Believing that my smart friend Sarah could magically make the tension between my supervisor and me disappear was, well, magical thinking. Even I knew that Sarah’s trusty IDP toolbox couldn’t transport me into another dimension where my supervisor thought my work was perfect, and I thought her feedback on my perfect work was perfect. That would make this a perfect world, which it’s not. And the academic world, as we know it, is far from perfect. That said, my gut feeling told me that Sarah, who’s not just my friend but an indispensable mentor, could help me process what I knew I needed to do. Let me repeat that: what I knew I needed to do. Yup, you heard right. I knew what I needed to do. I knew which chapters in my book, as my supervisor had pointed out, needed major revisions. I knew that my students hadn’t given me the best reviews this semester – that I didn’t speak loudly enough, clearly enough, confidently enough – and therefore, I needed, as my supervisor also pointed out, to attend SKILLSET’s presentation skills workshop, which, yes, I did sign up for. Most importantly, I knew I needed to improve the communication between my supervisor and me, so I also signed up myPath’s Goal Setting with Your Supervisor workshop. But, knowing is one thing; doing is another. And what I didn’t know was: would doing all those things really make the tension disappear?
“I’ve gotten to the point where I’m the one making up excuses not to go to my supervision meetings,” I told Sarah. “Which is so ironic considering how hard it is to get a meeting with her. I just feel she thinks I’m this big loser, that everything I do is substandard. The worst is that I agree with her suggestions and know that I can do what I need to fix it, but the harshness of her feedback sends me on such a downward spiral that I don’t even feel inspired anymore by my work which makes it harder to find the motivation to fix it. Like, whenever I try to write these days, I feel like I’m on stage, and the crowd is just waiting for me to mess up, so I freeze. I want to be able to scream at the crowd: I can sing, I really can! Just not when you’re staring at me like that! But I’m too frozen to speak, never mind sing, so all they see is someone on stage looking like a deer in a headlight, so, of course, they want their money back. I just can’t produce what they came for, which tells me that I never should have gotten on stage in the first place. I mean, who am I kidding? Maybe I can’t sing. And, yes, I know I’m ranting, but does that make any sense?”
“It makes perfect sense, actually,” Sarah replied. “You’re very insightful about your situation. I’m impressed.”
“Exactly!” I replied. “This is what I was trying to say earlier: I know the problems and what I need to do about them, but still, the criticism paralyzes me. Which makes me wonder if I’m even cut out for academia. And I’m pretty sure my supervisor is wondering the same thing. I’m pretty sure she’s regretting ever taking me on.”
“Oh, so you’re a mind-reader now? I thought that was my domain. Come on, you don’t really believe that do you?”
“Well, it’s how I feel.”
“And your feelings are legit. It’s also legit that being an academic, or any profession where you’re constantly putting yourself out there, puts you under the microscope. You have to have thick skin to keep going. And while I hear that you feel like you’re on stage unable to perform, which does sound paralyzing, I also know that your supervisor didn’t choose you for your – in keeping with your analogy – singing skills. She knew from the beginning that you struggle with public speaking, and if you want my opinion, I know that she wouldn’t be suggesting you improve these skills if she didn’t know you could develop them. She also knew from the beginning that you are a fantastic writer, which also tells me that if she wants you to revise something, then she knows you can make what I am sure is already awesome even awesomer--”
“I know, but--”
“--However. What concerns me most about what you’re saying is two-fold. First is that, no, you don’t know what your supervisor is thinking. You’re not a mind reader; I’m not a mind reader. And your supervisor is not a mind reader either. For all we know, she’s sitting with her mentor right now, saying she thinks you don’t have faith in her. That you think she’s a substandard supervisor. That’s why I’m happy to hear you are taking a workshop. Somehow, you need to be able to find a way to share with her that her feedback style just isn’t working for you.”
“Yes, but--”
“--Just give me one more minute,” she said gently. “The second thing is that there isn’t a workshop in the world that can give you the ability to control your supervisor's thoughts. And knowing you, even if she found a way to give feedback in the most gentle, constructive way possible, you’ll still struggle with it. You’ve always struggled with feedback. It’s always stressed you out. You’ve always focused on that one grain of negative sand in a bucket full of positives. And I know that you know that. And I’m not saying that it’s entirely your fault that you feel so stressed out right now by her feedback. It takes two to tango. What I am saying – and I know it won’t be easy – is that you need to somehow learn to control your own thinking when you find yourself spiraling or feeling paralyzed. You need to somehow learn how to tolerate things that distress you so much – like difficult feedback – from a place of self-compassion so that you don’t add even more stress to your plate by blaming yourself for being unable to perform because, let’s face it, being a writer comes part and parcel with difficult feedback. And you said yourself that your writing suffers when you’re distressed. Your supervisor won’t be in your life forever, your brain will be.”
I didn’t try to interrupt Sarah a third time. I tried sitting with it for a while, letting her words sink in before responding, something I’d learned about from the mindfulness workshop I took last month at the Wellness Hub. The moment was uncomfortable. I found it hard. Reflective listening doesn’t come naturally to me. Just like accepting feedback doesn’t come naturally to me, even helpful feedback like Sarah’s. I knew she was right about that. And that she was right about my needing to learn how to tolerate distress. And that it certainly wouldn’t be easy because I do also struggle with self-compassion, and we all know there’s no magic potion to silence the inner (or outer) critic. But having a mentor in my corner was already a big step in the right direction. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll be able to have a similar conversation with my supervisor. Stranger things are known to be true.