barriers to me being an effective mentor, thus far

Yesterday I blogged that mentorship has been on my mind all week. The truth is that mentorship is probably on my mind every day, as part of my job involves mentoring and guiding my own junior people (graduate students, undergraduate students, people I meet online, and even some of my colleagues who are junior to me). Yesterday was likely a tipping point, between a meeting I had with another workshop attendee and a conversation with the person I tweeted up with while I was here (which was fun and nothing to get nervous about and I'm still pretending that person doesn't have a direct line to my brain via the blog). I'd like to think that hopefully blogging helps someone - and that's a form of mentorship - but official mentorship is also a crucial component of my job.

I've never blogged about it before, but if you knew me in person you'd know that mentorship is the aspect of my job which brings me the most stress. In fact, without any people to mentor, I think I'd be a completely different professor with a completely different state of mind right now. In the past six months I've become convinced I really, really suck as a mentor - when I make a list of the things that have burnt me out so much, having people to mentor tops the list.

I could probably blog about all the reasons I suck as a mentor. But that would involve blogging about my students, and I don't do that. Suffice to say I feel completely un-anchored and lost in this aspect of my career. I vaguely remember starting my job with a plan and some proactive strategies that have devolved into putting out fires. I am in reactive mode and have been so for most of the past 2 years. Lately I've returned to being proactive and have had some success, but it's been baby steps. Figuring out where the line is between my success and their success is difficult. The model that appeared to work for my adviser doesn't work for me.

What I can blog about are my perceived barriers to being a mentor to others: 

1. I had a clear image of what I thought I was getting into, but I was wrong. I'm sure this is probably a summary statement that can be applied to almost any realm of disappointment for a new professor. I had an expectation and an image of how an academic program would work, based on my experiences in my own academic program. This is not how my department works. Our students' career goals are different, our courses are structured differently, funding is much different, etc. When you don't understand the rules of the game, it's impossible to be successful at it. It's difficult to successfully mentor others when you are still trying to figure out how the system works.

2. I did not fully understand the environment I was getting myself into. When I interviewed at PCU, the faculty had an invested interest in me being pleased with the environment that I would be working in. So they sold it to me in a certain way. Some of that wasn't accurate. But I didn't know the players well enough to know who to believe (and neither will most people, on an interview). Yesterday I was talking about triangulating information from different sources on an interview by asking the same questions of different people - a good strategy but that will only take you so far. Once again, I didn't understand the system I was working in. There are two ways in which this has had a negative impact on my experience of my job as a mentor. First, I didn't understand the boundaries, expectations, and goals of the people I mentor. I assumed they would be the same as mine and the program I came from. (I know that is vague, sorry). Second, I was sold a career opportunity that would create synergy between my research and professional development goals (including mentoring) that didn't exist. In fact, I've now learned that every new faculty member has been sold that opportunity and over the course of the past 15 years no one has managed to make it successful.

3. I am a visibly young, female professor. I am not entirely sure that my gender impacts my ability to mentor, but I am willing to strongly entertain the possibility. My friends in the profession insist it does. My age makes mentoring a challenge - I am close in age or even younger than my graduate students. I use the same social media sites (although I don't interact with them on social media on a personal level!), I listen to similar music, attend similar events in our community, have similar cohort-related values, etc., etc., etc. I do think this makes it challenging for me to be taken seriously. I wish it didn't. Clearly, my age and gender don't preclude the fact that I have a doctorate and I have expertise in my area. That doesn't seem to be what my mentees assume, however.

4. I have a personal value system of authenticity that interferes with my ability to appear authoritative. Sometimes we have blind spots, and this is one of mine. It has taken me a while to see that I have a personal value system that interferes with my ability to be seen as authoritative and in charge. It is important for me to be myself, always. Does that mean I act the same in a faculty meeting as I do with my friends at a concert? Or that I relate to my students the same way I relate to the people I date? Or that I act the same with my Dean as I do with my friends from home? Absolutely not. But I know some of my personality characteristics likely interfere with seeming "in charge." I don't know how to resolve this, but at least I am aware of it. I think that's a step in the right direction. Pretending to be someone I'm not sounds exhausting, but I do need to try something different. (That being said I do have mentees with whom my style works perfectly. So there is a lesson in that as well).

5. I have a difficult time quitting or giving up on people. This is a personality characteristic that adds an extra level of complication to my role as a mentor. I don't quit on people. Yeah, that sounds like it might be a good thing - but there are a lot of situations in which it is actually a bad thing. I have this problem with friends, romantic partners, students, people I conslut for, and people I mentor. But not everyone is capable of doing what you hope they'd be capable of. Sometimes being a good mentor is knowing when to draw a line and say "We're done here." I'm getting better, but it still is a hurdle that pains me to get over.

6. After the first year or so of being new, no one guides you anymore and you don't know what you don't know. The first year of my job, my colleagues were great at asking me if I needed anything, guiding me through that first year of new processes and procedures, and answering my questions. Unfortunately, becoming a professor means not knowing what you don't know - how the procedures to submit an MA thesis work at your University, for example. How to create a committee for your students (and this isn't even written down anywhere in my department). How to prepare your application for a merit increase. Even more difficult is the fact that not everything you will ever need to do as a professor happens in that first year. For example, some of my students will be defending dissertations this year. I have no idea how that works. Hopefully I will know all of the right questions to ask.

In all the months I've been anguishing over my inability to (seemingly, by my standards), be a successful mentor, I've been taking the blame on as my own. I have been thinking that if I could just figure out the magic thing to change about myself, then maybe this would all click into place. But it didn't occur to me until this week - between a workshop and a conversation yesterday - that there are barriers beyond me as a person that interfere with my ability to be effective. Some of them are about me - but some of them are also about the system I work in, the colleagues who I work with, and the people I am trying to mentor. 

apparently I'm so burnt out even my burnout is burnt out

A few weeks ago one of my friends called me after something bad happened. I'm not going to name the friend, even with the pseudonym I usually use or tell you what happened. But what happened was seen as both of us as a possible symptom of long-standing burnout.

I don't remember our whole conversation (it was early in the morning and I was already in my office, lame) but I do remember distinctly saying to my friend that we are not to be trusted to regulate ourselves and work. We can't trust ourselves to accurately gauge how much work we can really handle, nor can we trust ourselves to tell when we're burnt out. We vastly overestimate the former and sadly never see the latter until it's far too late. Both of us have a tendency, I think, to be cruising along actually thinking we're not that stressed until something almost downright hilarious in its awfulness happens. It is my working hypothesis that grad school interacted with our pre-existing vulnerabilities to completely burn out our ability to notice and manage stress.

This week I went to an award ceremony. Every time someone was called up to receive their award, the sponsor (for example a colleague) spoke for a few minutes about the accomplishments of that person. It was actually an inspiring, albeit intimidating, experience. There were so many people being recognized for doing so many amazing things. This definitely resulted in some imposter syndrome on my part, but that's not what this post is about.

Everyone was described as not only a fantastic researcher, colleague, team-member, and overall person, but as a dedicated and passionate instructor. And hearing everyone's tales of instructor amazing-ness gave me a bit of an out of body experience.

I realized, listening to them, that I used to be that instructor. I was passionate about teaching. I spent time on my courses consistently. I went above and beyond with my students. I was interested in the pedagogy of teaching and I was up to date on much of it. I used principles of learning in my courses (okay I still do that one).

I'm not that instructor anymore. I doubt I'm even that mentor anymore. Is that all my fault? No. I've been dealt some shitty hands here at PCU. And I know I can't be perfect across the board and I have actively tried to prioritize research over teaching, knowing that it is research that will get me tenure. Not teaching. Even worse however, is the fact that I hardly remember being that instructor. It's almost like thinking of a completely different individual. (And in a lot of ways, I was a different individual, that many years ago).

I could write about all the things that have led to this, but I'm frankly too exhausted. This odd experience, of listening to the descriptions of the instructor I'd like to be but can't, allowed me to connect with how incredibly burnt out I am. I am burnt out in my bones, in my soul. My brain doesn't work very clearly. I'm tired all of the time. I'm cynical, I'm bitter, I am angry. Some of it is accurate and some of it is not. I'd like a vacation but I can barely get myself to stop working 7 days a week out of stress and fear of losing my job.

So not only am I burnt out (if you look it up, you'll see a lot of those things describe it perfectly), I am... apathetic about my burnout. I didn't care. It was a weird disconnected "Huh. Look how burnt out I am. Interesting" experience - with no emotion whatsoever. I am so burnt out that I'm even burnt out of my burnout.

Am I completely flat? No. I'm finding lots of reward and happiness in some places. But I'm clearly not who I used to be when I left graduate school. And one of my biggest concerns has been related to the theme of whether or not the sacrifices I've made for my career have permanently made me a different person or if they are temporary - this is something I talk about constantly, and worry about constantly. I don't want to be a burnt out professor.

You might wonder - do my colleagues recognize this kind of burnout in Assistant Professors? Yes. It's openly known this happens. Do my senior colleagues have recommendations for this kind of burnout? Yes - one's first sabbatical. In Year 7. That's right... you're fully expected to hang in there for seven years of this and then expected to somehow recover on your sabbatical (while also accomplishing enough to justify your sabbatical and get ready for your next level of promotion). 7 years of this, then 1 year to recover. Take a step back and think about that, if you can - that's just a little bit fucked up.

is some unfairness okay? and how do you decide how to spread opportunities?

When I started my job as a professor, I vowed that I would treat everyone in my lab fairly. (You can probably guess where I got this conviction).

I'm going to spare you the details and jump right to the end of this story: That didn't work very well. In fact, it was really, really stressful for me.

I have a limited amount of resources to spread around, and I've discovered a lot of barriers to the Treat Everyone The Same Plan:

1. Everyone needs something different in terms of mentoring. My lab represents a very diverse skill set. Some of my students entered their PhDs with very little experience with scientific writing. Others had publications under the belts. Some of them are a natural in the lab and others need a lot of hand holding and observation before I can set them loose to collect data reliably. Some like to be very independent, checking in only once or twice in any given semester, and some need regular meeting times to keep on track. I think it is more appropriate for me to meet my students where they are at, and mentor them as individuals, than it is for me to apply the exact same strategies to each of them.

2. Everyone has different career goals. A PhD in my area is incredibly flexible. The entire array of career goals are currently represented in my lab. (Although I am beginning to recruit students with a more specific path in mind). Because they have different career goals, they need me to help open different doors for them - some of them need to connect with community partners. Some need to publish a lot. Some need very specific applied training experiences. I can't give all of these to everyone. In part because....

...3. I have a limited amount of funding. And I need to spend it wisely. On things that will have a good return for me. I can't spend money sending Student A and Student B to Opportunity C when only Student B actually needs it. (And yes, students are required to pursue their own funding and their own training opportunities).

4. I have very clear and specific tenure needs. This is really where the rubber hits the road in terms of being "unfair" in my lab. I am fortunate - I have very clear expectations for tenure. Other professors do not. Some of my students help me progress on the path toward those goals and some don't. I am not willing to spend my resources (time, funding, money for training, etc) on things that can't help me accomplish those goals. This is ultimately how I decide to spread resources around.

I've accepted that I can't be 100% even, as I intended when I was a n00b Assistant Professor. What I am having a hard time with, however, is addressing the difficulties this creates in the lab. For example, sometimes Graduate Student X will complain about something that Graduate Student Y gets to do - even when that task is completely contraindicated given Graduate Student X's career plans. When I point these things out, no one is appeased.

I should restate that more clearly - I'm having a hard time dealing with my own emotions about my graduate students (correctly) perceiving that things are not 100% equally distributed in the lab. They don't seem to understand the above points, and I need to accept that this isn't something I can expect them to be okay with. Which means I need to deal with my own discomfort at being perceived as unequal - because I would be a fool to try and mentor any other way. Not everyone would get their own needs met, and I would be quickly out of money.