Reflections on research, motherhood, and everything in between.

“Life’s a Great Balancing Act,” wrote Dr. Seuss. This line has followed me from bedtime stories to lab experiments, giving new meaning to everything.

I was hesitant to write this post, as it touches on a personal topic. However, I realized that many people, especially in academia, navigate similar situations. This blog, after all, is about sharing thoughts and experiences.

In early 2023, I received wonderful news that would profoundly affect my carefully planned career timeline: I was going to become a mother. My due date was in the same month I had planned to defend my doctoral thesis, which naturally created some issues with the logistics. After long discussions with my supervisor, we decided it would be best to move my defense forward a few months. That’s how I ended up defending my thesis while being (very) pregnant.

It was a transformative experience. I love presenting my work, despite the usual stress of public speaking, but this was unique. I was sharing with someone the most important presentation I had ever given. I was excited, anxious, and acutely aware of my son’s presence. He made sure to participate, kicking and swirling as I presented and discussed with the opponent and the committee. I can’t quite describe how that moment felt, but I knew something fundamental had changed. Until that day, there had never been a question of prioritizing anything above my work.

After an almost two-year pause, I returned to academia as a postdoctoral researcher, working with the same material I had studied for four years. However, “return” does not feel right to describe this. At first, I felt as if I’d lost momentum. Research in my field had moved on without me, and “my field” didn’t feel mine anymore. But after some reflection, I came to terms with being a different person than I was as a PhD student.

For one thing, I was no longer a student. I was responsible for my own research, coming up with projects (within a specific funding theme), and building my identity as an independent researcher. More importantly, my brain seemed to work differently. Reading about the cognitive changes that occur in postpartum women is one thing; experiencing them firsthand is quite another. I found myself simultaneously in awe, terrified, and eager to explore these new skills. My multitasking, analytical thinking, and decisiveness felt upgraded. Even body language felt highlighted with neon arrows. It almost felt like stepping into a superhero movie. And, as in every good one, there came a moment of realization: even superheroes must make choices and sacrifices.

I grew up in Greece, and although I’ve spent most of my adult life in Sweden, I can’t help but carry the cultural imprint of my upbringing. In Greece, expectations about what it means to be a good mother, a female role model, and a professional are deeply fixed. However, I wanted to have it all; to be present while my son grows up and to advance my career.

It took only two short years for that ideal to be tested, shaken, and ultimately rebuilt. Even though I might joke about having “superpowers”, I cannot be in two places at once. Hence, the dilemma: am I a researcher/mother or a mother/researcher?

At this point, I wish I could offer a revelation or a neat conclusion. The truth is, my priorities have shifted; my son comes first, but research remains my passion and purpose. Navigating this new self is demanding and rewarding, like a high-risk, high-gain research project. And I’ve always loved those. In the end, I’ve learned that I don’t have to choose one identity over the other. I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to do both. It just requires choosing battles wisely and accepting that losing one now and then is not the end of the world.

After all, I share this story not to offer advice, but to remind myself - and others- that careers, like lives, rarely follow a perfect schedule. And that’s okay. As Dr. Seuss concludes: “And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and ¾ percent guaranteed)”.