I had to fight to stay in science. Perseverance should be valued
When I interviewed for my current tenure-track job, I had a stellar training background and solid publications over my 20-year career. But I was unemployed. I didn’t mention that fact, but my CV had other gaps shaped by events beyond my control: shifting politics, economic crises, a mentor relationship that turned bad, and COVID-19. I had stayed on the academic path—if only barely—through sheer determination. The interviewers were friendly and I felt good about my performance, but I wasn’t expecting the offer I received a month later. To my surprise, I later learned the committee had valued a factor rarely considered in an academic world obsessed with publications and impact factors: my resilience.
Growing up in Puerto Rico prepared me well for life’s challenges. I witnessed my parents working hard to provide for our family, despite the ongoing economic turmoil that plagued the island. My mother, an elementary school teacher, taught me to believe in myself and offered unwavering support. The rigors of graduate school and the responsibility of becoming a father at a young age also helped build my resilience—which has turned out to be the defining feature of my career.
The first test came in 2004, when I was a graduate student in a well-funded lab, conducting research I was passionate about—until suddenly, Congress slashed the National Institutes of Health’s (NIH’s) budget. Our lab had to scale back, and I needed to put in a lot more hours to graduate before my adviser’s grant dried up. Some days, I didn’t see my 4-year-old daughter at all because I got home long after her bedtime.
My wife at the time was in school as well, and my income supported our family. But as I looked for a postdoctoral position in the midst of the NIH budget crunch, most labs told me they had no funds to take on a new trainee. With persistence, I secured a postdoc at the Neurosciences Institute, a place fueled primarily by private donations. For a while, things looked stable.
Then came the 2008 recession. The private donations dried up. Staff were laid off, and several prominent investigators left. Morale plummeted. The writing was on the wall: I had to leave.
Job hunting in 2008 was brutal. I sent out applications, knowing my family depended on me, but opportunities were scarce. Finally, a last-minute interview at a conference led to an offer for a lab in France. It meant uprooting my family and stepping away from the research path I had carefully built, but it was the only way forward. So, we packed up our lives and moved. For a while, things were good, but several years into my project, my relationship with my adviser soured, and I had to leave.
I eventually got a job as a staff scientist at the University of Chicago. I had to prioritize my new lab’s research focus and could only work on my own research in spare moments, but by the end of 2018 my career was gaining traction once again. But the stress took a huge toll on my personal life, and my wife and I split up. Then COVID-19 hit. Labs shut down, slowing research and my own project. When I submitted a grant for review, it was rejected for what the reviewers said was a lack of relevant publications. I found myself once again facing unemployment.
When I finally landed my current position in 2021 it was a huge relief. A couple years later, I learned that one of the committee members had followed a path similar to mine and saw my commitment and perseverance as key factors in my favor.
But not everyone will have such an advocate. I believe we should be asking candidates for academic jobs what challenges they’ve overcome and how they have persevered. Applicants with CVs featuring high-profile labs and prestigious publications tend to be the ones who get jobs. But others of us have taken a slower, bumpier path, and I believe we deserve a closer look. We’re the ones with the resilience to get through tough times.
Right now, I’m anxious about our nation and the future of biomedical research in the United States, but I’m not worrying for myself. If my career has taught me anything, it’s that resilience alone doesn’t guarantee survival. But sometimes, it gives you just enough time to catch the next opportunity before the door closes.
