Plead the Fifth
Yesterday, I spent time with a colleague who had just left her role at the university. She was always the brightest presence in any room, her laughter and energy radiating across hallways, the kind of liveliness you wish you could bottle up and take into the late afternoon hours when the day starts to feel like a weight. But she decided to go, to step away from it all. She had been in another department, handling marketing, and although I didn’t know every detail, I remember a particular moment when something in her shifted. A tiredness that had begun to inhabit her body in a way it hadn’t before. I think it happened during lunch, a moment so seemingly ordinary that perhaps only now does it carry significance. As we walked back to the office, her breathing seemed different, almost heavy, as if some unseen burden was pressing down. She looked as though she no longer belonged there, and maybe, she finally accepted it too.
Last night, while discussing my plans for a PhD program with her, something else surfaced. I mentioned SUSS, the university, and a particular professor I was considering as my supervisor. Her partner was sitting next to her, usually quiet and reserved, and shifted noticeably. The partner let out a long sigh, almost as if the name itself conjured something she needed to physically exhale. Finally, she muttered, “I plead the fifth.” It was a soft, almost reflexive response, but it held a strange weight.
I didn’t press further, though the ambiguity lingered with me, coloring my own perceptions. I’d spoken to this professor not long ago, and while I’d sensed a certain reserve in her, I found her straightforward, even inviting actually. We had a full conversation, and she expressed genuine interest in supervising my research. But in that moment, seeing my colleague’s partner’s reaction, I found myself questioning - was there something I had overlooked? Was this professor truly difficult to work with, or was it simply a matter of personalities that didn’t fit?
As I made my way home, these thoughts stayed with me, spiraling into questions about what we risk and what we lose when we choose a supervisor, a person we hardly know, to guide us through years of research. There’s barely a glimpse of who they truly are, yet they have the potential to shape so much of our experience. Perhaps it’s inevitable that we’re making this choice based on limited interactions, on mere fragments of who they may be.
This morning, unable to shake these doubts, I ended up browsing online, trying to better understand what a PhD supervisor’s role entails. How much autonomy do students really have? How much of the relationship depends on the supervisor's disposition or the student’s ability to adapt? I know that one person’s view shouldn’t alter my decision, yet experiences (especially those offered unfiltered and raw) have a way of planting seeds of doubt. Every perspective carries its own truth, a fragment of the bigger picture. I have no choice but to keep each one in mind as I move forward with my application.