I’ve started more postgraduate courses than I’ve finished.

There, I said it.

It’s one of those statements that carries a huge amount of weight when you work in higher education—especially when you’re in a senior role, surrounded by people with PhDs, publications, and portfolios that seem to stretch endlessly. On paper, I look flakey. Indecisive. Inconsistent. In reality, I’ve made choices. Choices that made sense at the time. Choices that may have indirectly impacted my ability to complete these courses.

In 2009, I started an MSc in Radiography. I wanted to progress clinically, and I was hungry for more knowledge. I completed modules in Paediatric Imaging, Research Theory and Practice, and Forensic Radiography. But in 2011, I moved to Portsmouth to take up a new (my first) academic post. Distance learning wasn’t an option. So I stopped.

In 2012, I began a PGCert in Learning and Teaching in HE, completing it in 2013, and that became the priority. My other studies stayed paused.

Then came the MSc in Medical Physics; I wanted to do the IPEM accredited version so signed up for the version with an additional 10 credit module. For the assessment of one of the core modules, Radiotherapy and its Physics, we were told we could present on any aspect of the module, so I focused on the use of MRI in radiotherapy — specifically, how it could aid prognosis and treatment planning. My first submission was based on the “imaging in therapy” topic and explored diffusion-weighted MRI in treatment planning. I was told it was “too diagnostic” and they failed me.

For the resubmission, I started again from scratch. I focused on cervical brachytherapy, included the relevant physics and radiobiology, and explored how MRI supported dose planning and delivery. I reviewed the presentation again while writing this blog. It was up to date, clearly aligned with radiotherapy practice, and carefully evidenced. I had it reviewed beforehand by a medical physicist and lecturer who specialises in this field. She thought it was strong and well-focused. But I was failed again. The feedback this time was that it was “too clinical.” Somehow I thought “prognosis” and patient outcomes were important both from a physics and clinical perspective. Apparently not…

Around the same time, I had just passed my Further Materials in Medical Physics IPEM module with 76%. That involved calculating ANOVA by hand in exam conditions, with very little revision time. I’d even asked to defer my exam to give me more time, but was told no. That result had only just come through, and I sometimes wonder whether knowing I had passed that IPEM additional module had any bearing on the decision. As an academic, I know that thought shouldn’t even enter my mind. I will never know for sure, but the thought has stayed with me. None of the Diagnostic Radiographers on the module passed either. Coincidence? I wasn’t allowed to appeal, as it was considered academic judgement, but to this day it feels wrong. They couldn’t exactly fail me on presentation skills, knowing I was a senior lecturer, could they?

In 2015/16, I began a PhD. I didn’t realise at the time that what I really needed was a Professional Doctorate. I suspected the taught structure would help me stay on track. I had 175 Level 7 credits from various postgraduate modules, but not a full award, so I wasn’t eligible for the Prof Doc route.

I gave it my best. Then my (then) husband became seriously unwell, spending weeks in ICU and hospital. Then came the pandemic – at the same time as new job with more responsibility. Then divorce. Then health challenges. In 2022, I received my diagnosis of Autism and ADHD, which made a lot of things make sense. The perfectionism. The burnout. The overwhelm. The all-or-nothing thinking. The rabbit holes. The procrastination. The imposter syndrome.

It also made me look at my PhD differently. The data I had collected no longer told the story I wanted to tell. I had lost the heart for it. It also no longer fit with my passions or my new role. I formally withdrew in early 2024.

Cue the voices—external and internal.

“Why bother trying again?”

“What makes this time different given you failed to complete your PhD?”

“Do you need another qualification?”

And of course:
“But what if you fail again?”

I asked myself all of those questions. Many times. And I realised something important:
I need this for me.

Yes, I know how that sounds. But it’s the truth. I need it to rebuild the confidence that’s been quietly chipped away. I need to prove to myself that I can finish something that matters to me. And yes, I need it for my career—to open doors that are currently closed, to gain the credibility that still, rightly or wrongly, seems to hinge on postnominals or those magic two letters in front of your name.

I’m also doing this for my nan. She was convinced someone in the family would be a doctor, and I quietly decided that it would be me. Not the medical kind — the other kind. The kind you become through persistence and reading and rewriting and just keeping going.

I considered an MRes. It was suggested as a confidence-building route — a way to show I could finish something. But I couldn’t see the benefit. It felt like duplication. I had already accumulated enough credits and enough experience. Taking that path felt like putting off what I really wanted. I don’t know if that was the wrong call, but it would have been the wrong one for me.

And now, I’ve passed my first EdD assignment. I got 75%. That result meant more to me than any grade I’ve had in years because the process felt so different. As someone trained in science, this move into the social sciences was a complete shift. I’ve spent years using theory to find or explain an answer. Suddenly, I was being asked to use theory to support my own thinking — not to simplify complexity, but to explore it. At first, it felt like I was working backwards. Everything seemed less clear, less concrete. But gradually, I started to see the value in that too (I still get caught down rabbit holes, though!).

What made that result even more meaningful was everything else that was happening at the time. I was writing that assignment while helping to support a faculty and university that had just gone through an enormous restructure. I had also promised myself, my line manager and one of our DVCs that I would complete my SFHEA this academic year. The stakes were high. The stress was constant. But I did it. I passed the assignment. And last month, I had my SFHEA confirmed.

So yes, I’ve failed to finish before.
But I’m starting again, academically speaking.