I Have Confidence! (no,seriously)

I have been a ghost of a woman these past few days. I have started to count the number of people who see me and looked surprised or ask me if I am sick - it totals 10 in the last 24 hours. I am normally a terribly vain person, the kind of woman who washes and styles her hair before going to the hair salon or puts make up on to go to the local shop. But these days I barely have the energy to wash my hair and match my socks. Instead of mascara and eyeliner, my eyes are adorned with dark circles. I have an outbreak of pimples on my chin that rivals one of an oily teenager and my make-up is standing unused on my dresser - crying out "wear me!" each time I glance in the mirror to tie my unbrushed hair back. I've had heartburn for seven days straight that will not be subdued by any amount of antacid, and I have been awake into the wee hours of the morning trying to avoid shutting off the TV and facing my own thoughts. Ladies and gentlemen - the life of a procrastinating PhD student in the weeks leading up to Confirmation.

I have always been a procrastinator. Pressure of a looming deadline has always been the thing that drives me to my best work. All-nighters and panic driven research sessions have been part of my life since I was in high school, and while it has always had a horrible effect on my poor body (not to mention the unfortunate people who have to live with me) it has never failed to produce the best work. When I work on things in drips and drabs, there always feels like something is missing. I need to give birth to something - to slave over it for hours uninterrupted and feel the immense relief when it is finished. When I pour over work for hours and days at a time, there is more fluidity to the language. The ideas seem to fit together like pieces of a puzzle instead of having the appearance of a list. It just works better.

While this may have been an acceptable strategy for smaller pieces of work, with a PhD you just can't leave things to the last minute. Writing and ideas must be shaped and reshaped - sometimes smooshed into a big ball of clay and started all over again. This has been a terrible culture shock for me, the queen of procrastination. I find myself now looking at piles of notes and "think pieces" that I have done along the way to keep myself from leaving it all to the last minute, and all I want to do is chuck it all in the bin and start over again. It's not flowing, not making sense in the way I want it to make sense. I know this material so intimately, and yet the writing on the pages seems so detached and impersonal. How can I convey 9 months of my life and passion into a six page report? That, I suppose, is part of the exercise. The most important part of research is the sharing of the results, and it deserves nine months of consistent writing and re-writing, not a few hours and a few sleepless nights at the last minute.

I will admit that part of my procrastination has been fear. What will I say? How will I say it? How do I prove my research is worthy of a PhD? How can I convince a room full of experienced academics at an international conference that what I have to say is worthy of their time and consideration? I have been paralysed with feelings of inadequacy - images of an audience of disgruntled know-it-alls asking impossible questions and shooting holes in my theory, a panel of examiners shaking their heads in disbelief that I have managed to only get so far in such a length of time. I have had moments where I have literally shut off my computer screen in a panic, afraid to look at what I have written because it feels so pitiful in the face of what is required.

But alas, just when I needed a good slap in the face and glass of cold water thrown over my head to stop me shriveling into a mess of sweat tears and panic, my lead supervisor has dragged me out of my panic and back into the world of the sane and composed.

He said my paper is the strongest he has seen in a lot of years.

Shrieks of joy and delight abound! Birds are singing in the trees again and I can see the sunshine beaming through my office window. I want to do cartwheels down the hall way and shout across the car park "I AM NOT A MORON! I AM ACTUALLY QUITE CLEVER! EVEN MY SUPERVISOR THINKS SO!" And all of this at an impromptu meeting in a coffee shop. My supervisor does not hand out compliments willy-nilly, friends. I am, in fact, referring to the same man who handed me back the draft of my last paper looking like someone had bled all over it. I honestly welled up with tears when he said it. I felt like pinching myself, and I involuntarily asked "what?" just to ensure I had not heard him wrong. And I hadn't, he said it again! And then went on to say that he is not at all concerned about my confirmation, that he believes I will pass through without incident.

Armed with this new information I feel invincible. I am finally ready to write the paper I had been afraid I was incapable of producing. Oh, what a sad little girl am I to require such validation in order to move forward. I'll not dwell on that now, though. I will simply bask in the glow of my supervisor's faith in me, and my newfound faith in myself. I, my friends, am the creator of quite a fine research project (in progress). Hurrah for me!