Myshele Goldberg's Uni Blog

AT FIRST I thought it was just the winter holidays. It's never easy to get back to work after a break. But this time was different.

Sitting down to read filled me with anxiety and dread, a dull sense of inadequacy and confusion. I didn't know where to start. I began to doubt what I was doing.

Excitement was replaced by uncertainty, and I lost all desire to talk about my project with anyone. It was similar to the blocks I faced while writing my MSc thesis, but I'm not trying to write anything yet. Eventually, after much reflection, I realised what has happened.

For most of the autumn, I was focused on the details of my project - reading, thinking about how the pieces fit together, fleshing out ideas, looking for patterns.

In some ways, it was abstract and fluid - one of my supervisors called it a "literature swim". But, in other ways, it was very specific - building a philosophical model in which to ground the rest of my work.

Then, in December, a major grant application was due, requiring a detailed description of my project and why it deserves funding. So I paused in my philosophical wanderings and set to work writing an outline, from the rationale of the project through background literature, methods, timeline, research questions, and how the results could be used in the wider world.

I was pleased with how the application came out, and my supervisors were happy to have a better idea of what I was aiming for. I submitted the application and took a week off.

When I came back and tried to start working again, I felt utterly blocked, and it took me nearly a month to figure out why. On the positive side, the grant application forced me to clarify what I was doing and create a "map and compass" for where I want to go.

But the wide view makes it incredibly difficult to get back to filling in the fine details. It's like building an elaborate architectural structure, then stopping to look at the blueprint for the finished house. Understanding the scale of the work makes actually doing it a overwhelming endeavour.

And then there's the doubt. As a perfectionist with delusions of grandeur, I want to do something "Really Important". I think a lot of people start out this way, with visions of "Great Works" dancing in their heads.

But the weight of reality has a nasty way of compressing passion into cynicism. Perhaps academia is like the rest of our culture, running on fossilised dreams that are burned away before diamonds ever form.

Seeing the shape my project will take, I wonder whether it will be useful to anyone, whether it will actually make a difference.

Maybe in the required self-promotion, I overshot my comfort limits, and now I feel like a fraud, selling a useless product. I'm afraid my project is a piece of self-indulgent intellectual thumb-twiddling. On some level, I know it's not, but that doesn't seem to silence my fears. For all the joy of being self-directed, sometimes I wish I could just follow orders for awhile. It would certainly be easier.

Speaking with other postgraduate students, I've discovered that struggles with confidence and motivation are something we all share.

Our previous studies have given us intellectual tools, but during a PhD we must develop a new set of psychological tools. Moving between the big picture and the details. Promoting ourselves without feeling cheap and dirty. Conquering our inner blocks to get on with our work.

I never expected these lessons to be so hard.

• Myshele Goldberg is a PhD student at the University of Strathclyde. Her website is www.myshelegoldberg.com