If you’re an academic in the UK right now, you’re probably marking. Or putting off marking.  Or talking to anyone who’ll listen about how you’re dying from marking.

You blinked and it was mid-August. The term had wrung you out like one of those blue rag dishcloths, so you spent the first three weeks in a dark room…

It’s 9 pm and I’m still working. That’s rule number one broken: I don’t work in the evenings. But here I am, marking. It’s rare.

This new generation don’t work like we did.  They don’t get it. One of my post-docs took a day off for a breakup. And a heavy period. And some grief. All in the same week.

You’re working six days a week, checking emails in the evenings and on weekends, because the admin pile-up just won’t stop. When it comes to admin overload in academia, two forces drive the problem.

You say “yes” to another panel invitation and immediately wonder if there’s a German word for deep existential regret with a professional smile. You don’t really have time. But you’re flattered. And you don’t want to let anyone down.

Feeling stuck doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It usually just means your brain needs a new route in. Here are five ways to get moving again, without forcing it.

There’s a lot of noise about AI at the moment, and not much nuance. This isn’t a defence of AI or a warning about it. I just want to share how I actually use it in my work—as a researcher and as a coach—because the conversation is often polarised, and the middle ground is more useful.

There’s a particular kind of quiet tragedy in academia: not the big headlines about REF or funding cuts or strike action (though those matter, of course), but the small, daily loss of what academics were actually trained to do—produce knowledge.

You stay quiet, because if you open your mouth, the frustration, the anger, maybe even the tears, will come with it. You’re constantly pissed off—at everything. The social inequalities on campus. The admin chaos. Even your students’ questionable fashion choices at graduation.

Those of us who made it through to the upper echelons of the education system, i.e., academia, have spent most of our lives following the rules and being good. 

If your inbox were a house, it would be featured on Britain’s Biggest Hoarders.  Mouldy old job alerts. A festering email from your mentor that you meant to reply to 18 months ago.

Academia runs on overwork. That’s not an individual problem; it’s a systemic one. Institutions pile on admin, expect endless teaching labour, and then somehow still demand a world-class research portfolio.

You sit down to do deep work—write a paper, prep a lecture, plan your research.

But before you know it, your fingers are on autopilot.

📩 Inbox. Refresh. Scroll. Click.

You lack boundaries around your inbox, and this is one of the top reasons that you are a flustered professor who only seems to have one mode: spread thin. You open your email inbox for a quick check—maybe just to confirm a module code, or see what time a meeting starts, fast-forward two hours, and...

How many times today have you told yourself I have to? It sounds like a small thing, but the words "I have to" make you feel powerless. They trap you in a victim mentality, reinforcing the idea that you have no control over your work or your time.

I was having a drink with a senior HR professional this weekend who wished to remain anonymous, and he had this piece of advice for university staff who are made redundant: Sign off on the sick for the rest of your contract.

Over the last two weeks, my lab group have hosted two invited speakers remotely. Both were experienced academics and completely comfortable with video conferencing. And yet, both spent the first five minutes of their talk clicking around, sighing, and saying, “Sorry, I just need to figure out how to share my screen.”

You’re holding back on publishing your best ideas because theory feels scary to you. That’s the truth I’ve learned from clients, writing groups, and, if I’m honest, my own experience in academia.

You’ve got a brilliant idea—maybe even five.  But nothing’s happening.  I’m talking about the ground-breaking research centre, the important article, or the amazing life-changing impact project.