The most demanding phases of an academic career are often the most invisible. This truth resonates profoundly during the doctoral journey, yet it persists with startling continuity into the postdoctoral sphere. One discovers that the world readily applauds finished products—the defended thesis, the published paper, the awarded grant—but remains largely unaware of the protracted, solitary effort that makes such outcomes possible. The loneliness inherent in this process is not a sign of failure, but a feature of working at the frontiers of understanding.

This is the reality of the unwitnessed labour: nights spent deciphering literature that will never feature in casual conversation; months where progress is so incremental it feels fictitious even to oneself. It is in these stretches that one most longs for external validation, for a simple acknowledgment that the path is valid and the effort meaningful. Yet, a difficult truth emerges: people often reserve their encouragement for those who appear not to need it. Once you have succeeded, many will claim they always knew you would. They will not have seen the mornings you confronted a blank screen, doubting your own capacity and the very value of your endeavour.

This dynamic does not conclude with the PhD. As a postdoctoral researcher, the landscape shifts but the solitude often remains. The projects grow in scale, the stakes feel higher, and yet the work—the deep, grinding, intellectual work—is still conducted in moments of profound isolation. The pressure to secure the next grant, to publish in the right venue, to navigate the precariousness of fixed-term contracts, generates a different but equally potent form of loneliness. The academic path, from graduate student to early-career researcher, is thus a continuous lesson in learning to become one’s own principal advocate.

One must learn to applaud one’s own efforts when no one else will. This act may seem insignificant, but it is not. In the silent auditorium of one’s own mind, that single clap can echo with immense significance. It is the sound of perseverance. The shift in perspective occurs when one realises that this self-encouragement is not an expression of sadness, but one of self-respect. To believe in your work before it has received external endorsement is how a resilient scholar is forged. You are not falling behind; you are simply traversing a path that few are equipped to walk.

From this experience, several principles emerge:

When the solitary clap one day transforms into a wider ovation, you will understand that you never truly required external validation to proceed. You only needed to trust that your quiet, consistent effort held inherent value. It did then, and it does now. Therefore, continue the work. This imperative holds true for the PhD candidate lost in their literature review and the postdoctoral fellow writing their first major grant application. The struggle is shared, the solitude is familiar, and the need to champion one’s own purpose remains the most critical skill an academic will ever cultivate.