Why “flexibility” often turns into constant self-doubt
At first, it felt like freedom.
My advisor didn’t micromanage.
There were no strict rules about working hours.
No fixed publication timeline taped to the wall.
I remember telling a friend, half-proudly,
“They trust me to figure things out.”
It took me much longer to realize that what I was feeling wasn’t trust.
It was uncertainty.
When no one tells you what “enough” looks like
In the early months, I kept waiting for the real expectations to arrive.
Surely there would be a moment when someone said:
“This is what progress should look like by now.”
That moment never came.
Instead, feedback arrived only after something had gone wrong.
A project stalled.
A draft wasn’t ready.
A deadline—never explicitly stated—had somehow been missed.
Only then would I hear:
“This should be further along.”
I remember staring at my notes after one meeting, thinking,
Further along compared to what?
No baseline had ever been given.
But somehow, I was already behind it.
Ambiguity doesn’t feel like pressure — until it does
Unclear expectations rarely feel stressful at first.
They feel generous.
Professional.
Adult.
You’re given space.
You’re treated like an independent researcher.
But over time, that space starts to feel hollow.
Without clear markers, every day becomes a quiet evaluation:
Am I doing enough?
Am I focusing on the right thing?
Would my advisor be disappointed if they saw this version of my work?
Instead of learning, I started monitoring myself.
Instead of experimenting, I optimized for safety.
Ambiguity doesn’t shout.
It whispers — constantly.
How self-blame quietly takes over
What made this situation especially damaging was how personal it felt.
When expectations are explicit and you miss them, you can argue with the system.
When expectations are invisible, the only explanation left is internal.
I didn’t think:
“These standards are unclear.”
I thought:
“I must be bad at judging progress.”
“I should already know this.”
“Everyone else seems to manage.”
The lack of clarity slowly turned into a lack of confidence.
And because nothing was ever written down, there was nothing to push back against.
Why students rarely challenge unclear advising
It’s hard to complain about something that was never said.
Try explaining it out loud:
“They never told me what they wanted.”
It sounds weak.
It sounds immature.
It sounds like you’re asking to be handheld.
So most students don’t say anything.
They adapt.
They work longer hours.
They overprepare for meetings that still end with,
“Let’s see how it goes.”
From the outside, it looks like independence.
From the inside, it feels like guessing.
What clarity actually provides
Clear expectations don’t eliminate stress.
They don’t guarantee success.
They don’t make research easy.
But they do something essential:
they separate performance from self-worth.
When expectations are stated, missed goals can be adjusted.
Timelines can be renegotiated.
Mistakes become part of a shared process.
Without clarity, every setback feels like a personal failure.
What I wish I had known earlier
Looking back, I wish I had recognized this pattern sooner.
I wish I had asked questions that felt awkward at the time:
“What would progress look like in three months?”
“How do you usually evaluate whether a project is on track?”
“What does ‘enough’ mean to you?”
Even vague answers would have been information.
Most of all, I wish I had trusted how persistently unsure I felt.
Confusion that lasts for months is rarely just confusion.
Flexibility is not the absence of expectations.
It’s the ability to adjust expectations once they’re clear.
If everything feels flexible except your sense of direction,
that’s not freedom.
That’s drift.