, she encourages it! And I’m not ready to let you go completely.

I’ll always love you, but for now: it’s over.