There’s a particular problem I hear from mid-career academics. It doesn’t show up in grant metrics or performance reviews, but it gnaws away quietly. It sounds like this:
“I used to love writing. Now I avoid it.”
“I’ve got ideas, but I can’t seem to start/finish anything.”
“I feel like a fraud—and I’m supposed to know what I’m doing by now.”
If you’re a mid-career academic feeling this way, you’re not alone. In fact, you’re in excellent company. Because somewhere between promotion, tenure, and mounting responsibilities, something unexpected happens:
Writing stops feeling like an expression of your scholarship, and starts to feel like a liability. The thing that built your career, becomes a burden you feel you can’t reproduce.
When the Writing You Aren’t Doing Becomes Heavy
At this stage, most academics have internalised that publishing is essential for their career. But many no longer feel in control of when—or if—it happens.
I work with clients who supervise PhDs, sit on editorial boards, and hold leadership roles, yet are haunted by a single Word document they can’t bring themselves to open. What starts as the latest draft quietly becomes a point of shame. The longer it sits, the heavier it gets.
Over time, this avoidance becomes identity-shaping. They stop calling themselves “a writer.” They defer leadership opportunities or focus on becoming the best module leader they can be. They lose confidence. Their once-vibrant scholarly identity shrinks. And the world rarely sees any of this, because on the surface, they look successful. They still have a decent list of long publications.
The Myth of “I Should Know Better by Now”
One of the most damaging beliefs I see among mid-career scholars is this: “I should be able to manage this by now.” It’s not just about writing: it’s about self-trust.
The belief that writing should come easily by mid-career adds a layer of shame when it doesn’t. You hesitate to ask for help because it feels like an admission of failure. You keep quiet because you think you're the only one struggling. But the truth is, academia doesn’t prepare you for the volume and complexity of writing that mid-career demands. Nor does it teach you how to balance writing with the leadership, admin, mentoring, and emotional labour you’ve now taken on.
You’re not failing. You’re overloaded. And no one ever taught you what to do with that.
Writing Isn’t Just a Skill—It’s an Identity
This is why it hurts so much. For many academics, writing was once a joy. A calling. A core part of who they were. When it becomes difficult, they don’t just worry about career progression, they mourn a lost part of themselves.
This identity-level erosion is rarely talked about. But I hear it every day. And what I want you to know is: it’s real. And it’s reversible. You don’t need to write 1,000 words a day to come back to your scholarly identity. But you do need to rebuild your writing relationship from the ground up—with strategy, with systems, and with support.
The most dangerous lie you can tell yourself is that this is just how it has to be.
It isn’t.
You’re not broken. You’re buried.
And the right kind of writing support can help you dig your way back out.
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