Tag: mental health

Personal, Radical Archaeology

Digging While Depressed and Disabled: Mental Health and Accessibility in Archaeological Practice

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick

This is the transcript from a talk I gave in April 2022 for the Enabled Archaeology session of the CIfA2022 Conference. It is an extension of my original blog post on Digging While Depressed, which you can read here.

A slide from the original presentation detailing how we can enable archaeology for everyone by ending ableism.

Digging While Depressed (Fitzpatrick 2018, 2019) was the result of my experiences after being injured on-site during the 2018 fieldwork season, which had led to me spending the next several weeks off-site and alone, tending to my injured arm (and pride) while the rest of the excavation team were on-site. I was filled with many emotions, all of them negative – I felt embarrassed at my ineptitude, guilty that I had let my PhD supervisors down, and ashamed that I could not face my newfound fears that the traumatic event instilled in me. Perhaps the strongest emotion I felt during this period was loneliness as well – not only being away from my colleagues for most of the day as they excavated, but also from friends and loved ones during the fieldwork season. Unsurprisingly, these emotions led me into a major depressive episode, and so I took to Twitter to express these feelings while using the hashtag #DiggingWhileDepressed. To my surprise, other archaeologists from around the world shared their own stories and experiences, indicating that this was a much larger issue than I may have previously imagined. Through these brief discussions on Twitter, as well as some follow-up discussions via email and in-person, several shared factors where identified among these stories. For example, fieldwork is inherently isolating and creates periods of inconsistency in an archaeologist’s daily routine. Employment is similarly inconsistent, with casualisation rampant in commercial sectors across several countries; this creates a sense of precarity, particularly around income, which can cause anxiety. Fieldwork is labour-intensive, often working in poor climates and with similarly poor off-site accommodations. This all culminates in a general notion that discussing mental health among colleagues is “taboo,” that archaeologists should just “get over it,” and that suffering “validates” the work they are doing. I ended my original paper with a call for more concrete actions and practices in place to support  the emotional and mental well-being of archaeologists as part of a broader initiative for making the field more accessible for those with disabilities, chronic illnesses, and neurodivergence in the field.

Although the hashtag itself never become particularly popular or really survived beyond 2018, the discussion it generated seems to have continued since then. For example, there seems to be more standardised practices in place to support mental health in the field (e.g., Davis et al. 2021), and calls for treating accommodations and accessibility as part of embedded a more ethical practice into archaeological work (e.g., Peixotto et al. 2021). There has also been work exploring other elements adjacent to the original discussion, including research into how isolation from social media factors into mental health (Eifling 2021) and the pressure to “pass” as non-disabled in the field when you have an invisible disability (Heath-Stout 2022). In my own work, I have continued to explore the ways in which archaeology as it is currently practiced encourages ableist attitudes, and how these elements are further connected to problematic parts of the field, such as its entrenched notions of toxic masculinity, racism, and colonialism (Fitzpatrick 2020). Ultimately, this has led me to conclude that there is still much work to be done with regards to expanding inclusivity in the field, which has only been further emphasised by the events of the last three years.

Much has drastically changed since I originally wrote about Digging While Depressed, both globally as well as personally. In early 2020, the Covid-19 pandemic saw major national lockdowns across the world, with restrictions lifted and placed intermittently due to fluctuations in hospitalisations and the rise of new variants. At the same time, the Black Lives Matter movement has seen a revival which has spread from the United States to across the globe, causing a flurry of public discussion on equality, diversity, and inclusion, and spurring the creation of many EDI initiatives across sectors and organisations, including some that tackle issues of accessibility and disability due to the interventions of Black disabled activists and other disabled people of colour. Through 2020 and 2021, many accommodations for flexible working and socialising were made during periods of lockdown, which not only highlighted the general lack of accessibility of many workplaces and events pre-pandemic, but also allowed for many disabled people to finally participate in these previously inaccessible environments (Beery 2020). However, despite cases continuing to happen in the thousands around the world, many countries have initiated a “return to normalcy,” dropping nearly all restrictions and health requirements. As such, many disabled people once again feel as though they are being excluded from everyday life (Barbarin and Dawson 2021).

As for me, I have continued to be treated for depression through medication and occasional bouts of therapy. This lead to a breakthrough in 2021 that my anxiety disorder was ultimately the underlying factor behind most of my depressive episodes, which led to my treatment being adjusted. However, I began to see a decline in my physical health at the same time (Fitzpatrick 2022); this included worsening mobility issues which has resulted in more frequent use of mobility aids (e.g., canes, limb braces), the inability to do physically demanding activities, and the recent realisation that my chronic pain was actually abnormal. I am currently in the process of getting a diagnosis from various specialists, with joint hypermobility syndrome and anaemia recently identified. As such, I have been recognising that my ability to “do” archaeology (as it is widely understood) is constantly diminishing and has exacerbated my anxiety as I enter an already-dwindling job market after graduating during a pandemic.

Looking at the last three years in both a global and personal context, there are several recurring themes that we can extrapolate into a discussion on ableism and enabling archaeology for everyone. To start, the almost immediate shift in practice across many workplaces to focus on flexible working and homeworking indicates that change is possible. Unfortunately, we have also seen how quickly these accommodations can be taken away, and how disabled people are still considered an afterthought throughout this planning. At the same time, there has also been an increased awareness for the need for further inclusivity and diversity across sectors, no doubt due in part to the Black Lives Matter movement instigating public discourse on existing inequalities, particularly for Black disabled people and other disabled people of colour. From a personal perspective,  I am quickly learning just how inaccessible archaeology is, which has also been further emphasised by the removal of pandemic accommodations for many sites and workplaces. In addition, I have realised just how easy it is to become disabled in the context of how society views disability, and how quickly it has changed my perspective of what I can and cannot do in archaeology, which in turn limits my ability of doing archaeology in the ways in which it is widely practiced today.

With the context from the last few years in mind, we can return to highlighting this major issue of ableism in archaeology, one of the many remnants of the colonialist toxic masculinity that was foundational to the development of the field and its public perception. Ableism is perpetuated through a continued lack of accessibility, which lends to poor environments and workplaces that exacerbate poor mental health and well-being – and not only just for disabled archaeologists, either.

A lack of inaccessibility can lead to feelings of isolation and “Imposter Syndrome,” which can worsen poor mental health and lead to people ultimately leaving the field. But by creating inclusive and accessible spaces, we can make the field more welcoming to everyone – and we should be moving beyond the notion that archaeological fieldwork must be about hard labour, physical risk, and danger, as this perpetuates the notions of a toxic masculinity which is emboldened and measured in strength by its ableism.

That said, we should still be centring disabled archaeologists in discussions of accommodations and accessibility; in addition, it should be noted that not everyone who has poor mental health or mental health conditions identifies as disabled, that many disabled people do not have mental health conditions, and that there are many people (such as myself) who consider themselves to be multi-disabled with mental health conditions and other forms if disability. Although our individual experiences and conditions will vary, ultimately we are all impacted by the perpetuation of ableism in the field. And although I have used the word “accommodating” and “accommodations” in this paper, I want to stress that, in actuality, we need to be moving beyond “just” accommodating – instead, we should be striving towards removing the remnants of entrenched ableism in archaeological practice and theory, expanding our conceptions of what entails fieldwork and research, and reconceptualising our assumptions of what “doing archaeology” actually means.

To end this paper, I would like to propose several ways to move towards a more enabling form of archaeology for everyone, with a focus on eradicating ableism in the field. To start, I want to reiterate that we must centre the needs and experiences of archaeologists affected by ableism and inaccessibility in the field. We must move the goalposts from “just” accommodating needs and actually move towards making spaces fully accessible to everyone. And although I know that accessibility can require a substantial amount of resources, at this point there is no excuse for it to not be part of any early planning or considerations for a project or organisation – if you are committing to diversity and inclusion, that means you must be tangibly and materially committing. I also want to return to a concept I introduced in my original paper (Fitzpatrick 2019): awareness over avoidance. In other words, we should be normalising discussion of disability and mental health, which can be supported through the creation of more inclusive spaces where discussions can occur freely and without the fear of retaliation. We must also be taking an intersectional approach to accessibility as well, as the needs of BlPOC and/or LGBTQ+ disabled archaeologists may differ from white and/or cis-heterosexual disabled archaeologists. In addition, there are also issues specific to these marginalised groups that will exacerbate poor mental health, such as racism, homophobia, transphobia, and queerphobia. Finally, we need to commit to ending the normalisation of casual ableism in the field – this includes ending the celebration of suffering during fieldwork as some sort of “rite of passage,” and of pushing excavation as the only means of doing “real” archaeology. Archaeology as a field must transform and progress to meet the needs of everyone – otherwise we will continue to lack in diversity, and archaeology will truly suffer for it.

References

Barbarin, I. and Dawson, K. (2021). “Normal” Never Worked for Disabled People – Why Would We Want to Return to It? Refinery 29. URL https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/workplaces-need-change-for-disabled-people

Beery, Z. (2020). When the World Shut Down, They Saw it Open. The New York Times. URL https://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/24/style/disability-accessibility-coronavirus.html

Davis, K. E., Meehan, P., Klehm, C., Kurnick, S., & Cameron, C. (2021). Recommendations for Safety Education and Training for Graduate Students Directing Field Projects. Advances in Archaeological Practice, 9(1), 74-80.

Eifling, K. P. (2021). Mental Health and the Field Research Team. Advances in Archaeological Practice, 9(1), 10-22.

Fitzpatrick, A. (2018). Digging While Depressed: Struggling with Fieldwork and Mental Health. Animal Archaeology. URL https://animalarchaeology.com/2018/07/09/digging-while-depressed-struggling-with-fieldwork-and-mental-health/.

Fitzpatrick, A. (2019). #DiggingWhileDepressed: A Call for Mental Health Awareness in Archaeology. Presented at the Public Archaeology Twitter Conference.

Fitzpatrick, A. (2020). You will never be Indiana Jones. Lady Science. URL https://www.ladyscience.com/essays/you-willnever-be-indiana-jones-toxic-masculinity-archaeology

Fitzpatrick, A. (2022). On Flare Ups in the Trenches: Personal Reflections on Disability in Archaeology. Animal Archaeology. URL https://animalarchaeology.com/2022/01/06/on-flare-ups-in-the-trenches-personal-reflections-on-disability-in-archaeology/

Heath-Stout, L. E. (2022). The Invisibly Disabled Archaeologist. International Journal of Historical Archaeology, 1-16.

Peixotto, B., Klehm, C., & Eifling, K. P. (2021). Rethinking Research Sites as Wilderness Activity Sites: Reframing Health, Safety, and Wellness in Archaeology. Advances in Archaeological Practice, 9(1), 1-9.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can find my PayPal here.

Archaeology, Personal, PhD Life

On Embracing Liminality and Fighting Precarity: Moving Onwards from 2022

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick

It’s been a tough year…for everyone, to be honest! But for me, it’s been a bit of a wake-up call after finding myself somewhat comfortably situated in grad school life since 2015. At the end of 2021, I graduated with my PhD and had secured my first proper research position at a university (albeit in a field far from archaeology). Although it wasn’t exactly how I envisioned my post-PhD life to begin, I also knew that I was quite lucky to land a research job so quickly after finishing my PhD and that the road ahead would be far from the dream I had as a newly minted Doctor of Archaeology.

And boy, did I underestimate how rocky that road will be (and still is!).

I’ve never been the most consistent blogger (although my 2023 resolution is to get better – which, funny enough, was also my 2022 and 2021 resolutions…), but as readers may notice, I’ve been particularly spotty over the past few months. Frankly, it’s just exhaustion – I had said “yes” to a lot of things this year and it was finally catching up to me. But also, I was exhausted of the constant “no’s” as well – I spent most of 2022 job searching as my research contract was set to end, and it was a huge wake-up call for me. I’ve written about this more in-depth on here, but basically I was faced with the reality that perhaps, despite years of studying and research, I might not have a career in archaeology after all.

Of course, it’s still quite early on in my career to say that with certainty – after writing that blog post, I received a lot of kind messages from current and former early career researchers and archaeologists who faced similarly tough journeys in the first few years post-PhD, and that unfortunately its a common reality that isn’t always articulated to PhD students. But I think my cohort of graduates, and those who come after me, are likely to face a more difficult time at properly starting our post-PhD careers, with many of us stuck in an extended period of precarious contracts than perhaps other cohorts.

Precarity isn’t necessarily new to me – as a migrant descended from migrants, precariousness has been embedded into my life and has often felt like its own rite of passage, particularly as someone who now faces precarity within the Hostile Environment of the UK’s immigration system. As a migrant, precarity is pervasive – any change to immigration laws, even the smallest one, can completely make or break your ability to remain in the country. But its only been recently that I have really faced the reality of career precarity – something I knew existed, of course, as I watched year after year of friends and colleagues in academia strike against the further spread of precariousness within higher education in the UK. Although I am currently in a postdoc position that I genuinely enjoy in the wider heritage sector, it is also my second fixed contract research position – and it won’t be my last. As someone who truly enjoys researching and expanding my intellectual horizons, the idea of being able to move from project to project is somewhat exciting…but of course, the fact that I will be facing the dreaded job search after every contract and risking periods of unemployment (that I cannot afford) is terrifying.

So, for 2023 I choose two things: I choose to embrace liminality, but at the same time I also choose to fight precarity. Liminality (the concept of in-betweenness that constituted much of the abstract interpretations for my PhD research) has been something I’ve been thinking about with regards to myself for a while now, particularly as a mixed race, queer migrant. Finding my personal identities within the in-between spaces has been a difficult but important journey of self-realisation and reflection, and I think it has also begun to seep into the ways I view my professional life as well. Archaeology is, of course, a formalised discipline, but I also think that its margins are somewhat liminal – there is an interdisciplinary nature that is inherent in all archaeological research, and I think it isn’t too difficult to expand the boundaries of what entails archaeological work. As someone who has worked across different subfields within archaeology and have delved into other fields during my research, I think I’ve already experienced that sort of disciplinary liminality – I do refer to myself as a zooarchaeologist, of course, but realistically I’ve worked beyond that subfield as well, doing funerary archaeology and human osteology, even dipping back into anthropology in parts of my PhD.

As I brace myself to work more and more outside of archaeology, I choose to embrace existing in a sort of liminal space as a researcher – not quite an archaeologist, but not quite anything else. One of the most difficult things to grapple with during 2022 was my professional identity crisis – if I’m not paid to do archaeology, am I an archaeologist? But I still work to inform and shift archaeology, and much of the tools and frameworks I’ve developed and learned in my career will be useful in other fields as well. In this liminal space of research, beyond disciplinary borders, I can see the ways in which my work informs each other, and I think that’s a healthier way to view my career progression moving forward. At heart, I’m still an archaeologist – but my professional research and work exists to be embedded across disciplinary lines, emanating from this liminal space.

But on the other side of the coin from liminality is perhaps precarity as well, and that is why I also choose to fight precarity as much as I can in 2023. On one hand, I will admit that I will likely have to take on more short-term contracts just to survive – but that doesn’t mean I can’t continue to support existing movements working to end precarious contracts in academia and research. I have ended 2022 completely burnt out from saying “yes” to so many things, most of which were unpaid. As such, 2023 is my year of “no” – no to unpaid labour, no to being exploited by institutions who should know better, no to creating further precariousness to myself by burning myself out and making myself seem vulnerable to exploitation by others.

2023 is a year of getting comfortable in the unknowable – in the liminal spaces between professional identities and academic signifiers – yet not allowing the unknowable to harm me. It is about living across boundaries of expertise and discipline, but also allowing myself the freedom to set boundaries as well when I need to protect myself. It is about being me, a researcher who loves to research and carries with her a strong sense of responsibility and humanity that years of training and struggling in archaeology has instilled in me, and not letting the unkind and hostile worlds of academia and research chip at this complicated sense of self I’ve developed over the years.

To 2022, I say good riddance. To 2023, I say good luck.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Personal, PhD Life

Entitlement, Bitterness, and Grief: The Post-PhD Job Hunt Experience

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick
More than half of those have resulted in rejections so far and that’s not even all of the jobs I’ve applied for this year (lol sob)

If you follow me on Twitter, you have likely noticed the uptick in Tweets complaining about my job search over the past few months – most likely before either unfollowing or muting me (and frankly, I can’t blame you!).

With my current contract ending in a few months and lacking the legal entitlement to any form of unemployment or financial aid due to my migrant status, avoiding gaps in employment is pretty important for me, so this has already been an anxiety-inducing situation. What has amplified matters even more so has been the fact that this is my first proper job search since graduating with my PhD – in a weird way, it really felt as though I had something to prove?

And perhaps that’s one of the many reasons why this has been a demoralising, miserable experience – my mindset heading into this job search has arguably set me up for failure, especially when I do know, deep down, that having a difficult time finding a job post-PhD isn’t an uncommon experience, particularly in a field like archaeology.

I really wanted to reflect upon this a bit in a blog post, not only to help myself navigate these feelings but also in the hopes that it’s useful for anyone else in a similar position. So, I want to take a look at what I’ve now identified as the three major feelings I’ve had lately: entitlement, bitterness, and grief.

Entitlement

It’s important for me to start off with the feeling that has arguably brought out a rather ugly side of me that I really need to work on. It’s difficult to admit, but part of me absolutely bought into the false premise that being a PhD was the key to career success. And, to be fair to myself, this propaganda has been strong throughout my life – my father, whose own academia career suffered after dropping out of his PhD programme to care for his ailing father, had always instilled this notion in me that no one would take me seriously without a doctorate. Similarly, I spent most of my undergraduate degree being told that there was no real way to have a career in archaeology without a postgraduate degree – something I obviously took to heart as I barrelled through without any breaks from my undergraduate to my doctorate.

So yes, it’s unsurprising in that light to observe an undeserved level of entitlement in feeling as though I am guaranteed a job simply due to a piece of paper! And again, I know from friends and colleagues that the job market is difficult and that many (all of whom are much more talented and smarter than I am, by the way!) have often gone through hundreds of rejections before landing a poison – why would I be any more special to warrant an immediate job?

Bitterness

I should note here that I have actually been applying to a wide variety of jobs, not only in archaeology or heritage sectors, but more broadly in research and EDI professions. And the only places I’ve actually been shortlisted for jobs has been in these latter professions – I’ve never been remotely close, it seems, for any archaeology job.

This constant failure to even get to the interview stage of any archaeology or heritage job has also brought up another unpleasant emotion that I need to work on – bitterness. In some ways, I guess it’s the reaction to not achieving what you feel entitled to, and it’s arguably not particularly deserved here. Not only because I have never been entitled to a job to begin with, but also because it ignores the real limitations of my skills and expertise – there are real reasons as to why I’m not getting the jobs I’d like to get, and I need to be better at identifying those reasons and working to build those missing or lacking skills and experiences.

That being said, there is a component of bitterness that perhaps isn’t entirely unwarranted here – as many know, I have previously spoken out about the lack of diversity in British archaeology. There is a bitter irony, in that case, that while I have several papers in review discussing the structural obstacles to a more diverse and inclusive archaeology sector, I’m most likely facing a future outside of the field anyway.

Grief

And I think this is when real feelings of grief start to sink in – with the context of how non-diverse the field is, it’s devastating to realise that I may in fact be another statistic falling by the wayside, that my inability to remain in the field is ultimately a “win” for the field to remain as staunchly white, cis-het, able-bodied male as it’s always been.

And, in turn, that becomes feelings of failure as well. I so desperately wanted to remain in the field as a stubborn obstacle against the continuation of a non-diverse, colonial endeavour and actually fight for change. But as I continue to get rejections from archaeology positions across the sector, it feels like I’ve failed – as an archaeologist, as a person who wanted to see the sector change, as someone who did three different degrees to gain expertise…I have failed to prove my worth to the field and now I’m no longer in it.

I feel as though I’ve wasted the past decade of my life – because how can you spend so long studying in a field only to not even seem employable? I feel as though I’ve wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans on degrees that will never see use. And perhaps the most painful failure of all? I’ve become a sort of hypocrite, writing constantly about ways to change the field when I’m not even in the field myself. I’ve ended up in such a depressive episode that it’s been hard to find the motivation to continue to try, which exacerbates the problem as well.

I wish I had a happier way to end this blog post, but here’s the truth: I’ve applied to nearly 100 jobs in the last five months, a mixture of archaeology, heritage, and other research jobs. Of these, I have had 7 invitations to interview – none of them archaeology or heritage jobs. Indeed, all of those jobs have been outright rejections so far. I’m resigned at this point to spending the next few years in non-archaeology or heritage roles, and with every new rejection, I inch even closer towards completely leaving the field altogether.

I wanted archaeology to be my whole life, but now it’s likely to become more of a hobby. And while I am happy to try and remain in the field as best as I can, I’m also preparing for a future where I’m just not able to. And it breaks my heart.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Personal, Radical Archaeology

You Will Never Be Indiana Jones: How Toxic Masculinity Spurs Sexism and Ableism in Archaeology

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick

The following post is an article that was originally written and published for Lady Science, a wonderful online magazine that has now sadly ended its publication . I am very grateful for the chance to originally publish with the amazing team behind Lady Science, who gave me the confidence and the support necessary to write a piece that has ultimately influenced a lot of my future writing, both on this blog and elsewhere.

I made this image as a joke for a potential talk but honestly I kinda want it on a shirt now.

Ask any Euro-American archaeologist why they entered the profession and many of them will cite Indiana Jones, the whip-wielding protagonist of Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and the resulting film franchise starring Harrison Ford. These films represent a very romanticised view of archaeology – one in which artefacts are in constant need of rescue by Western adventurer/academics for display in their museums and institutions. “It belongs in a museum!” was less of a rallying cry for the protection of heritage, and more of an excuse that allowed colonialist forces to claim cultural objects as their own.

There’s much to unpack regarding the legacy of Indiana Jones and others within the archaeological adventure genre, and how they perpetuate colonialist and Orientalist thought (Hall, 2004; Blouin, 2017; Gross, 2018). But one aspect that is often given less attention to is the impact that pop culture has had on the toxic masculinisation of archaeology, and how it connects to sexism and ableism within the discipline.

Indiana Jones is an abled man, a literal white saviour who charges into tombs with guns blazing. No boulders, poison darts, Nazis, or the enticements of women can stop Dr. Jones from retrieving whatever the archaeological MacGuffin of the film is – and this is something that many archaeologists seem to have internalised and applied to their attitude towards excavation and fieldwork.

Fieldwork is often seen as the “heart” of archaeology – and understandably so, as much of our data collection is done amidst the ruins and remains of excavation sites. The significance of fieldwork has arguably increased with the influence of depictions of archaeology (regardless of realism) in popular culture. Unfortunately, this has led to an increase in both sexism and ableism within the field. Fieldwork is often seen as the more “masculine” aspect of archaeology, the epitome of a “science of doing”, with other forms of archaeological analysis seen as more passive and “feminine”.

As such, archaeologists – particularly male archaeologists early in their careers – arrive at the field with something to prove. With excavation sometimes demanding feats of strength and endurance, it is very easy to see how fieldwork becomes a test of one’s supposed masculinity, regardless of any health and safety risks. Those who cannot perform the desired amount of masculinity and ability are often looked down upon as being obstacles in the way of archaeological progress. Thus, fieldwork becomes a form of gatekeeping – if you cannot do X, Y, and Z, then you are not an archaeologist.

The toxic masculinisation of the discipline is something I’ve witnessed myself, particularly the effects it has on someone who struggles with mental illness such as myself (Fitzpatrick, 2018, 2019). As a Chinese-American woman working in British archaeology, I already felt as though I had something to prove, even more so as excavation season began in 2018. Unfortunately, this determination was cut short after injuring myself on-site. Although it was not a life-threatening injury, I was adamantly against returning to site under the circumstances. With the support and encouragement of my supervisors, I spent the remaining three weeks doing analysis work from our accommodations. But it was hard to shake thoughts of Imposter Syndrome, and soon I felt depressed and ashamed of my inability to be a “real” archaeologist, that I did not have the strength and temperament to remain in the discipline that I’ve given years of my life to. At my lowest point, I started using the Twitter hashtag #DiggingWhileDepressed to vent about my frustrations and anxieties, hoping that my struggles would resonate with others online.

The response to the hashtagwas surprising – many archaeologists came forward with stories of dealing with mental illness and the ways in which our own discipline was failing us. But more voluminous were the private messages I received, not just of support but also of people quietly revealing their own fears and struggles within archaeology. The sizable response felt disproportionate to what I had understood previously about disabled archaeologists; in fact, a survey undertaken in 2013 had found less than 2% of professional archaeologists in the UK are disabled (Rocks-Macqueen, 2014a). But many disabled people do not disclose their disabilities to employers, in fear of losing work (Rocks-Macqueen, 2014b) – this is understandable in a discipline like archaeology, which puts so much emphasis on “doing”.

Fortunately, there is hope for a more inclusive future. Projects such as the Inclusive, Accessible, Archaeology (IAA) Project have developed toolkits towards cultivating a better practice of accommodating and incorporating disabled archaeologists (Phillips and Gilchrist, 2012). In the last decade, disabled archaeologists in the UK such as the late Theresa O’Mahoney have made great strides in providing support and resources for others with the Enabled Archaeology Foundation (O’Mahoney, 2015).

But we must remain hypervigilant of persistent strains of toxic masculinity that still permeate archaeological fieldwork culture. The romantic conceptualisation of the lone adventurer archaeologist must be left in the past and replaced with a more inclusive future that enables everyone to be an archaeologist. We will never be Indiana Jones, and we shouldn’t want to be.

References

Blouin, K., 2017. Indiana Jones Must Retire: Archaeology, Imperialism, and Fashion in the Digital Age. Everyday Orientalism. URL https://everydayorientalism.wordpress.com/2017/08/22/indiana-jones-must-retire-archaeology-imperialism-and-fashion-in-the-digital-age/

Fitzpatrick, A., 2019. #DiggingWhileDepressed: A Call for Mental Health Awareness in Archaeology. Presented at the Public Archaeology Twitter Conference.

Fitzpatrick, A., 2018. Digging While Depressed: Struggling with Fieldwork and Mental Health. https://animalarchaeology.com/2018/07/09/digging-while-depressed-struggling-with-fieldwork-and-mental-health/.

Gross, D.A., 2018. The Casual Colonialism of Lara Croft and Indiana Jones. Hyperallergic.

Hall, M.A., 2004. Romancing the Stones: Archaeology in Popular Cinema. European Journal of Archaeology 7, 159–176.

O’Mahoney, T., 2015. Enabled Archaeology: Working with Disability. BAJR Series.

Phillips, T., Gilchrist, R., 2012. Inclusive, Accessible, Archaeology: Enabling Persons with Disabilities, in: Carmen, J., Skeates, R. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Public Archaeology. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp. 673–693.

Rocks-Macqueen, D., 2014a. Professional Archaeology – Disability Friendly? Doug’s Archaeology. URL https://dougsarchaeology.wordpress.com/2014/08/11/professional-archaeology-disability-friendly/

Rocks-Macqueen, D., 2014b. Disclosing Disability: Employment in Archaeology. Doug’s Archaeology. URL https://dougsarchaeology.wordpress.com/2014/08/14/disclosing-disability-employment-in-archaeology/

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Personal, PhD Life

Archaeology in a Time of Crisis

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick1 Comment on Archaeology in a Time of Crisis

“When future archaeologists stumble upon the archaeological record from this period, the COVID-19 Pandemic of 2020, what will they find…?”

There’s probably dozens of archaeologists out there with something like that sitting in their drafts. Hell, I spent a solid 5 minutes considering it myself before promptly shutting it down. “Not everything has to be made into a case study” has become a familiar refrain on social media, but it bears repeating here too.

Not everything has to be made into a case study.

It’s wild to think about the future, about hypothetical situations like the one above, in a time like this. But as I attempt to return to my work – PhD research into faunal remains used in funerary and ritual blah blah blah – I can’t think about the past either.

I’ll admit an archaeological and academic sin: I’ve kinda stopped caring about my research right now. Most of my research related books have been tossed aside, despite the vast amount of free time in lockdown I now have to read and notate them all.

Instead, I’ve turned to books on radical theory and praxis. Today alone, I finished my reread of Joyful Militancy by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman. As of the writing of this blog post, I’m nearly finished rereading Emergent Strategy and will next reread Pleasure Activism, both written by adrienne maree brown. I count these three as among my favourite books of all time, and reread them constantly.

Why? Because they give me hope. Because they imagine futures where we all live. Because if I’m gonna read theory., I want to read about the theories of transformative justice and emergent strategies, rather than theories behind taphonomic analysis.

I don’t want this to sound like I’m giving up on my academic work – on the contrary, it’s a place to centre myself during these times. Like a slab of marble that I’ve been slowly whittling away at for years to create an artistic masterpiece, I’ve been working on this thesis for so long that it feels foundational. It’s a part of me at this point, like it or not.

But I’m much more than that, too. I’ve spent most of the past year and a half trying to find the balance between procrastination and overworking. For PhD’s, this can be a difficult thing to do – the overworking culture is not only actively promoted within academia, but also actively rewarded too. Even now, folks are trying to find ways to continue ridiculously high levels of productivity…everything is fine, nothing has changed!

Since the pandemic hit the U.K., I think I’ve been forced to find that balance. Because at this point, that’s all I have with regards to responsibilities – I’m currently unemployed due to school closures, I have no social commitments as gatherings are banned…all I have is my research.

But not really. I spent an hour writing about a certain assemblage of faunal bones, and then got bored and went to water my plants and read a little. I came back to work eventually, but only when I wanted to. It felt…nice? Radical? Okay, maybe not radical, that sounds depressing…

I have no idea why I am writing this all down into a blog post. Maybe it’s because it’s easier to get this stuff out than have it rattling in my brain all week. Maybe I just want to be reassured by others that things will be okay. Maybe I just like attention – okay, that last one is definitely true.

It’s a difficult time for all of us, for others much more than the rest of us, and for a select few, not that difficult at all. But it’s also a particularly weird time for those of us who are trained to stick our heads and hands into the past, who end up overshooting and going straight to the future when we’re told to move beyond all that. It’s either “what do archaeologists know about pandemics in the past” or “what will archaeologists know about this pandemic in the future”…I think, for many of us, the present is the most difficult time to be in.

But we’re there now. Might as well embrace it.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Fun, Uncategorized

“I Love Dying and Being Dead” – Late Capitalism and Modern Perceptions of Death

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick

Lately, archaeologists have been a bit concerned about memes. No, not because they’re trying to perfect their comedic skills – rather, there’s been a relatively recent rash of popular memes that were derived from several big archaeological finds. For example, a nearly complete human skeleton was recovered in Pompeii, originally interpreted to have been crushed to death while fleeing the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 CE. The image used to publicise this excavation – a skeleton whose head has been obfuscated by a stone slab – ended up being used by many as a meme on social media like Twitter and Facebook. This led to a further discussion by archaeologists across the Internet on respecting human remains and whether or not it was ethical to make memes out of recovered bodies, regardless of the age and unknown identity (Finn 2018).

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A Tweet from Patrick Gill (@Pizza_Suplex) commenting on the skeleton recovery that says, “Me to a panicked group of archaeologists moments after I drop a big ass rock on a perfectly preserved Pompeii skeleton: Chill. Let me talk to the press. I’ve got this.”

Although the main concern with this “meme-ification” of the dead is the ethics at play (for more on the ethics of human remains on display, see my blog post on selfies with human remains in the recent Tomb Raider game), I’m more interested in why memes utilising the dead – or associated with death and dying – are so popular these days.

Let’s talk about late capitalism and how it shapes the average young person’s everyday life, shall we?

An image of a tombstone that says “This Space for Rent” – the caption added above it says, “Capitalism even ruins the sweet release of death smh”

Millennials have had the utmost misfortune to reach young adulthood (the “pivotal years”, as many call this time period) during late capitalism. This means that, as a generational group, they are significantly poorer than previous generations (O’Connor 2018), with a growing number unable to even save money (Elkins 2018) from a severe lack of fair wages. This is the generational group that is leaving higher education with high amounts of debt, only to find a feeble job market that demands long hours for little pay. It’s a pretty bleak future that young people seem to have inherited, so it’s honestly hard to blame them for developing such a morbid sense of humour that utilises iconography and imagery associated with death to express such futility in a way that’s become palatable for everyone else.

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A meme from Da Share Zone (@dasharezOne), a popular social media presence that makes images using stock photos of skeletons. This one depicts a (fake) human skeleton wearing a fur coat with a flower crown . The text around it says, “Looking Good, Feeling Bad”. Relatable!

What interests me the most as an archaeologist is how this affects our perception of death and dying in modern times. Morbid memes may be contributing to a sort of desensitisation of dying, to the point where it has become no longer taboo or fearful to speak of the dead – in fact, people actively make fun of the dead and the concept of dying. I would argue that this could be seen as the opposite effect that the Positive Death Movement is having, which strives to cultivate a more positive and respectful attitude towards death. I think, as archaeologists, we definitely need to push back against the meme-ification of the dead as violation of ethics – but I also think we should consider why this has become a trend, how the socio-political characteristics of the world at large can cause these things to become popular, and how we can take this approach and apply it to our interpretations of the past.

References

Elkins, K. (2018) A Growing Percentage of Millennials Have Absolutely Nothing Saved. CBNBC. Retrieved from https://www.cnbc.com/2018/02/09/a-growing-percentage-of-millennials-have-absolutely-nothing-saved.html

Finn, E. (2018) Pompeii Should Teach Us to Celebrate People’s Lives, Not Mock Their Death. The Conversation. Retrieved from http://theconversation.com/pompeii-should-teach-us-to-celebrate-peoples-lives-not-mock-their-death-97632

O’Connor, S. (2018) Millennials Poorer than Previous Generations, Data Show. Financial Times. Retrieved from https://www.ft.com/content/81343d9e-187b-11e8-9e9c-25c814761640

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Personal, PhD Life, Radical Archaeology

Digging While Depressed: Struggling with Fieldwork and Mental Health

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick

This post will be focused on dealing with mental illness, so if issues related to depression and anxiety are triggering to you, please feel free to skip today’s blog. Take care of yourself.

A few weeks ago, I was in Scotland doing fieldwork for the first time in years. Prior to this trip, I was under the impression that it would be a difficult one: I have a fear of both heights and enclosed spaces, so the idea that I would need to traverse steep paths along cliffs and work in narrow caves wasn’t particularly inviting to begin with. But I made the decision to go and excavate. Long story short, after a disastrous first day involving multiple injuries, a trip to the local hospital for x-rays, and an ill-timed panic attack climbing back up the steep side of a cliff, I asked to stay at our base camp to do faunal bone analysis rather than risk my mental and physical health getting to our excavation sites. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of this was falling into a depressive episode after a few weeks of being indoors doing work.

Long time readers of my blog will know that I’ve been upfront about my own mental illness in the past. In particular, I’ve talked about the way mental illness affects my work as an academic. However, one thing I’ve never talked about (or really considered, to be honest), was how mental illness can affect one’s fieldwork, as well as how fieldwork can exacerbate the negative effects of mental illness.

Physical health and safety has always been the forefront of conversations regarding fieldwork, no matter what science you practice. However, there has been less attention given to mental illness, at least from what I’ve experienced. I started the #DiggingWhileDepressed hashtag during excavation to get the conversation going and was surprised at how many similar stories I heard on Twitter. It’s understandable, though, given the ubiquitous nature of fieldwork – you’re often isolated from your usual support group, and although you may have good relationships with your academic and research colleagues (as I do! again, my supervisory team is so supportive and generous with their help, I am forever grateful to them), it’s still not necessarily a group of people that you would confide your deepest problems and feelings to. Not to mention the fact that fieldwork (especially archaeological fieldwork) puts a significant amount of physical burden on you, which may make you feel worse, mentally.

With the advent of the #MeToo movement and the pressure being placed on organisations to combat sexual harassment and assault during excavation, I’d argue that we’ve started to see real strides in expanding the idea of a “safe” workspace and fieldwork environment to include not just physical health and safety, but also mental and emotional health as well. According to some via the #DiggingWhileDepressed hashtag, commercial excavation movements have started to take notice of mental health during fieldwork, which is a welcome change. I don’t really have any answers to solving this issue – after all, I’m learning along with everyone else – but hopefully just the fact that we are starting to have this conversation is a sign of real change and movement towards safeguarding all aspects of health while out in the field.

Feel free to add to the #DiggingWhileDepressed hashtag – not just with regards to archaeological excavation, but any type of fieldwork or research work. Let’s keep the conversation going, whether you have a story to tell or advice to give – in solidarity, we can grow and help each other out. And feel free to contact me if you ever need someone to talk or vent to – obviously I’m not a health professional and cannot replace seeking professional help, but I can at least offer my ear and my support.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Personal, PhD Life

When the Stress of the PhD Meet The Anxiety of the Visa: On International Postgraduate Studies, Financial Anxieties, and Everything Else That Scares Me

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick1 Comment on When the Stress of the PhD Meet The Anxiety of the Visa: On International Postgraduate Studies, Financial Anxieties, and Everything Else That Scares Me

This week I had scheduled a different blog post to be published, but I felt as though it didn’t seem right to not write about something that has been on my mind lately.

And by “lately”, I mean “for the past few years”.

As many, if not all, of you know by now due to reading this blog and/or following my daily Twitter rants, I’m an international student. Since moving to the U.K. in the autumn of 2015, I have been on two different visas and had spent lots of loaned money to maintain my residence here.

There’s recently been a lot of discourse surrounding the precariousness of early career jobs in academia, and for good reason – the further marketisation of higher education is leaving more and more post-PhDs out in the cold with only poorly paid, short contract jobs to live on. Those of us in the middle of PhD research have extremely bleak futures ahead of us if this continues.

What hasn’t gotten as much attention (at least, as far as I have seen) is the plight of those of us who are battling the dire circumstances of the academic job market and the burden of being international.

Let me first say that despite the difficulties I have faced, I am undoubtedly one of the luckier ones. I’ve had the ability to take out federal student loans to cover my costs, as well as financial help and general support from friends and family from both sides of the Pond. Coming from the US, I most likely had less hoops to jump through to get my visa, in comparison to many others.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a huge burden on my life. Besides worrying about my current PhD work and the near future of having to look for postdocs afterwards, I also constantly have to worry about meeting the conditions for my visa.

Will I have enough money saved up to afford all of the fees for applying for a Tier 2 visa? What if the NHS surcharge continues to double, as it is scheduled to do in the upcoming year? How many days have I spent outside the UK and is it enough to eventually deport me?

International academics are expected to constantly keep track of these ever changing laws and policies, which results in many of us in constant fear of the Home Office, even if we have filled out all the paperwork needed and have everything taken care of. It’s so easy for them to make a small change that will turn out world upside down!

That sounds like an exaggeration but I’ve experienced it myself. Progressing from my MSc to my PhD, I was, at the time, still on my first visa from the Masters programme, which wouldn’t expire for another 6 months. Prior to this, the rule was that you could apply for a new visa within the U.K. as long as your current visa had not expired. Unfortunately for me, this had recently changed, and so I was booking an extremely last minute flight back to the US to apply for a new visa. A couple thousand pounds later, and I was sorted with a new visa – but financially, I have yet to truly recover from that last minute trip.

And, of course, it’s not just about the financial burden, either. Contrary to popular belief, most of us who study and live in the U.K. for several years end up cultivating a life and family here. That the Home Office (and other institutions apparently) believe we can uproot our lives, tear ourself away from the people we love and abandon the places we call home, just because we lack the funds to match the ludicrous fees and financial objectives, is utterly ridiculous at best and outright evil at worst.

I have spent many nights, awake and afraid, obsessively reading the guidelines for visas and immigration laws. As someone who already has depression and anxiety, this has caused my mental health to often dip dangerously low, to levels I haven’t experienced since prior to being diagnosed and medicated. But it’s a real, tangible fear that many academics, who already experience the burdens of a hostile environment in higher education, always have on their minds alongside every other problem.

Unfortunately, I can’t really offer any answers or advice for this sort of thing. It’s an issue that, alongside precariousness of early academic careers, must be talked about more in the public discourse. And I guess that’s all I can do, really – tell my story, remain public about the challenges I face, and hope that I can at least be one voice that won’t shut up about this problem.

To end this rather unfunny and serious blog post (shocking, I know, but I applaud anyone who has made it this far), I just want to point out a few great resources for more information on precarity, mental health issues, and international academic costs:

  • The Mental Illness Factory – A great piece by Mimi Petrakis on the current mental health epidemic in academia, especially for postgraduates
  • The Precarious Postdoc – Some really valuable research by Sophie A. Jones and Catherine Oakley who have been interviewing and surveying the situations of postdocs in the humanities and social sciences.
  • International and Broke– A fairly new Twitter account run by international academics employed in the U.K. that shares stories of the difficulties that other international academics have experienced in trying to stay and work in the country.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, PhD Life

A Few Tips for Conferences When You’re Super Anxious All the Time Like Me

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick

Hi, it’s your friendly neighbourhood academic with anxiety here to talk about one of the scariest things in academia: conferences! Unfortunately for many of us, “traditional” academia requires that we make appearances and presentations at conferences (even though they’re expensive…and we don’t always get the financial help needed to attend…and it takes time off from our research which is already limited to a specific time frame…well, that’s a conservation for a different day).

At this point in my life I’ve attend many conferences. I’ve also presented at many conferences, both papers and posters. And there’s definitely been a range of experiences throughout…from getting so nervous during a paper presentation that I start making self-deprecating jokes that fall flat and make things a million times worse, to giving such a great paper that I actually receive a couple of collaboration opportunities from it.

So with conference season in full swing, here are some tips from my own personal experience on how to best combat anxiety and stress in a conference environment:

A recent conference poster I created and presented for last year’s Association for Environmental Archaeology (AEA) Conference.

Bring a Friend/Co-Author

Probably one of the easiest ways to make going to conferences less stressful is to have a friend or supportive colleague with you. You could see if any peers in your department want to co-author a paper/poster or tag along – splitting the costs will make things cheaper, plus you have someone you at least know around (and can maybe get to know a bit better, too!).

If I’m travelling solo, I will usually make a beeline for people I recognise during tea breaks – usually that’ll get you introduced to a couple of other people, which I will promptly add to my mental compartment of “People Who I Will Cling Onto If I Don’t Know Anyone Else“. While its great to network and make connections with people outside of your institution, its also good to develop a friendly and supportive group of similarly minded people that are on similar conference circuits as you – it definitely makes finding seats at lunch less awkward, that’s for sure.

Recently, I actually managed to convince a friend from the US in a completely unrelated field (creative writing) to co-author a paper for last year’s Theoretical Archaeology Group (TAG) conference. I’m not sure if I would have been as calm presenting my paper in front of some of the most important figures in my field of research without her by my side.

Nothing like tricking a non-archaeologist friend into writing and presenting an archaeology paper with you!

Take Advantage of Scheduled Social Events

Many conferences will also include events, like field trips and dinners, alongside sessions. If you have the means to attend one of these events (unfortunately most cost money), they could be low-key, informal environments to socialise with other conference attendees. For example, field trips to local museums and monuments can provide great ice breakers for conversation among academics you don’t know.

I’ve had some excellent luck where I’ve gone on a conference field trip, made friends with some attendees, and had them come to my session the following day for support – it really helped to see some friendly, familiar faces in the crowd!

Plus, it’s just nice to see the sights – here’s me taking time off from a conference in the Orkneys to visit Yesnaby.

Remember to Get Their ‘Deets’!

This is mainly a tip for general networking, of course – but if you end up connecting with attendees during the course of the conference, be sure to swap contact information. I’ve ended up staying in touch with many people I’ve met through conferences, which has led to the increase in familiar faces in my audiences when I’m presenting papers. Of course, there’s also opportunities for future collaborative research (and, if you’re really fortunate, employment) with people you meet at conferences, so you’ll definitely want to be able to keep in touch somehow.

It may seem a bit silly and unfashionable these days, but it can still be handy to have a few business cards on hand! Exchanging business cards with someone is an easy way to quickly get contact information, or to introduce yourself without awkward small talk – plus, it feels very adult and cool. Many universities have business cards available for postgraduate students, but if yours does not, there are many cheap options online for printing your own.

Eat your heart out, Patrick Bateman. Maybe not literally, though.

Look into Alternate Conferences

If you’re looking into presenting at a “traditional” conference (read: in-person conference with poster and paper sessions in front of other academics) and are nervous about speaking in public, I would suggest you start with submitting and presenting a poster. In most cases, I’ve found that poster presentations won’t give you the impression that you’re being left to the mercy of a huge audience the way that paper sessions might. There’s still a bit of public speaking involved, of course, but its certainly a bit more informal than presenting a paper.

If that still feels a bit daunting (and I don’t blame you, believe me!), you could also look into something that’s recently become more common – alternate conferences! In response to the financial and environmental burden of “traditional” conferences, many academics have been experimenting with alternative approaches. For example, Twitter conferences have become more popular recently; for example, look through the #CAATCO hashtag to read through paper presentation from the CAA Twitter Conference, which was held in conjunction with a more traditional conference.

For those with anxiety, alternative conferences that allow you to present papers in a safe and comforting place, such as the comfort of your own home, may be a good compromise. With more academics looking to utilising the Internet to its fullest potential, these kinds of conferences may become more prevalent in the next few years – stay tuned!

I recently presented a paper at my very first Twitter conference hosted by the CAA (Computer Applications in Archaeology) – and did so while riding a bus! Super easy.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.

Archaeology, Personal, PhD Life

On Imposter Syndrome, or What Are We Even Doing?!

by Dr Alex Fitzpatrick1 Comment on On Imposter Syndrome, or What Are We Even Doing?!
On Imposter Syndrome, or What Are We Even Doing?!

With my transfer report coming up within the next month or so, things have been pretty stressful over here. Unfortunately I find myself not having fun poking around things in the lab, but pouring over drafts and corrections and trying to synthesize my transfer report*. So I figured this might be a good time to talk about imposter syndrome in academia – something that I suffer from a lot lately!

Imposter syndrome, for those who don’t know, is basically the feeling that you’re a fraud, no matter how many achievements you have. It is by no means only restricted to those in academia, of course, but I feel like it is quite common amongst graduate students and early career researchers.

In my opinion, the PhD (specifically the early years) is like academic puberty…you’re transitioning from a taught student to an “expert” of sorts, and the transition can be very awkward and weird! It’s easy to feel as though you’ve somehow cheated your way here at times. After all, I was just a student the other day! And now I’m giving lectures, presenting at conferences, answering questions from people whose work I’ve quoted in undergraduate papers – what the hell is going on?!

One of the best ways I’ve started to combat this feeling is by actually going through my drafts – yes, I am confessing right here that in the past, I’d skim through the comments of my drafts, if I even wrote one at all. Especially in my undergraduate years, I was a big fan of “one and done” papers – to some success.

But in the past year or so I’ve actually looked at the transformation of my drafts and lemme tell you – I can see my progress, clear as day. It’s slow, but I can gradually see myself getting more confident in my writing with each draft. And just having physical  evidence really helps me see that I am, in fact, achieving something.

Obviously imposter syndrome manifests in different ways for different people, but here’s my personal advice: go back to old drafts, old papers, whatever you have. Maybe its your masters dissertation you handed in just last year, maybe its your high school science paper. Compare it to whatever you’re currently working on – how far have you come? What progress have you made? Even if its the tiniest bit of progress, its still progress.

And if you don’t have written work to look at, try simply reflecting. Where were you last year? Three years ago? Five years ago? Even just last year I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me I would be presenting my work at conferences across the UK, or establishing myself as a science communicator on social media (although I’m still a baby at that!).

We’re not frauds! We’re learning and progressing and becoming the best we can be! Let’s give ourselves a break, shall we?

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This is basically how I feel at all times…an 11 year old presenting her science project at the middle school science fair.

*For those who don’t know – a transfer report is basically moving from the MPhil to the PhD. In my case, it basically shows off everything I’ve done in this first year: literature reviews, methodology chapters, analysis of bones, and what I plan on doing for the next few years of the PhD.

If you’re financially stable enough, why not donate to help out marginalised archaeologists in need via the Black Trowel Collective Microgrants? You can subscribe to their Patreon to become a monthly donor, or do a one-time donation via PayPal.

My work and independent research is supported almost entirely by the generosity of readers – if you’re interested in contributing a tiny bit, you can donate here.