PhD & MA Coaching
Cultural displacement. Imposter syndrome. The weight of expectation — from family, from your institution, from yourself. The voice that says you don’t belong, that everyone else understands something you’ve missed, that you’re one bad supervision away from being found out.
These aren’t problems to be fixed. They’re negotiations waiting to happen. And how you handle them decides whether you move through your degree as yourself — or in spite of yourself.
A high proportion of the researchers I work with are neurodiverse — ADHD, autistic, or both. Often they didn’t arrive knowing it. They arrived knowing only that the system seemed to fit everyone else more easily than it fit them.
Here is what almost no one tells them: the same mind that struggles with a rigid institution is frequently the mind that makes the best research. The pattern-spotting that won’t switch off. The obsessive depth that follows a question past the point most people stop. The refusal to accept a framing just because everyone else has. These are not flaws the academy tolerates. They are, quietly, the engine of original work.
The trouble is that academic life taxes a neurodiverse mind hardest in exactly the places it has nothing to do with research — the executive-function scaffolding, the sensory load of institutional spaces, the unwritten social rules of a department. Most coaching goes straight at those difficulties and tries to drill you into neurotypical work habits. It usually fails, and you’re left concluding the fault is yours.
I work the other way round. Not managing your difference into compliance, but governing it so the gift does the work and the cost stops running the show. Your wiring isn’t the problem to be solved. It’s the thing that could make you the researcher no one else in your field could be.
I left school at sixteen.
I have a PhD. I reached it by a route that wasn’t supposed to work — no straight line, no assumption that someone like me belonged in those rooms. So when a student tells me the deepest voice they’re fighting is the one that says you don’t belong here, I’m not offering sympathy from the far side of a comfortable career. I’m telling you the gate is not as sealed as it feels at two in the morning. I know, because I was on the wrong side of it, and I got through.
That’s the reassurance a struggling researcher actually needs — not from someone who always fitted, but from someone who didn’t, and made it anyway.
Using the frameworks from Your Civil War Within, we work with these voices as governance, not as enemies. You learn to negotiate with them — to understand what each one is protecting, what it’s afraid of, and what treaty might actually hold.
For students in the social sciences and humanities there’s an extra layer, and it’s one I know from the inside: positionality, reflexivity, the ethics of your own gaze. Am I the right person to research this? Do I have the authority? Who am I in relation to this work? Those aren’t obstacles to clear before the real research starts. They are a negotiation, and often the most important one you’ll conduct.
The skills you build here are portable. The negotiation you learn on your thesis transfers to your writing, your supervision, your relationships, and your sense of yourself. You’re not just getting through a degree — you’re learning to govern the internal war that would otherwise follow you out of it.
We meet on an ongoing basis — usually weekly or fortnightly, adjusted to you. Each session starts where you are: what conflict is live right now, which voices are competing for governance, what negotiation needs to happen. Structured writing is part of the work: you dig on the page between sessions, and we work with what you unearth. (If you want to go deeper into that practice on its own, see Writing as Excavation.)
No free “discovery call” that’s really a sales pitch. Just a real conversation, worth having on its own. Start with a short call to test the fit and put one live issue on the table, or take the longer session when you’re ready to go properly into it. For work this ongoing, that first conversation matters — it’s how we both find out.
Two ways to begin
One thing, looked at properly. A single knot, a live decision, a check-in to keep the momentum going. Short and contained — not a lesser version of the longer call, just the right size for one thing.
Book fifteen minutesWhen it’s more than one thing. Room for the heavier material — the private crisis, the grief, the thing you can’t say to anyone who needs something from you — at a slower, deeper pace. It asks more of both of us.
Book the conversationIf ongoing work is right for both of us, we’ll arrange it from there — the call is where we find out, not a funnel into something you’ll be sold. Prefer to write first? info@drmarcusanthony.com