Letting Go - A different kind of Strength

It's that time of year again—when resolutions are made with the best of intentions: a commitment to start fresh, to be more consistent, to pursue new habits that will improve our lives. Whether it’s going to the gym, writing daily, reading more, or making big changes, we often begin with a surge of motivation. But we all know how it goes—life gets in the way, and what once seemed promising becomes daunting, often testing our patience, endurance, and resilience.

While there's a lot of courage in persevering, there's also great courage in letting things go - and that's what I am going to talk about. Now, before anyone accuses me of encouraging laziness, this isn't about skipping the gym or ditching self-discipline! It's about recognising that sometimes, giving up can be the best decision.

You might wonder what qualifies me to talk about this. Well, I'm a fourth-year PhD student, juggling research, heartaches, and some tough life decisions—all that just in the last year and a half. The time of my life I've been away from my blog, but right now, with a lot of motivation from some friends, have gotten back to share my experiences.

Let me start by taking you behind the scenes of a typical PhD journey in India. It starts with something called rotations—a phase that’s a bit like academic speed-dating. You explore 2-3 labs, figuring out if you like the research, the people, and the professor (and yes, the lab has to like you back!). Once matched, you settle into a lab, pass some exams, and start your research work, inching toward graduation. Sounds straightforward, right? Well, if only it were that simple! 

I think many of you would have seen some form of the image below—the journey starts, with an excitement, followed by a harsh reality check. You realise despite all that cockiness you had when you started, you actually don't know a lot! Then you slowly build your footwork, your experiments. Then come more ups and downs, where experiments fail left and right. But you continue, you persist, you believe in the journey because it's hard for everyone. But people get through it and so can you! And finally you reach the day where people call you Doctor. It's a beautiful journey, one I'm really determined to seeing to its completion. So why am I talking about giving up?

To answer that, let’s go back to the graph. Now imagine the journey isn’t just about your own ups and downs, but also entangled with external variables—how the people you work with shape your experience, or the nature of your research, which sometimes feels like an unsolvable riddle. And then there’s the silence—where no one seems to hear you or understand why you’re stuck. You look around, comparing your struggles to others’. Their paths don’t seem nearly as twisted or fraught with obstacles. Yet, you give your best wanting nothing else but to rise - to succeed. And yet again, you're hammered down by the circumstances. So, you ask yourself: Why is it so much harder for me? And in that moment of doubt, the thought of giving up doesn’t just cross your mind—it settles in.

Some people get through this as well. But I couldn’t. I am a sensitive person by nature, and while many—including my own family—see this as a weakness, I wear it with pride. My sensitivity makes me kind and empathetic toward the people around me—my family, friends, and colleagues. It also makes me overly aware of the imbalance and biases around me and made it impossible for me to continue working the lab. After months of contemplation, I chose to let go. It was amongst the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. I felt like I was going back on a promise to myself, walking away from dreams I had built my life around. Worse, I had no idea if I’d even be able to continue at the institute.

The fear of what lay ahead was overwhelming, but so was the realisation that staying would mean losing parts of myself I valued most.

But now, a year and a half later, I’m truly glad I made that decision. My institute and the professors here were incredibly supportive, allowing me to rotate into another lab, where I eventually found my place. Today, I’m in an environment that suits me better, working on research that has started to take shape. And with any luck, I’ll graduate on time.

Yes, I did lose a year and a half of my PhD life. But isn’t that the sunken cost fallacy at work? We convince ourselves that all the effort we’ve put into something—a relationship, a job, or a project—means we have to see it through, no matter the cost. What we don’t often ask ourselves is: What is staying really costing me?

It takes a different kind of strength to let go, to say: I’ve given enough, and it’s time to choose myself. Letting go wasn’t easy. It felt like a step back. But in reality, it was a leap forward. Now, I’m not just continuing my PhD—I’m thriving in a space that feels right for me. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.