Chasing perfection is a fool’s errand for PhD students

Every Monday morning in the lab, we take turns presenting and discussing new data. We walk through our latest results, wonder about possible interpretations, and point out weaknesses that might affect what we think we have found. These discussions are meant to teach us how to do research.

It’s not just about finding new evidence that supports a hypothesis, but also about looking for reasons why it might be wrong and whether we missed something.

For me, these meetings often had a different effect. After spending weeks or months working on an experiment, I would walk out feeling more aware of what was wrong or missing than what had already been achieved. It was as if the critical voice in my head grew louder every time I presented something.

During my PhD I have gradually realised this feeling was part of a bigger challenge. A PhD is often described as a period in which you become an expert in a specific topic. In reality, it is also a time when you learn to switch between many different roles. In a typical week, I find myself analysing data, troubleshooting experiments, trying to keep my timelines under control, writing manuscripts, preparing presentations, or guiding students through their first steps in the lab. However, each of these tasks requires a different part of the scientist in me, and especially a different mindset.

The role I struggled with the most was finding the balance between being a critic of my own science while also learning how to defend it.

I especially noticed this during conferences.

At my very first international conference, I stood next to my poster with a knot in my stomach. Before anyone even approached my poster, I had already decided what was wrong with my study and spotted three figures I wished I had made differently and an analysis I wanted to redo. When a senior scientist finally walked up to my poster, I almost introduced my work by apologising for everything that was not perfect yet.

Before anyone asked a question, I was already thinking about all the limitations and weaknesses. At the same time, I watched other researchers confidently explain their work. Their studies were not necessarily complete, and their results did not answer every possible question, but they were simply communicating what they had discovered and why it mattered.

The difference was not that they ignored the weaknesses of their research, they had just simply switched roles. They were no longer acting as reviewers of their own work, they were sharing their science with others.

Walking away from that poster, I knew something had to change. I started asking myself what role does this moment actually need from me. When analysing data, I still needed my inner critic, but when preparing a talk or poster, I had to think more about the bigger picture.

I felt this shift clearly during a scientific seminar a few months later. Instead of focusing on every possible flaw and limitation, I tried to explain the central question and why these findings mattered. Afterwards, a colleague told me it was the clearest talk I had ever given. That was the first time I realised that defending my science is not about trying to oversell it or having the perfect dataset. It was simply about explaining it clearly.

I also learned that I could be open about the limits of my work without turning every explanation into an apology. Like many students, I had been trained to focus heavily on uncertainty. This is a strength as understanding limitations is what makes science reliable. However, it shouldn’t become the only story you tell about your research. A study can have unanswered questions and still make an important contribution.

In fact, I started noticing that communication isn’t separate from research. Explaining my work in different contexts and to different audiences actually improved my own understanding of it. Sharing results was no longer about informing others, it became a way of clarifying them to myself.

My PhD trajectory so far has taught me much more than how to generate data. I learned how to critically analyse problems, communicate ideas and adapt to different situations. I still catch myself looking for imperfections when I present my work during conferences, and I still sometimes focus too much on what remains to be done, but I have also learned that being a good scientist does not mean staying in one mindset all the time. Sometimes I need to be a critic, but at other moments I have to stand behind my work.

When I present data now, I try not to feel ashamed of what is missing, but a little proud of how far I have come.

Claudia Schrauwen is a PhD student investigating spinal cord injury and recovery through medical imaging at the University of Antwerp.