Gareth Hathway - The Struggles of Balancing Work and Family Life in Academia

The Struggles of Balancing Work and Family Life continues with Gareth Hathway, Professor of Neuroscience at the University of Nottingham. 

In this interview, Gareth reflects on his journey from undergraduate studies in Cardiff to postdoctoral research at UCL and his current role in Nottingham, alongside the deeply personal choices he and his wife made about parenting, career progression, and financial security.

Gareth offers an honest and thoughtful perspective on teamwork in relationships, the realities of academic instability, and how redefining success around family, rather than professional status, shaped his career. His story highlights the often-overlooked experiences of fathers in academia and the importance of supportive partnerships, flexible working, and valuing life beyond the lab.

Before we get into the more specific questions, please can you share your academic journey?

I studied for a BSc (Hons) in Pharmacology at Cardiff University from 1992 to 1995, and then went on to complete a PhD in Pharmacology at the University of Cambridge. After finishing my PhD, I undertook post-doctoral research at University College London (UCL) with Professor Maria Fitzgerald (FRS) in the Wellcome London Pain Consortium as a Research Fellow, and then Senior Research Fellow. In 2009, I moved to the University of Nottingham, where I’m now a Professor of Neuroscience.

As for starting a family - there wasn’t really a defined moment where we sat down and planned. It wasn’t accidental, but it also wasn’t the result of some mature, scheduled conversation like you sometimes see on TV: “Shall we have a child, darling?” That wasn’t us. We were married, we knew we probably wanted children, but there was never going to be a perfect time. There were always going to be reasons not to. Sarah, my wife, finished her PhD and moved into a job at GE Healthcare in Amersham, leading in vivo studies and managing a team of about 25 people. She was earning more than I was at the time and on a secure, well-paid contract. We got married in 2004, and in early 2006 - on a Saturday, I still remember - she found out she was pregnant. I was 32, she was 30, and to be honest, we still didn’t feel very grown-up. I remember driving up to Long Eaton so she could tell her parents, and she asked me to wait in the car while she did. I think many people can relate to that psychological shift - still feeling like a child yourself and then suddenly stepping into this major adult role.

Our first child wasn’t planned in a conventional sense, but it wasn’t a surprise either - it just happened naturally as part of our relationship evolving. Our second child was more of a conscious decision, and our third was more of a “let’s see what happens” situation.

What motivated you to pursue an academic career, and did your motivation change after becoming a parent? 

There were many reasons. Initially, I wanted to do a PhD simply to have “Dr.” before my name. My PhD was sponsored by the Glaxo Institute of Applied Pharmacology, and my supervisor, Pat Humphrey, was a corporate figure - highly successful, but the culture didn’t quite suit me. I realised early on that I wasn't built for that kind of environment. I preferred the freedom to follow ideas, the flexibility, and the sense of autonomy that academia offered.

I didn’t grow up thinking this path was even possible. The first time I went to university was when I was interviewed as an undergraduate applicant. I knew nothing and never thought I would be the kind of person that could apply to do a PhD. I selected a PhD purely on the basis of how much they were going to pay me. That was the determining factor, not the project.

Security also played a huge role. I grew up in a household where my dad was made redundant several times. We didn’t go without, but it was tough. Academia offered stability, at least in the long term, and that meant something to me. I wasn’t trying to make a fortune; I was looking for continuity, and a place where I could build something without the constant threat of being cut loose. That said, the irony of course is that academia, especially early on, is anything but stable. Short-term contracts are brutal. I understand why they exist, but from a personal perspective, they’re incredibly difficult to navigate. Whether you're a man or a woman, the uncertainty - where you'll be, who you’ll be working with, whether you'll even have a job next year - makes it hard to plan for anything, especially family life. When we had our first child, Owen, in 2006, I had just started my second contract at UCL, so I knew I had at least three years of security. 

Do you think that, because you were lucky enough to be  in a well-funded lab, you've had a bit more security? 

Absolutely - I’ve been incredibly lucky. Not just with circumstances, but especially with the people I’ve worked with. I’ve ended up working with some great mentors and colleagues, including Maria Fitzgerald at UCL, whose lab was well-funded and whose reputation helped me enormously.

But even in a lab like that, nothing is guaranteed. There were still moments of uncertainty. I’ve had to rely on “funny money” extensions to contracts when grants didn’t come through. That kind of instability weighs heavily - on your career, your family, your mental health. I was fortunate that my wife had a permanent job, which gave us a financial anchor. Still, around the time our eldest son Owen turned four, my contract at UCL was coming to an end. I’d been there for six or seven years, and it became clear I couldn’t stay unless I secured an independent position. So, I applied for three jobs in a single month - one here at the University of Nottingham, one at Trinity College Dublin, and one at Glaxo. 

Was there ever a time when you didn’t have a job? 

No, there wasn’t. I couldn’t have coped with that - not just psychologically, but financially. We’ve never had a safety net. There was no family money to fall back on, no cushion if things went wrong. So, I knew I always had to be working. If academia hadn’t worked out, I would’ve found something else - I’d have taken a job at B&Q or wherever I could. There was simply no option not to.

What did your day-to-day look like in those early years of parenting and academic work?

The biggest challenge, I think, is that society tends to view parents or partners as separate individuals with their own lives that just occasionally intersect, but that was never how we approached it. I don’t know how others manage it - and it’s none of my business - but for us, everything was done as a team. And I don’t mean I was the team captain - far from it. It’s always been a team of two, and in many ways, Sarah has been the lead.

Sarah was incredibly career driven. She had planned to take just one month of maternity leave when Owen was born and then return to work. At the time, paternity leave wasn’t even a formal option. I was lucky that my boss, Maria Fitzgerald, simply said, “Just take two weeks,” which I did. Sarah had already found a childminder, Debbie, and was fully prepared to go back. But once Owen arrived, everything changed. She ended up taking the full nine months. Her priorities shifted, and that’s when we both started to reassess. 

I think I realised quite early on that this is a job. It's a career, but it's a job, and it's not principally how I define myself. I'm not saying it's the right way. But other people define themselves by their jobs. I unsympathetically think that these are the people who want statues and plaques. I'm not like that. I want to do well and answer interesting questions, but it's not how I define myself. My family is how I define myself, that's the most important thing in my life. 

There was a major turning point when we had both children, and my UCL contract was ending. Sarah enjoyed her job, was great at it, and earned a good salary, but most of what she earned went toward childcare. And it didn’t sit well with us to feel like we were outsourcing the raising of our kids to someone else, with no real benefit. That triggered a big decision: she chose to step back from full-time work to focus on home life, which she wanted to do. When I got the job at Nottingham, I initially commuted up for a few days a week while still finishing up work at UCL. For the first six months, I was going back and forth. And then came the next challenge: relocating. Sarah’s one non-negotiable was: “I don’t want to move somewhere that means we have to live in a smaller house than the one we have now.” I’d be driving around different areas, checking house prices on Rightmove, asking: Can we afford to live here? The answer kept being no. We kept expanding the radius until we eventually looked further out. I had already started the job and I’d spend evenings on my laptop, scrolling through listings until we eventually found where we live now, in Lincolnshire. We could get a bigger house for less money, and that sealed it.

The trade-off, of course, is that I now drive over an hour each way to work every day. But that was part of the compromise and again, it was a team decision. That’s how we’ve always approached it.

I feel like what you are describing depends heavily on the people in the relationship. 

Massively. When we decided to move up here, we knew it meant Sarah wouldn’t continue working, not because I had some grand career ambition that needed prioritising, but because that’s what she wanted. And I think, especially in academic circles, people often judge that decision. There's this assumption that I must have somehow “subjugated” my wife to further my own career, or that I forced her into being the full-time parent. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Sarah chose to stay at home. She wanted to be there for our children in those early years. She wanted to take them to music classes, to be there after school, to give them the kind of upbringing that neither she nor I had. That was her choice - one we both supported, but one she initiated. And it came with sacrifices. When I moved from my postdoc in London to take the job here, I took a £6,000 pay cut. Add to that the fact that we lost more than half of our household income when Sarah stopped working. But we made that decision deliberately, because we believed it was what would be best for our children. Again, it wasn’t my decision, it was Sarah’s job and Sarah’s career that she was stepping away from. But on the flip side, she was also the one who got to enjoy those moments at home - going to baby groups, toddler sessions, getting involved in the preschool. I didn’t get to do that, and I missed it. But we both accepted the roles we were taking on.

That said, when I came home, I didn’t disappear off to play golf or go out drinking. My life outside of work was, and still is, entirely centred on my family. At home, things have always been 50/50. That was the case before kids, during the most intense parenting years, and it still is now that the kids are older. Ultimately, I think it all comes down to what you want your legacy to be. How do you want to be remembered? I’m very comfortable with the idea that if I go to a big conference, no one might recognise my name. That doesn't bother me. I’m not chasing that kind of recognition. I’m not looking for external validation. For me, the most important thing is how I’m remembered by my children. That’s my legacy.

Of course, I hope my students - PhD, undergraduate, postdoc - remember me too. I hope I’ve made a difference in their lives and careers. But I don’t need to be remembered for a 2009 paper in Pain about descending control. That might get cited, sure, but I’m not in this for awards. I’ve seen others (men and women) who take the opposite view, and that’s completely fine. I’m not saying they’re unhappy or that their children are disadvantaged in any way. It’s just a different path. A different set of choices. And most of the time, it works for them because it fits the life they’ve built. For us, this is what fits.

Can you talk about how becoming a parent affected your career and how the academic culture around caregiving and leadership has (or hasn’t) changed?

My postdoctoral supervisor, Maria, was able to pursue a successful academic career while also being a parent during the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s - a time when the environment for women in neuroscience was particularly challenging.  When I was a PhD student in the mid 1990s, I can only recall one or two female academics in the Pharmacology department and then, where I did my day-to-day work, another three or four. Now it must be 50/50, so that's how times have changed. I can't speak as a woman because I don't have that lived experience, but there used to be a phrase, ‘if you want to be a professor, you've got to hurt some people on the way up’. That’s the general perception. I don't like hurting people. I don't like exploiting people and I don't think there’s a need to be like that as a male or a female. 

When Owen was born, there was a lack of appreciation for the physical and mental impact that being a new parent had on me. I had two weeks off, but Owen didn’t sleep for months, and my work hours remained the same - I was still arriving at 7am in London after a long commute and continuing my experiments. There seemed to be an assumption that becoming a father wouldn’t affect my career, but in reality, it did. Parenting is a shared experience, and when one partner is affected, both are. We had to make difficult decisions simply to get through that period.

In your experience, have you observed any biases or assumptions directed toward women in academia - particularly those who are mothers or considering starting a family? How have you responded to this? 

Yes, absolutely. Though things have improved, there are still underlying issues. These days, maternity leave - someone being away for nine months or so - isn’t seen as a major disruption anymore. That kind of absence is generally accepted, and colleagues now just step in to cover teaching or supervise PhD students without much fuss. Fifteen years ago, though, it was different. There would’ve been a lot of passive-aggressive reactions - shrugged shoulders, deep sighs, that kind of thing.

But even now, I think people often forget the ongoing reality of childcare. Once you're physically back at work, there’s this assumption that you’re fully “available”- as if responsibilities at home have magically disappeared. You’re no longer seen as a whole person with a complex life, just a work unit. And that affects everyone with caring responsibilities, not just mothers. Some of our colleagues are on fractional contracts - working full-time hours but paid for part-time - and they effectively disappear for a couple of months at a time. Not in a bad way, but in a way that’s necessary and often overlooked or misunderstood.

At the heart of it, I think a lot comes down to the dynamics between partners,  whether they're together or not. Is the career load really shared? Or does one person have to step back? In my case, my wife Sarah made the decision to pause her career as she wanted to look after the children. It wasn’t because I’m more ambitious or more deserving, it’s just the arrangement that worked for us. But if both partners are equally career-driven, then something’s got to give. And frankly, academia doesn’t pay well enough to make that decision easy, unless you already have financial support or family money behind you. It’s a good salary relative to many jobs, but not enough to “have it all.”

Then there’s the issue of mobility. There's a horrible phrase used in HR: the “trailing spouse.” What happens when one partner has a job in Nottingham and the other in London? Who moves? Academia doesn't offer much support for these realities, especially when so many positions are short-term and precarious. The entire structure is still deeply Victorian, in both the UK and elsewhere. It’s designed around an outdated model: the ‘gentleman scientist’ with family wealth, a full-time partner at home, and no need to worry about finances or logistics.

Add to that all the unpaid labour expected in academia. Peer reviewing papers, sitting on committees, reviewing grants - it’s all essential to career progression, and yet much of it is unpaid. And for mothers in particular, finding the time to do all that invisible work can be incredibly difficult. You're expected to do these things “for the good of the system,” while also juggling everything else. Worse still, there's often a transactional undertone - if you review someone’s paper, maybe they’ll be more inclined to accept yours. That’s not a fair or sustainable system.

Conferences are another issue. Take Society for Neuroscience, for example - it’s a 7- to 10-day commitment. Regardless of gender, many parents don’t want to (or can’t) be away that long. Personally, I’ve skipped big conferences because we couldn’t afford to be out of pocket. Our finances are joint - there’s no “my money” and “her money” - so if I travel, it affects both of us.

Then there are grant deadlines - many fall right after Christmas or at the end of the summer holidays. Who is that schedule designed for? Certainly not people with children. Whether you're a mother or a father, it’s a logistical and emotional burden. I recently spoke with a colleague whose wife is also an academic, and he joked that their children don’t see her after 7 p.m., even during holidays. That’s not just about when you choose to have a child- it’s about how you want to raise your children. Of course, sacrifice is part of any career. That’s true in any job. But in academia, it often feels like the institution expects sacrifice as the default - particularly from women, and especially from mothers. And by “institution,” I don’t just mean the administration. I mean the entire academic culture.

So as a woman or a man, you need a good deal of luck. I’ve been lucky. I don’t say that as if I’ve done something noble or exceptional - I just mean that I’ve had support and circumstances that allowed things to work out. But that’s also why I feel a responsibility to help others - not just PhD students and postdocs, but undergraduates too. That’s part of why I got so involved in teaching. Selfishly, yes, it offered some job security - if you teach well, it’s harder to make you redundant. But more importantly, it gave me a chance to support students directly. I love teaching. It can be frustrating, but the rewards outweigh that frustration.

Are there any habits or strategies that helped you balance academic work with family life? 

Yes, absolutely. I learned when I was about 18 that I simply can't work effectively in the evenings, so I stopped trying. I rarely work past 7 p.m. because I know that anything I do beyond that time won’t be productive. When I’m home, I’m present with the kids. If they’ve gone to bed - especially in the early days when I was their bedtime - I might squeeze in a bit more work. But even then, my wife, who comes from a background in industry, would question it: "Why are you still working? Are you getting paid for this?" I remember when I was promoted to professor, and the pay increase was just £40 - she was livid. She said, "All that extra work for £40? That’s it?" It really highlighted the disconnect between effort and reward in academia, at least on the surface.

I’ve also learned that I’m most productive early in the morning. For example, just yesterday I was downstairs at 5 a.m. editing an MRes thesis and working on a bid for BRC (Biomedical Research Centres) funding. That’s when I get my best work done, before anyone else in the house is awake. I discovered this during my PhD, partly because of the social dynamics. I found I did my best experiments when the lab was empty, when no one was around to distract or interrupt me. I’m not necessarily recommending that schedule, but it’s what worked for me. I used to be in the lab by 4 a.m. as a PhD student, and once I became an academic at Nottingham, I’d be in by 6 a.m. That meant I couldn’t do the school run in the morning, but I could pick the kids up two or three times a week. Had I worked conventional hours, I’d have missed both drop-off and pick-up. So, for me, that schedule allowed some flexibility and presence at home - not because I had some grand strategy, but because it simply suited me.

That said, I was incredibly lucky; Sarah was always there for the kids, and I know not everyone has that support system. Nor does everyone want that dynamic.

Another strategy is only working with the people I want to work with (which is a luxury!). But being lucky enough to be able to choose who I want to work with makes me realise how lucky I am. I never forget how bad I think this job can be, how tough I think this job can be; but, I’m not working in a factory, moving a bit of plastic from one place to another, which is what my dad did for his whole life for very little money. I'm not doing that. I'm just checking my privilege. 

Looking back, would you do anything differently?

Not really. I’ve had opportunities I didn’t take - offers from Princeton, Yale, and others - but I don’t regret it. Those paths might have led to different things, but not necessarily better. 

In relation to children no, I don't regret that for a minute. I wasn't in a position, relationship wise, to have children earlier and I don't think we could have waited much longer. Maybe we could have lived closer to Nottingham, but I’ve come to appreciate the long commute. It gives me a physical and psychological boundary between work and home. I’m really grateful to have that period of time. 

What advice would you give to young women entering academia who are also considering starting a family? And what role do you think male colleagues or partners can play in supporting them?

Partners play a huge part in supporting people. Unless you've got someone that's supportive at home, if you’re a man or a woman, it’s much more difficult to do this job - especially when you've got really small children, primary school age. I don't know how people do it. I don't think I'm in a position to give anybody advice about this kind of thing because I've just been so lucky. My instinct is to work with people you like, who support you, are honest with you, and realise that everybody's in it for themselves to some degree. Nobody does anything out of the goodness of their heart. With my PhD students for example, I can use their data for papers and in grants. That's the currency. 

Try to surround yourself with people who are going to help you, develop your career, and tell you when you're doing things right, but also tell you when you're not doing things quite right. You want them to give you opportunities to help you grow as an academic, but also as a scientist, and to understand the fact that sometimes little Johnny will get chicken pox, and it means either you've got to look after them or you are contagious. Don't let the job stop you from living the life that you want to live because we do only get one chance at it and frankly, again, from my perspective, it's just a job. My children are the most valuable thing I've done without question. That's my legacy. 

Do you have any final thoughts?

This career is incredibly rewarding, but it demands a lot and it doesn't always reward in equal measure. If you can define success on your own terms, and not someone else's,- you’ll be much happier for it. I’ve never aimed to be famous in my field. I want to do good work, support my students, and be there for my family. I’m ok with that being enough.

Thank you to Gareth for offering such a thoughtful and candid perspective on partnership, parenting, and life in academia. His reflections bring an important and often underrepresented viewpoint to this conversation.

Keep an eye out for the next edition of the series, coming out at the start of next month.