Me, Under the Microscope: Introducing A Scientist's Survival Guide

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” —ConfuciusA frustrated undergrad slowly turns the knob of their laboratory microscope, face muscles straining as they squint with Olympic-level intensity to try and find their target: one elusive cell suspended in their visual field. “I don’t see anything! What am I even looking for?” they huff, irritated with their inability to find a microscopic needle in a haystack of swirling liquid. While teaching microbiology to undergraduates during my doctorate program, I saw countless students wither in annoyance as they tried to identify their tiny, spinning subjects fixed on thin microscope slides. Playing the patient teacher, I peer into the oculars and slowly sweep the stage until my trained eye spots the inconspicuous speck that some scientific sixth sense tells me is the bacteria of choice. “Here, you’re looking for this black dot,” I say, and show them how to coerce the fine-focus into revealing their microbial target. Eventually, my students leave for the day, their curiosity satisfied and lab reports fulfilled. While I religiously march back up to the lab, alone, to search for an even smaller target within an even bigger haystack, I find myself thinking: “What exactly is it that I am looking for?”My lab-mate could answer this question easily, he knew exactly what he was looking for – a Nature paper leading to a prolific postdoc followed by generous grants and his own lab. My advisor also knew the answer: he wanted perfection and productivity and publications, all at the same time. My spouse also knew what he needed – more dedicated time from me, more weekends that I didn’t spend in the lab, and a less stressed-out partner. And, through their support of my academic aspirations, I had a persistent suspicion that my friends missed and wanted the old Maddie, the one who would stay out late on Wednesdays and could always be summoned for a last-minute adventure. But what did I want? What was it I was looking for in pursuing this often-thankless degree with low pay and long hours?I began graduate school for what was probably the most ill-advised reason imaginable: because I wasn’t sure what else to do. From my experience doing research as an undergraduate and then a lab tech at a local biotech company, I knew that I generally enjoyed science, even though the mundane cell preps that are bread and butter staples to any entry level lab position were the actual bane of my existence. But I loved the variety and challenge of the lab, and graduate school offered the perfect “out” to the very adult decision of choosing an actual career. I thought I could find my true passion and flourish in the rich, nurturing environment of higher-level education. What awaited me was somewhat the opposite. On my first official day of my first term of my master’s program I was plunged into teaching a full day of biology lab sections to undergraduates, and ended a 10-hour day feeling underprepared and exhausted. I had never heard the term “imposter syndrome” until orientation a few days earlier, but had a swift and severe indoctrination into what it meant to feel like a complete and total fraud hiding in plain sight. I plugged through a couple years of research and teaching that were marked by celebrating the occasional success but overwhelmingly dominated by anxiety about my many mistakes and shortcomings. I loved the culture of being a graduate student, of spending time focused on my research and becoming obsessed with figuring out the nuanced inner workings of the cellular world. But I often wondered if, on the other side of all this stress and pressure, I would be left feeling just as lost and empty as when I had started.So when my advisor casually asked one day, “have you ever thought of doing a doctorate?” I knew somewhere deep down that the answer had to be yes, but I had no idea why. I was attending weekly sessions with a therapist during this time to help with my near constant anxiety and self-doubt. When I told her that my advisor had asked if I wanted to stay on an extra 2-3 years to pursue a doctorate and that I was thinking of saying yes, she asked “are you doing this because you feel like it’s expected of you, or because it’s what you really want to be doing?” Great question. I’m not sure if I could even tell the difference.At this point, you might be anticipating what comes next. “This is where she tells us why she left science, why the expectations of others and all the pressures and her uncertainty about what she really wants causes her to realize that graduate school just wasn’t the right match.” And, if I’m being honest, this was very nearly the case. But instead, I can tell you that I emerged from my graduate program, groggy and bleary eyed and somewhat of a mess, to find that I was entering a field that I absolutely loved. What I realized is that I want to pursue science, which means to be constantly challenged, engaged, frustrated, and rewarded with moments of pure excitement at breakthrough discoveries. This is a field and career that can be not only personally satisfying, but can help the greater good by furthering our knowledge of the delicate and nuanced inner workings of microbial life. It may not be easy, straightforward, or make sense on a cost-benefit analysis sheet of earning potential during your 20s and 30s (yes, this is something I literally did before starting my doctorate), but a career in science is something that I am immensely proud of.Most importantly, I realized that my why was intertwined with the goals and visions of everyone around me. My lab mate’s grand goals helped inspire me to see what was creatively possible in science, my advisor’s pressure and high standards pushed me to persevere through criticism and hold myself to high expectations. Without my partner by my side to help me stay mentally healthy and balanced in my life, I would have lost sight of the things that bring me joy outside my work. And my friends didn’t want me to stay the same, they wanted me to grow into the best version of myself along whatever path I choose to follow. We cannot grow and succeed as individual islands, but must learn to lean on the support of others in order to advance ourselves and, in turn, provide continued assistance to those around us who are also striving to grow.It might not be immediately clear what you are looking for in life. Like my confused microbiology students, sometimes you might find yourself dizzy, staring into the blank space ahead without any sort of clear focus. As I slowly worked towards my degree and allowed myself to be supported by those around me, my goals in science gradually began to come into focus.In this blog series, I hope to illuminate the path forward not only for me, but for others on intersecting scientific journeys.I don’t have all the answers, but I am doing my best to figure them out as I go, and want to share my experience and knowledge with others. I hope to bring you information on a variety of issues related to career options, undergraduate and graduate school, postdoctoral research, and access to STEM for minorities. I know first-hand that it takes a community to build a scientist, and I hope to strengthen your knowledge and power so you can pursue whatever scientific path inspires you. 

About the author: Maddie Krieger is a Postdoctoral Fellow at Oregon Health and Science University. Her work combines wet lab and computational approaches to investigate the polymicrobial nature of oral diseases. She loves talking to other current or aspiring scientists about non-traditional STEM education and career paths. Maddie has been the Communications Chair of WIS since April 2022, and is passionate about science equality and bringing issues of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion to the forefront of discussions around STEM career paths and education. In addition to being a scientist, Maddie is an avid runner, equestrian, reader, and fan of deserts and reality TV.