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When Passion Meets Pressure: Rethinking Love for Academia


February is often associated with love. However, for those working in academia, this month can also be a period when pressure becomes particularly profound. As the academic year reaches its midpoint, deadlines pile up, the deadlines for many grant applications approach, the grading process for exams begins... alongside all of this, energy levels drop, burnout quietly begins to emerge, and an important question arises: Do those who remain in academia possess exceptional self-discipline, or have they simply learned how to tolerate pressure?


The resilience of individuals who complete undergraduate, postgraduate, or doctoral training is frequently romanticised. Yet, behind this resilience there are invisible academic pressures, constant expectations to produce, and systems of evaluation that quietly shape how worth is defined. Under these conditions, the nature of our relationship with academia deserves closer examination.


Are those who remain in academia exceptionally self-disciplined, or have they simply learned to endure pressure? 

After finishing my undergraduate degree in Psychology, I went on to complete my Master's degree as a neuroscientist within academic research. I asked this question not only theoretically, but also based on my personal life experiences. My relationship with academia has never been calm or balanced; on the contrary, it has been an intense and challenging dynamic shaped by both passion and pressure. I can say I have self-discipline, but I cannot say I have extraordinary self-discipline... The critical point here, I believe, is learning to manage pressure. I frequently encountered this pressure in the academic positions I held after completing my undergraduate education. I was discouraged, my efforts were belittled, and I was told that I couldn't go any further, that I couldn't even hold on in this field. Amidst all this pressure, rather than giving up on my goals, I chose to part ways with the people who were pressuring me. 


Being able to withstand psychological pressure, even the pain of being belittled, is the real determining force in academia, something that is not spoken about enough. When we look at successful people, they have also often suffered heavy blows like my journey, perhaps experiencing great losses or even giving up. Our self-respect and faith may have been shaken countless times in the face of challenges frequently encountered in the academic world. Unsuccessful grant applications, constantly having to re-prioritise, endless working hours, the need for constructive criticism and peer review, and the often gruelling and uncertain nature of publishing articles are all part of this process. In my own experience, periods where I failed to achieve concrete results despite long working hours, the feeling of exhaustion while rushing from conference to conference, the countless revision requests for articles, and sometimes not getting accepted despite all this effort have made this pressure even more apparent. Despite all this, staying in the game and not giving up means learning to carry the pain, digest it, and live with this pressure.


As we celebrate love in February, this article questions what staying in academia means, why it sometimes turns into a “love-hate” relationship, and why sustaining this labour is still worth celebrating.



Why Am I Still Here? 


My passion for research, reading, and critical thinking is what connects me to the academic world. For me, knowledge is not merely a tool to achieve a goal, but a value in itself. If I had to define knowledge, I would probably describe it as a journey of discovery. On this journey, in this world where there are no boundaries and so much knowledge about humanity waiting to be discovered, every day, every hour, every minute, we reach a new piece of this knowledge and add a new contribution to this never-ending process of discovery.

Unasked questions, speculative thinking, and the drive to imagine alternatives such as “what if this were different?” sit at the core of my academic motivation. Because, as I described above, we live in a world where there is so much undiscovered knowledge; especially in this era, where technology has advanced so much compared to previous years. The ease of access keeps opening new doors. This keeps my curiosity and motivation to explore alive. However, with the current rise in the number of people entering into the academic world, receiving a permanent job title within academia is becoming increasingly challenging and can be extremely anxiety provoking for future job prospects.  


During my undergraduate studies, I completed my thesis on “Sexism in Contemporary Art”, which was later published as an article in an international journal. The main focus of my thesis and article was the concept of sexism. We critically examined gender inequality in the field of contemporary art using a data-driven approach and developed the SIAS (Sexism in Art Scale) as part of this study. Since its publication, the article has become an influential international publication, receiving citations and academic feedback from around the world (Çam & Ceylan-Batur, 2025).


This academic journey, which began with SIAS, continued with my parallel studies on gender attitudes in the fields of clinical psychology, cognitive psychology, and neuroscience. Working in multiple subfields effectively nourished my intellectual curiosity, while also clearly demonstrating how cognitively and emotionally challenging academic work can be. For example, trying to balance work and social life, especially when deadlines are approaching is particularly difficult, although I can't say I've fully mastered this yet. Sometimes, when I spend long hours at the computer, which increases significantly during conference periods because I have to prepare presentations while also dealing with ongoing projects, I tend to put my social life on the back burner. However, especially during these periods, I make sure not to skip my daily hour-long walk with my headphones on. If I'm not in a clear mindset to go out with friends, I often find myself walking among the trees to unwind... I believe that at this point, if we can't go out socially to reset, changing our environment, exposing ourselves to different distractions, and distancing ourselves a little is an important step toward regaining full focus. 


While pursuing my scientific research, I also experienced negative experiences such as being belittled by male professors, particularly due to my work on gender equality. The use of phrases like “you can play the victim card with the ‘women are being oppressed’ narrative” by male academics before conference presentations was a concrete example of this pressure. In contrast, the support shown to me by female academics who shared their own experiences helped me understand that I should not succumb to these intimidation tactics and played a decisive role in strengthening my passion for academia. 



Quiet, Systemic, and Gendered


Academic pressure rarely manifests itself as overt and direct coercion. I first experienced it not as a rule or demand, but through small, repetitive, and unsupportive comments. Phrases like “Are you sure you can really do this?” or “Do you think you can achieve anything with this degree?” gradually pushed me into a situation where I had to justify my presence in academia. These moments were not isolated; they were part of a pattern of mansplaining (men explaining something to women in a condescending manner) shaped by unwanted comments from male academics who did not recognise my expertise. The exclusionary attitudes of my female colleagues, psychological pressures created through comparisons, and bullying through invisibility were also part of this experience. I experienced moments when my work was devalued, my efforts were systematically ignored, and silent mobbing became a daily occurrence.


For many women in academia, such interactions are not the exception, but a part of their daily lives. Research shows that mansplaining is not just a poor form of communication, but a gender-based power dynamic that undermines women's professional credibility, reproduces hierarchies, and fuels performance anxiety, impostor syndrome, and burnout (Smith et al., 2024). Ultimately, this creates an environment where women academics must not only produce knowledge but also constantly defend their right to do so. However, looking back at all these processes today, I realise that my perspective has changed: I am now at a point where the labour that was once questioned, belittled, and made invisible can be evaluated from a broader perspective. In this sense, academia is not only a field of struggle but also points to a journey where perspectives can transform. My own perspective began to reshape itself when my path crossed with a male academic in London. I cannot say I was not inspired by his determination and supportive attitude in the Cambridge award... In fact, his congratulations and appreciation for the SIAS scale rekindled my hope that there could be supportive male professors out there. To be honest, I still occasionally tell him that his students are very lucky and that he should not leave academia... 


Comments such as “Do you really think you can do this?” or “Are you sure you can succeed in this field?” reflect a broader pattern of mental undermining that many academics silently accept. Being selected as an Early Career Research Fellow by Cambridge University a year after encountering such doubts was a significant turning point for me. It reinforced a critical insight: staying in academia often depends, not only on competence, but also on the determination not to give up on oneself. 



Love-Hate Relationships and Self-Surveillance 


The love-hate relationship can be defined as part of the dynamics of academic performance. According to Foucault, performance measurement does not merely evaluate researchers; it also shapes how they perceive themselves. Over time, these external criteria are internalised by individuals, encouraging constant self-monitoring and self-discipline (Gottlieb, 2023). Thus, as researchers, we begin to measure our productivity, publications, and perceived legitimacy ourselves before others do. In this context, burnout and impostor syndrome are not individual failures; they are predictable psychological outcomes of high-performance, visibility-focused systems (Gottlieb, 2023). Feeling burned out is a common experience for many individuals working in academia. I, too, sometimes find myself in a void, especially when deadlines approach or after intense work, at the slightest negative comment. I believe that understanding this dynamic is the golden key to normalising the process.


Impostor syndrome, defined as a persistent belief that one’s achievements are undeserved and that eventual exposure as a “fraud” is inevitable despite objective success, frequently emerges in such environments (Gottlieb, 2023). Rather than reflecting personal inadequacy, it often signals structural conditions that reward output while eroding self-trust. This dynamic can also be understood through a metaphorical lens akin to Stockholm syndrome. Originally describing emotional attachment to a source of harm, the concept has been applied to explain why individuals remain loyal to systems that generate stress and dependency (Rickardsson et al., 2021). 


In academia, researchers often recognise the harmful effects of continuous evaluation and performance measurement, yet they may feel compelled to defend and perpetuate this system. This creates a constant internal conflict between working with passion and the pressure imposed by the system. For example, I too have experienced moments when, caught between intense project and article deadlines, I tried to act on my scientific curiosity and passion for work, while simultaneously feeling the pressure stemming from this pace and questioning my own limits. This internal debate can affect both my personal motivation and my academic productivity; just as this blog post aims to convey, there is a constant need to strike a balance between preserving passion and managing performance pressure. Sometimes, while trying to manage performance pressure, I almost forget the passion I feel for this field...


Studies on the prevalence of impostor syndrome among female academics in particular show that it cannot be explained solely by a sense of individual inadequacy (Vaughn, Taasoobshirazi, & Johnson, 2020). Women report experiencing imposter syndrome more frequently, particularly in academic fields dominated by male norms, high expectations for success, and an emphasis on “genius”; this situation weakens women's sense of belonging in their fields, linked to the academic community's perception of “brilliance” (a special, innate talent that must be possessed). 


Furthermore, female academics may find it more difficult to internalise and celebrate their achievements; gender stereotypes and structural pressures can negatively affect self-evaluation processes, reinforcing feelings of fraudulence that diminish the sense of belonging. We see that academic environments are still not structured according to women's real experiences: many women have to take on caregiving and household responsibilities in addition to their jobs. These caregiving duties attributed to women create additional pressures on time management, visibility, and access to opportunities, which can negatively affect both the performance and sense of belonging of female academics. We also address this issue in the article Sexism in Contemporary Art; especially after becoming mothers, women are automatically assigned caregiving responsibilities along with social prejudices, which places an extra burden on them and can even lead to them encountering prejudices that they will fail (Çam & Ceylan-Batur, 2025). In this context, experiencing impostor syndrome as a female academic, despite being passionately committed to your work, can be explained in relation to both the expectations of the system they are in and gender-based perceptions and stereotypes (Gottlieb, 2023).



Staying in Academia: Protecting One’s Labour


The relationship with academia is rarely easy. It is a process that demands stability, resilience, and continuity. In this system built on uncertainty and high expectations, the real question is not how we can make this relationship perfect, but how we can remain within academia while protecting our own efforts.


Setting boundaries, resisting the pressure to keep up with everyone else's pace and way of thinking, and allowing yourself to rest and take breaks without feeling guilty requires strong metacognitive awareness. At this point, supervisors, advisors, and peer communities play a critical role, not only academically but also psychologically. While receiving support makes the process more sustainable, knowing that many people are watching you, waiting for you to make a mistake, can deepen anxiety.


One of the most challenging experiences for me during this process was dealing with the impact of the statement, “Do you really think you can become something with this degree?” After hearing those words, maintaining my own belief became almost a struggle in itself. Would I really amount to nothing? While pursuing my dreams and continuing my research, would I never see the peaks of mountains that others could climb? Or were they trying to make me give up by convincing me I would fail?


Despite all these questions and doubts, receiving an award from Cambridge University for the two studies I spearheaded was like the cherry on top of the cake in this journey. However, beyond this success, my most important gain was this: even when faced with doubt, rejection, and gender-biased attitudes, maintaining self-respect can become a form of silent but powerful resistance. Staying in academia sometimes means precisely continuing this silent rebellion.


All of this should not cause us to become dependent on a chair at a table where people who do not see us or respect us sit, wanting to pull us into their own failed inner worlds. Sometimes, consciously taking your own hand and getting up from that table; walking away with a smile on your face can be the beginning of new journeys, new adventures, and perhaps most importantly, embracing yourself and your passion for the work you do.



Conclusion


When we think of February, for most of us the first thing that comes to mind is Valentine's Day and celebrating love. However, academia represents a completely different form of love, one built on labour that is often questioned, suppressed, and rendered invisible. Continuing to think critically, continuing to produce knowledge, and choosing to remain in this field, despite systematic pressures, is another expression of celebrating love. While February reminds us of love, perhaps this month is also a time to salute the labour given without giving up, the belief in oneself, and the passion that accompanies all these efforts. Celebrating all kinds of love.


Perhaps this February, one celebration we should not overlook is the labour that continues, despite everything. 



References


This article was written by Buse Çam and edited by Clarise Castleman, with graphics produced by Suzana Sultan. If you enjoyed this article, be the first to be notified about new posts by signing up to become a WiNUK member (top right of this page)! Interested in writing for WiNUK yourself? Contact us through the blog page and the editors will be in touch.

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