Designing a PhD (and a life): Notes from year one

Listen in as Deepanshi reflects on the first year of her PhD and the process of beginning to “feel” like a researcher.

As I sat down to write this blog, I found myself replaying a quiet montage of the past year—my first year as a PhD researcher: late nights in the lab, scribbled notes that somehow became real ideas, the small wins that felt huge at the time. And if there’s one thing I want to say before anything else, it’s that—

Looking back, this year has been a mix of trial and error—figuring out how to shape my research, but also how to shape my life around it. The two feel more connected than I expected. It’s been about constant recalibration of experiments, of routines, of expectations—and learning to make space for both structure and spontaneity. 

There’s no shortage of advice out there on how to do a PhD. And while some of it is helpful, what I’ve learned is that doing a PhD is one of those big, personal life choices. You’re devoting four years to something you care about, and the way you live through it matters. So, if I had to say anything, it’s this: let it be yours.  Design those four years in a way that feels personal, fulfilling, and true to you, in a way that works for you. Let it feel like something you’ve built for yourself.

When did I start to feel like a researcher?

I like the subjectivity of that question—and by the end of this, I think you’ll see why. 

My PhD is in Ecology and Evolution, which is a bit of a detour from my background in infection biology. I remember feeling like a researcher the day I received my acceptance letter. But in the first few months after starting, that feeling wavered. I wasn’t quite sure where or how to begin in lab, and I kept waiting for a moment that would make it all feel real. 

One day, a final year PhD researcher in my group said to me, “Just go prepare some media.” 
In microbiology, ‘media’ is essentially food for bacteria—a mix of nutrients that lets them grow in the lab. It didn’t seem like much at the time: measuring powders, pouring liquids, labelling bottles. No pressure, no grand discovery—just the quiet act of getting started. Doing that gave me something simple and tangible to begin with, a clear place to start.  

A few months later, I was trying to get a set of bacterial strains to sporulate (a different metabolic state) under specific stress conditions. After several failed attempts and several adjustments to the protocol, it worked—sporulation rates hit 98%! (That photo with the microscope? That was my full-time residence during my sporulation era). That was another quiet but meaningful moment. I’d designed the method myself, and it had done what I hoped it would.  

There have been other moments too—some bigger, some smaller. The feeling of being a researcher doesn’t arrive all at once, and it doesn’t stay in a fixed place. Sometimes it slips away, and sometimes it returns stronger than before. Having friends also doing PhDs has made a difference in those in-between moments. It helps to be reminded that this process is long, uncertain, and rarely linear—but that you’re not alone in it.  

And really, for everyone, that moment looks a little different.

For me, it was a bottle of bacterial media.

For others, it might be a conference, a publication, or even a failed experiment. 

So really, when did I start to feel like a researcher? I guess that depends on the day you ask—its subjectivity is the answer.

What did I think research would be like before I started? What did I find different once I began? 

I got a glimpse of research during my master’s (which I also did at The University of Manchester), but doing independent research during the PhD has shown me just how nuanced it really is. Every small decision—something as seemingly basic as growing bacteria on solid versus liquid media—can completely change your outcomes. 

What surprised me the most was the range of skills I’d end up using. From experimental design to coding for data analysis, from communication and writing to designing posters—you wear many hats as a researcher. I’ve grown to love that. 

One shift has been learning to trust myself more—getting comfortable making decisions when there isn’t a right answer, just a direction to try. I thought progress would always look like clear milestones—but more often, it’s been about learning to notice the small shifts. It can be asking a better question, or simply knowing what not to try next time. 

Research has taught me a lot about time management, resilience, and the importance of patience when things don’t go your way (which they often don’t- not on the first try, or the third). But it’s also taught me how to keep moving anyway.

What do I wish I’d known before I started?

That talking to people is basically a research skill; and how much of a difference it makes to your PhD journey.

Not just formal presentations, but actual conversations. The kind where someone casually mentions a protocol adjustment that saves you three weeks of troubleshooting, or points you toward a machine you didn’t know existed. 

You will inevitably find yourself needing help with machines you’ve never used before, protocols you’ve only read about in papers, or just needing fresh eyes on a new experimental protocol. It’s okay to ask for help. Some of the best solutions (and friendships) can come from casual conversations. 

Great advice can show up during coffee breaks or while waiting for the autoclave. So go to the socials. Go to the lab meetings. Ask people what they’re working on. Talk about your ideas. A surprising amount of science happens in between the science.

What do I enjoy most—and what do I find most challenging—about PhD research?

Paradoxically, the answer to both is the same: flexibility 

With a PhD comes academic flexibility. You decide how to spend your time, how to design your experiments, and often, even what questions to ask. That freedom has been one of my favourite parts—I’ve shaped my project around how I think and work, and that’s incredibly fulfilling. There’s something special about having an idea mid-conversation or mid-paper and being able to head into the lab to try it out. 

But that same freedom can be tricky. No one-size-fits-all path. Not everything works on the first—or second- or third—try. And with so many possibilities, it’s easy to get pulled in ten different directions at once. I get excited when I have a new idea and can just run into the lab and perform that experiment. But with that comes the need to also slow down—read more, reflect, and think deeply before jumping in. Understanding that balance is crucial.

One of the hardest lessons has been learning to narrow my focus. I’ve tried to do too much at once, but that can be counterproductive. Knowing when to begin, when to pause, and when to let an idea go—that’s something I’m still figuring out. 

And yet, even in its challenges, the flexibility of research is part of what keeps it exciting. Every day feels a little different.

What’s your relationship with your supervisor like? How did it begin?

When I was doing my master’s, I came across a PhD advertised under my now-supervisor. 

I’d often hear his students talk about his open-door policy. That made me curious. I decided to introduce myself before applying, just to see if the project and the team would be a good fit, and he welcomed me with a warm smile. That first conversation confirmed a lot. And since then, he's been incredibly supportive. He’s helped me navigate this unique PhD, which has an industrial collaboration component, and always makes time when I show up with a graph or a half-baked idea. 

I’m grateful to have a team of four supervisors—two from Manchester (both very hands-on and accessible) and two from Unilever, who’ve helped me understand the industrial side of research. Having this mix has been really helpful in shaping how I think about research—both academic and applied. 

When choosing a PhD, it is imperative to pay attention to who your supervisors are and how they work. The people you’re learning from matter.

So, what’s the question I keep coming back to? 

Can you really design a PhD, and a life—that feels like your own? 

After a year, I think you can. It takes trial and error, patience, and learning to trust yourself even when things are unclear. For me, this first year hasn’t been about having all the answers—it’s been about finding the confidence to ask better questions, to try, to rework, and to keep going. 

If you’re considering a PhD, my advice is: make it yours. Choose a project that excites you, work with people who support you, and don’t be afraid to do things a little differently. This journey is as much about shaping the research as it is about shaping the researcher.