Emily Spencer
I am someone who always wants to do things well. In fact, that’s probably an understatement. Doing things well isn’t so much a ‘want’ as a fundamental need. The idea of doing something badly is extremely uncomfortable for me. In this month’s blog, I consider whether it’s better to do something badly – or not do it at all.
This is something that has plagued me throughout my life. Historically, I have been a terrible student, because the standards I keep myself to are so high, which means that learning something new can be entirely threatening. Once, when I was perhaps 14 or 15, I went snowboarding with my family. I had skied in the past, however the last time I had injured myself quite badly, so decided that snowboarding may be the safer option. Clearly I had not appreciated that if I was a bad skier I was obviously going to be a worse snowboarder, never having done it before. My despair at being bad at it was so overwhelming for me that the instructor ended up refusing to teach me. In my mind I couldn’t be a beginner; I needed to do it well.
Fast-forward literal decades and not much has changed, although perhaps my ability to regulate my emotions has somewhat improved. I played in a 5-a-side football match on Monday and despite the fact I tend to play up front, I didn’t score a single goal. My logical side should have been able to recognise that that was fine, especially given I only played 16 minutes of the match thanks to taking a ball directly to the eyeball which then would not stop watering or twitching for the remainder of the 40 minutes. But the more primal side despaired that I had added no value, and might as well not have turned up – despite our Monday night matches generally being the highlight of my week.
In the workplace, as with my attempts at sporting greatness, this desire to do everything well can be a double-edged sword.
When I worked for the Church of England, I was always responsible for the carol services at Christmas. This tended to involve writing new arrangements of traditional carols, running rehearsals for the community choir, putting together the band, myself performing some of the arrangements, as well as leading on graphic design and comms. Knowing that Christmas is kinda the big one in the Church of England (despite, theologically, Easter definitely being the bigger one), every year I felt such a pressure to make things bigger and better and more elaborate. Every year I pushed myself – and in honesty, my employer pushed me – closer and closer to breaking point, meaning that I have now lost any enjoyment I once had for Christmas.
I mentioned in my last blog that recently I had been struggling in PhD supervisions, feeling overwhelmed and frazzled. Part of this was down to the impending final workstream of my project. Recruitment for this was originally planned to start at the end of 2025, but we had agreed to delay by a few months. The final workstream would be entirely contingent on the results of the preceding one, which had itself been delayed due to challenges with recruitment, and with analysis being far more time-consuming and laborious than I ever would have anticipated. Advice from all quarters was that this final workstream could end up being very ‘light touch’, or streamlined from what I had originally envisaged. Alarm bells ringing. Every time this was mentioned, it would drive me into a panic. ‘Light touch’ sounded suspiciously like me actively choosing to do it half-heartedly, choosing to do just enough to get by.
If you asked me, I would probably say that it’s better not to do something at all than to do it badly – particularly when doing it well is within your capabilities. In practice, I’ve never done this. Whatever it is, I’ve done it well – or at least endeavoured to do so – no matter the cost. In the Church of England, that cost was an annual burnout characterised by frequent panic attacks and the eventual realisation that it was not a healthy environment for me to work. As far as snowboarding is concerned, I had to begrudgingly admit defeat after breaking my coccyx and realising it was not actually worth it.
As far as my PhD is concerned, burnout is not an option. I have seven months left, and I intend to finish well. I know I can finish well. As such, it’s decision time for me: do I complete my final workstream as planned, putting myself under a lot of additional pressure, including a lengthy period without a stipend? Do I plan a streamlined version which doesn’t achieve what was intended, and whose primary function would be to add an extra chapter to my thesis? Or do I decide to do more with less, making the most of the incredibly rich data I have already collected, and which might otherwise be underexplored?
Terrifyingly for me, I know that there isn’t a right answer to this question – whatever I decide is something that I will have to defend in my viva later this year, and so I need to really believe in my decision. But being able to stand by the quality of my work is extremely important to me, and perhaps that means for once making an active choice not to strive to do more.
Emily Spencer
Emily Spencer is a PhD Student at University College London looking at improving how GPs communicate with people with dementia and their family carers about their future care. Emily previous had a 5 year career break to pursue a career as a musician, and has previously undertaken research on improving the care people with dementia receive from their GP practice, as well as end-of-life and palliative care provision in the community. Emily is also a new mum and will be writing about her experiences navigating motherhood and a research career.