I have just started my final year of PhD study. Supposedly, it is an exciting milestone: the beginning of the end. It feels far more stressful than exciting. There is too much to do and too little time. Final edits, final submission, looming deadlines: all piling up at once. On top of that, everyone around you keeps asking, “So… what’s next?” as if I have any idea what comes after this.

The questions start coming thick and fast. Have you started applying for jobs? What are you doing after your PhD? And then there are publications because of course there are. Add that to the already overwhelming list. At the same time, you are expected to remain a functioning human being, with friends, a partner, family, and caring responsibilities. Somewhere in the background sits the quiet panic of realising that your stipend will end soon. The mental noise becomes constant and overwhelming.

Everyone’s PhD journey is different, but everyone I know who is in their final year or who has survived it seems to experience the same emotional cocktail. Stress, doubt, urgency, exhaustion, and the occasional burst of optimism where you think, maybe, just maybe, you might actually finish this. This post is not a solution or a guide. It is simply a collection of thoughts I have been telling myself to feel a little less unhinged during this strange in-between phase.

Writing and the Illusion of Time

When I started my PhD four years ago, time felt endless. Luxurious, even. Now, a year feels like a bad joke. Due to logistical nightmares, such as the British Library cyber-attack and changes in research methods, most of my actual writing only really began in my second year. That means the final year is not about “wrapping things up”; it is about writing almost everything at once.

What has helped me is setting clear and realistic deadlines with my supervisors. They know when to expect drafts, and I know exactly what I am working towards. This shared structure creates accountability and keeps everyone aligned with goals. It sounds obvious, but for a long time, I kept losing sight of what mattered most and felt pulled in too many directions.

Many people recommend strict office hours and rigid schedules. I tried that, and it did not work for me. What did work was allowing myself breaks. Breaks are not a luxury; they are damage control. Writing days rarely go exactly as planned. Sometimes the data does not work. Sometimes the writing is genuinely bad. Sometimes you simply cannot write at all. Building breathing space into your plans makes the chaos slightly more manageable and prevents burnout from taking over completely.

The Mental Spiral

Lately, one thought keeps resurfacing: I have so much left to do. Supervisor comments need revisiting. Job applications need to be submitted. Vacancies need to be checked constantly. Papers need revising. All of these things matter, but not all of them need to be done at the same time. Reminding myself of that has been essential.

Another familiar thought follows quickly: What if it’s all rubbish? Impostor syndrome never really leaves; it just finds new ways to surface. When this happens, I try to focus on what I have actually achieved: no matter how small it feels. A paragraph written, a figure corrected, a difficult email sent. Talking openly to friends, PhD colleagues, and supervisors has helped enormously. You are rarely the only one thinking this way: even if it feels that way.

People will also keep asking, relentlessly: “What’s next?”. You do not need a perfect career plan. No one actually has one. What helps is identifying the parts of your PhD you have enjoyed most: writing, analysis, teaching, collaboration, and presenting. From there, you can start exploring careers that align with those skills. Right now, I am applying for research jobs across the country and networking like my income depends on it (because it does).

The Extra Weight of Uncertainty

Submitting a thesis does not bring certainty; it often brings more questions. For international students like me, the uncertainty multiplies quickly. Will I be able to apply for the Post-Study Work visa in time? Will I find a job before my visa runs out? Should I stay, move back home, or try another country? Could I apply for the Global Talent visa? These questions sit alongside academic pressure, making it hard to focus on anything.

As submission approaches, life feels suspended. You are no longer “just” a student, but without a viva, you are also not eligible for many jobs. At the same time, you are expected to prepare for your defence while navigating immigration timelines, visa restrictions, and an increasingly uncertain job market. For those on short-term funding, instability becomes routine. One-year rental contracts mean frequent moves, temporary living arrangements, and the constant mental load of not knowing where you will be next year.

Early-career researchers are expected to publish, network, apply for grants, teach, and demonstrate impact, often without the institutional support available to funded students. Rejections are common, feedback is rare, and timelines rarely align with visa deadlines. Financial stress quietly amplifies everything from concentration to confidence to mental health. None of these pressures exists in isolation; they overlap and reinforce one another, making an already difficult phase feel even heavier.

Final Thoughts

This final year feels like a tornado of deadlines, decisions, and emotions. I am excited about finishing, terrified of what comes next, and exhausted in ways I did not know were possible. What keeps me moving forward is focusing on what I can control: writing, planning, asking for help, and taking breaks without guilt.

If you are in your final year too, you are not behind, you are not broken, and you are definitely not alone. Reach out to your support system. Reach out to me: excy@liverpool.ac.uk. This phase is chaotic, uncertain, and deeply uncomfortable, but we are all navigating it together.  

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