Why Are Successful Scientists Leaving Academia Mid-Career? 

Embracing change is never easy. The hills and valleys of life are often defining moments, serving as a catapult for growth. In academia, like all other aspects of life, course correction takes courage. An increasing number of successful mid-career scientists grapple with the difficult decision to leave academia for greener pastures, with almost 50 percent leaving within ten years of publishing their first paper.¹ Universities are losing their top talent as scientists confront waning motivation, misaligned ideals, workplace toxicity, inequalities, poor work-life balance, clinical burnout, and mental health deterioration.^2–5 For some, the process between the first niggling of discontent to the first step out of the ivory tower is long, arduous, and fraught with guilt. For others, it is a natural career trajectory towards new measures of success and growth opportunities. 

Falling Out of Tune in Academia

Greg Tietjen, chief executive officer of Revalia Bio, lives life like a jazz musician, riffing off opportunities that bridge the many facets of his existence. Tietjen, who also happens to be a jazz guitarist, is a biophysicist/biomedical engineer with a faculty position at Yale University until recently. “I grew up with a deep love and passion for science. I loved space and astrophysics; it was like a bridge to a world beyond the one I was in,” Tietjen said. After high school, he completed an English degree and considered becoming a writer, so that he could translate the complexities of the human experience. 

Improvisation and the Path to Self Discovery

Tietjen also played guitar in college, a passion that intensified after graduating, but a physical impairment prevented him from pursuing a musical career. “I was at my wit’s end and starting to think about what I should do with my life when fate intervened.” A fall while playing soccer changed the trajectory of Tietjen’s life. One shattered elbow and several surgeries later, he was told he may never hold a guitar again, let alone earn a living from it. Tietjen described receiving the news as “a huge relief.” He recalled lying in his hospital bed contemplating his next move: “I will turn the page; I’m not giving up, but I have to do something different.” He revisited his childhood love of science and mapped out the path to a scientific academic career, starting with an undergraduate degree in physics, followed by a graduate degree in biophysics, and eventually a faculty position. 

Tietjen pursued a career in translational science, intent on using his skills and knowledge to help patients. “I was missing the humanities part of my brain, that feeling of connection to purpose,” Tietjen said. He joined a clinical department at Yale University and excelled at the challenges of establishing and growing his lab, including securing National Institutes of Health funding and other milestones of professorship. “It was amazing. The plan I had laid out for myself in the hospital bed came true. It was really profound.”

Dissonant Chords  

As Tietjen climbed the academic ranks, he felt a dissonance between his identity as a professor and his inner sense of purpose. The rigors and monotony of academic responsibilities dampened the sparks of passion and inspiration. “You start to get pulled in all these other directions,” Tietjen said. “To make that leap from where I was about to get promoted to associate professor, I’d have to jump through additional hurdles, and from there [to becoming a] tenured professor. I didn’t feel the motivation to do all that.”  Working in an academic setting also limited the type of translational research that interested Tietjen. He began to feel that leaving academia would put him in a better position to derive more immediate satisfaction from his work and to align more closely with his identity and world view. Driven strongly by the need to feel happy and fulfilled in his work, Tietjen soon began considering alternative career paths.

Fear keeps people in this loop of dissatisfaction. It’s scary to prioritize happiness over certainty and make a choice to walk away from it all to create something even better.
– Greg Tietjen, Revalia Bio

After 10 years as a postdoctoral fellow and faculty member, Tietjen left academia in the same way he entered, with a jazz performer’s knack for fearlessly traversing the next improvisational bridge towards self discovery. “I wouldn’t say that I got burned out. Part of what has allowed me to jump through different fields is this intuition around realizing my full potential,” Tietjen said. He saw burnout often amongst his colleagues though, and attributes this to a disconnect between what academics would like to achieve and what they can accomplish when their energy is distributed in many different directions. “I’m not one to judge or demonize the institutions I’ve been a part of which have unlocked so much potential for me, but I think what can happen in these large organizations is that things become harder than they need to be. Friction builds up over time, and people get tired of losing that energy to the environment instead of seeing the forward momentum [of their research].”

Finding Resonance

Tietjen views his academic journey as a process of self discovery and growth. “There was something deeper I was meant to do. When I saw that I felt like I didn’t have a choice,” he said. Tietjen cofounded Revalia Bio, a startup that builds on his academic work. Free from the constraints of pursuing translational research in an academic environment, he was able to align more closely with the scientific passions that motivated him. Tietjen’s company runs human organ trials using resuscitated donor organs, which are sustained outside the body with perfusion machines like those used in clinical settings. “It’s like a reinvented version of a first-in-human clinical trial. Now you can do experiments that you could never do in any other setting, on the real human system,” Tietjen said. He hopes this work will transform patient care and create a profoundly impactful legacy for organ donors and their families. Tietjen described the immediacy of this work as deeply satisfying. “We receive this incredibly precious gift of a human organ. My promise to that donor family and to every physician that has enabled this is that we’re going to drive massive impact, not just write papers and win awards and grants. It has to change the experience of patients and care providers.”

According to Tietjen, humans best thrive when they align with their deep drivers of joy. Trying different things and seeing what resonated helped Tietjen understand what made him happy.  “We don’t focus on helping people find the resonance, as much as we do setting standards everyone has to follow,” he explained. Tietjen described the fear of change as a significant challenge for both scientists and organizations. “Fear keeps people in this loop of dissatisfaction. It’s scary to prioritize happiness over certainty and make a choice to walk away from it all to create something even better.” Tietjen believes the goal should be to maximize human potential rather than shoehorn people into roles that make them unhappy. Personal measures of success are shifting towards feelings of impact and the undeniable reality that life is fleeting. “You have no idea how much time you have on earth and if you spend it doing things that you don’t want to, you may have wasted all that. I’ve seen people confront that a lot more.”

Facing Workplace Toxicity

Mental health is the elephant in the bright halls of academia. Elizabeth Nesika (name changed to protect identity), a former tenured biogeochemist at a small liberal arts college, never imagined that a toxic workplace culture would catalyze her mental health deterioration and precipitate the decision to leave her dream job.

I don’t like to think of myself as leaving academia because I was burned out. I was bullied out.
– Elizabeth Nesika 

Nesika was ecstatic when she was first offered the position. She described it as one of those experiences in life when the stars align just so. She was thrilled to have the opportunity to combine her passions for environmental science and mentoring. “At the beginning, it was pretty good. Exhausting, but that’s just how it is,” Nesika recalled. “But there were things that seemed amiss, like I hadn’t been told the whole truth when I was being recruited, specifically around facilities.” Nesika’s first year was one of the most successful in her academic career. “I got two NSF grants and had two high profile publications. It meant that I got a lot of attention in my first year and was on the [departmental] website a lot,” she said, recalling that this attention was not well received by all her colleagues.

Nesika multi-tasked the mammoth responsibilities of academic science and continued to push through the challenges, focusing on the things she loved most about her job, amongst which were mentoring students. “I loved the ability to have this huge impact on their lives, much in the same way that I had the privilege of having when I was younger. It was the reason I went to get my PhD, I wanted to be that for someone,” Nesika said. “I had all these amazing students. I loved my classes, I loved my research, and I loved most of my colleagues. It’s like when you get course evaluations. Most of them are positive, but it’s really hard not to focus on those few negative ones.”

Approaching the Exit Ramp

Nesika travelled the long and winding road towards the academic exit ramp amid what she felt was an insidious drip of toxicity consisting of backhanded remarks, gender biases, gas lighting, minimizing accomplishments, and bullying. “Little by little I felt less wanted. Resources were withheld from me. I ended up paying for things for my classes out of my research budget and startup,” she recalled. Nesika also sat on various committees and voiced her opinions during meetings. As a junior faculty member at the time, she noticed the inherent power dynamics between junior and tenured faculty. “I really didn’t read the room correctly. I didn’t recognize that ‘we want to hear from everyone’ wasn’t true.” 

Over time, Nesika’s mental health declined, and she realized that tenure would not solve her workplace challenges. Her therapist expressed deep concern for Nesika’s well being and facilitated a medical leave. The tipping point for Nesika came after her department underwent an external evaluation. She was pulled aside by two of the evaluators who suggested that she explore other job opportunities because it was unlikely she would find the support she sought in her current environment. “That was what led to me applying for jobs, it was the validation I needed. Things had gotten progressively worse,” she said. By the time Nesika left, she was the sixth woman in STEM to leave her small liberal arts college, all for some combination of personal and work-life balance reasons. “My closest colleague [left] the year after me, and I don’t have a single professor friend who didn’t feel some level of burnout,” she said. Nesika herself was exhausted before leaving academia. Her workload made her less able to cope with the workplace negativity directed towards her.

“I don’t like to think of myself as leaving academia because I was burned out. I was bullied out,” Nesika said. “Did I work too much? For sure. But that was in direct response to trying to achieve enough to get a tenure track job.” 

Navigating New Roads

Nesika felt lost, and when she wrote openly on social media about her experiences, several women in senior positions reached out to provide mentorship. She described the ongoing support from her mentors and friends as “amazing and lovely,” particularly the validation she received. “They told me that it was not okay what was happening to me. Otherwise, I might have been the frog boiling in water.” Nesika also hired a career coach who helped her consider her values and goals, and how they align with her work identity in a more fulsome way. “I don’t know if I could have done it with therapy alone, [which] was about surviving. Now, it’s about healing and moving towards thriving. The amount of progress I’ve made on my mental health in the last six months is shocking, I feel like I’m free,” she said. 

As part of this progress, Nesika acknowledged the importance of setting healthy boundaries and realistic expectations. “I bought into this idea that my department was going to be my family and support system and when that didn’t work, and in fact was the opposite, I didn’t have an alternative model to fall back on,” she said. Nesika has also navigated feelings of failure and guilt for leaving her career in academia. “I don’t have it anymore, but [I had] tons of guilt for leaving my friends and colleagues in that toxic space and guilt for that sunk cost that I had put into my career and feeling like a failure,” she described. Nesika now advocates against the pain Olympics that academics engage in—the competition that rewards the highest tolerance for being overworked. “I won’t pretend that I haven’t partaken. It’s hard to be in that space and not have it influence how you behave.”

Advocating for Change 

Nesika applied for academic jobs at other institutions but was unable to get her foot in the door. With each rejection she felt as though she was being sentenced to return to the toxic environment she was trying to leave. In her search for a new path, she prioritized opportunities that enabled her to advocate for making science more inclusive, and eventually transitioned to the science policy space. As a scientist, activist, and educator, Nesika continues to apply her passion for advocacy to broaden participation and increase equity, inclusivity, and justice in science.

Nesika emphasizes the importance of clarifying a workplace’s code of conduct when applying for jobs. “That includes things above and beyond what’s legally acceptable. Rules that can be enforced around workplace conduct. Just be clear about their expectations for you and your expectations for yourself,” she said. Recalling her time in academia, Nesika feels little remorse. “I don’t regret working there. I’m a better researcher, a better person, a better mentor, [and] a better communicator because of that job. Like any toxic relationship, I wish I had left earlier. But I couldn’t tell you when that would have been.”

Experiencing the Fallout of Burnout

Andrew Pelling, a former professor of physics and biology at the University of Ottawa, retired amid a wildly successful career. Pelling is famous for his work using fruits and vegetables for tissue regeneration and creating an open-source DIY cell culture incubator from scavenged trash items. Like the grocery aisle produce he used in his stem cell experiments, Pelling’s approach to science is fresh, combining a knack for biohacking with an appreciation for play and exploration. His lab hosted a diverse group of scientists, artists, and engineers, endowed with the creative freedom to engage in vibrant cross-pollination of ideas.

Pelling described the process of scientific discovery as hard and heartbreaking, with incredibly sweet moments in between. “You’re usually completely alone in a dark microscope room when you realize you’ve discovered something new. It’s a special thing to be holding that new piece of knowledge, you are the only person holding on to it in that moment. For me, that’s where the addiction started,” Pelling said. He also found tremendous satisfaction in mentoring students. “That’s what drove me to academia. When I started seeing [the mentorship] piece fall to the wayside that was a signal to me that something was not right. Something had to give.”

The Bridge to Burnout

Pelling left academia because of clinical burnout, one of the many mental health concerns that researchers increasingly face.⁶ “It was a long time coming, not a sudden thing,” he said. He described the experience of becoming a full professor in 2018 as anticlimactic. Shortly afterwards, he began asking himself: “What’s the next challenge?” He was advised to consider joining the ranks of upper administration but decided against it. “That’s a great path for some people, but not for me. It’s not satisfying enough,” Pelling said. 

He began accepting other roles that limited his academic focus. “I was doing a lot and already starting to think it’s time to move to something new. This went on for four or five years, to the point where I was pretty burnt out.” Between managing a lab, mentoring students, reviewing papers and grants, serving on committees, starting several companies, consulting, speaking, and travelling, Pelling reached his tipping point. “It all added up, and at the end of 2022, those final straws broke my back.” 

As Pelling struggled with clinical burnout, he realized it was impacting his mentoring. “I was getting more frustrated with my students. I’ve always loved working with students and was not feeling that anymore. Once I started to admit to myself that I was burnt out, I realized I had to step back. I wasn’t serving my students.” After months of soul searching, he decided to leave academia. “It’s hard because for almost 30 years, this has been my identity. That was tough to grapple with,” Pelling said. “I made a decision in late 2022 but wanted to make sure I landed the plane smoothly.” He told his dean he would take 18 months to wrap up. “That day I felt amazing. This unbelievable weight came off my shoulders. I had not realized I’d been carrying all this stress and anxiety. It was definitely the right move.” 

Reflections on Academic Life

Pelling described academia as lacking work-life balance. The intense focus on a specific topic is a basic requirement for driving discovery, but it is easy to get carried away. The increasingly arduous demands on professors to take on additional roles creates a slippery slope towards burnout. “It’s your identity, all the time, 24/7. It caught up with me [after] a lot of bad decisions. It’s normalized, this type of life,” Pelling said. “We’re trying to do research at the bench. We’re not ever trained to manage people, money, and bureaucracy, or to teach. We’re thrown into these things. Some of us are good at it, some of us are not, and it just all piles on every day. For me it just got to be way too much.”

Academic science uses imperfect metrics to measure outcomes and impact. Much of this is driven by the need to create accountability for publicly funded projects and balance the responsibilities of universities. However, this creates an environment that is challenging to navigate, ultimately driving away academics who do not want to deal with the operational burdens. “There are a lot of academics leaving. As I was going through the process, I just kept meeting one mid-career professor after another who had left. It’s just all over the place. They get burned out. We must be more intentional about how we design these systems so that we’re not burning out our top talent,” Pelling said. 

Teaching Moment

Pelling’s exit from academia is perhaps one of his greatest lessons for his students. Graduate students are eager to discuss non-academic career trajectories, but there are not many opportunities to do so. “It’s still very rare; most professors haven’t spent time in the private sector,” Pelling said. His advice to students is to attend graduate school only if there is a tangible goal for being there. “If you want to do fundamental research and spend a lot of time deeply thinking about the fine details of a specific area, go to grad school. But it shouldn’t be the default or backup plan. I’ve never seen anybody really thrive who went to grad school because they graduated from undergrad and that’s what you do next.” 

Pelling’s decision to leave academia validates the value of course correction, at any career stage. “Let’s say you’re two years into a PhD, and already put all that time in. That’s not an easy conversation but you have to, if you’re not happy, make the call. I’ve met with students to have those conversations, and I really probed them on this,” Pelling said. He dissuades students from spending years in graduate school unhappy and encourages them to do the hard work of considering what they want. “Life is so short; you need to be pursuing things that drive you deep down. There is a responsibility on your shoulders to figure that out. If you don’t know what you want, you’re going to be rudderless.” 

Act Two

Pelling views his years in academia as an asset. “There’s so much there I don’t think we give ourselves enough credit for, the value you can bring to the table,” he said. “I’m lucky I get to see that in the private sector, how all those skills are translating over. I feel like I may do an even better job in my second act.” In celebration of act two, Pelling and his wife are planning a trip to the Arctic, far up into the Northwest Passage, a trip they delayed for years. Pelling looks forward to the forced disconnection from the internet and outside world. “We like this type of thing. A few years ago, we went to the Serengeti, camping in the wild for a few weeks. Once I’m back, I’ll start to think more carefully about stuff.” 

Pelling has not yet made plans for his post-academic career. He described the advice he received from other former academics who now hold senior scientific and leadership positions outside of academia. “Every single one of them told me to take the time and stop. End that portion of your career and make sure it ends well.” Pelling wants to avoid overextending himself with new opportunities but intends to continue working with his start-up companies in active or advisory roles. “I’m very sensitive to taking on too much too soon. I do not want to immediately start overdoing it again, because I know my instinct is to say yes to everything. I’m trying not to make the same mistakes again.”

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