Do you remember those times of waiting for an important result? When every hour feels like an eternity, when you feel like jumping out of your skin with impatience, and the longer you wait, the deeper the teeth of doubt sink in?
I’ve had plenty of those moments—too many to count. This time was no different, although it’s my fourth master’s degree: I completed one in my twenties, two in my thirties, and now this one. After four months of very exciting and intense work—back and forth reading, interpreting, and writing—the deadline finally arrived, and I submitted my dissertation.
But then came the wait. Three long weeks of silence. By the end of it, my mind was spinning out the darkest scenario, preparing for failure, bracing myself to start it all over again. What if it wasn’t good enough? I replayed every decision. I told myself I could have dug deeper, uncovered more, given more. My participants’ experiences were so profound, I feared I’d barely scratched the surface.
And then the moment arrived, with the sweetest result I could have hoped for: I passed my dissertation with distinction! 💃
Looking back, I see how time itself had twisted my reality, how waiting had sharpened the edges of self-doubt until it started to cut deep into my skin. It’s so easy to imagine sinking sands even when the ground beneath me is steady. The work was strong enough all along. Just not good enough in my own head.
That, maybe, is my lesson: time will challenge me again and again—and push me into the agony of my own doubts. The agony of not enough. The agony of wanting more.