For most of my PhD, I studied from home.
Partly because London rents are so expensive that we ended up living in Zone 6, making the journey to my university in central London longer than I wanted. But also because, unlike many taught programmes, a UK PhD does not require you to be on campus every day.
My university has a dedicated Doctoral School with bright study spaces, quiet desks, and everything a researcher could ask for.
Yet I rarely used them.
As a parent, I always felt more comfortable staying close to home.
Children have an uncanny ability to need you at exactly the moment you thought you had a productive day ahead. There were school emails, unexpected phone calls, and occasional emergencies. Once, I received an urgent call telling me my child had broken an arm during playtime and needed to be collected immediately.
Being nearby simply felt safer.
The problem was that studying from home turned out to be much harder than I expected.
The School Day Is Shorter Than You Think
When my children were younger, I assumed the hours between school drop-off and pick-up would provide plenty of uninterrupted study time.
In reality, they disappeared astonishingly quickly.
After dropping the children off around 8:45, I would walk home, sometimes stopping at the supermarket or chatting with another parent at the school gate. By the time I got back, it was already after nine.
Then came the usual tasks of adult life.
Emails that had arrived overnight.
School messages requiring responses.
Phone calls, appointments, bills, and all the small administrative jobs that somehow consume entire mornings.
By the time I made coffee, opened my laptop, and sat down properly, it was often closer to 9:30 or even 10.
Only then could the real work begin.
Or so I thought.
A few pages into an article, the doorbell would ring. A delivery would arrive. My phone would buzz. I would suddenly remember that I needed to take something out of the freezer for dinner.
By the time lunch was over, I often felt behind already.
And before I knew it, the school day was ending.
For a while, I assumed the problem was me.
Was I simply bad at concentrating?
Did I lack discipline?
Looking back, I think the issue was not willpower at all. It was the environment and the way I approached my work.
Over time, I developed a few strategies that made a genuine difference.
1. Match the Task to Your Energy
One of the biggest challenges of doing a PhD in a second language is that everything takes longer.
Many of my native English-speaking peers seemed able to read several articles in the time it took me to work through one. Reading academic books, taking notes, and processing complex arguments required far more effort than they did in my first language.
For a while, I saw this as a disadvantage.
Eventually, I began to see the opposite.
Because I speak Korean, I could draw on sources and perspectives that were unavailable to many of my peers. Rather than seeing my first language as a disadvantage, I began to view it as an additional research tool.
That shift in perspective changed the way I approached my work.
Instead of fighting my natural energy levels, I started dividing my work according to the type of concentration required.
Mornings were reserved for the most demanding tasks: reading academic books and journal articles in English, analysing sources, and writing.
Afternoons were for lighter work: reading Korean-language materials, organising notes, preparing presentations, or handling administrative tasks.
It sounds obvious, but assigning the hardest work to my strongest hours dramatically improved my productivity.
2. Think in Tasks, Not Hours
For years, I believed productivity meant sitting down and concentrating for long stretches of time.
The problem was that whenever I became distracted, I felt as though the entire day had been ruined.
One unnecessary internet search could easily become an hour of procrastination.
And once my focus disappeared, it was difficult to get it back.
Eventually, I stopped setting goals like:
“Today I need to work really hard.”
Instead, I started setting goals like:
“Read twenty pages of this article.”
“Summarise the key argument of each section.”
“Review five references for the literature review.”
Smaller goals made it easier to begin.
More importantly, they made it easier to continue after interruptions.
And interruptions are inevitable when children are involved.
3. Change Location Before Changing Motivation
There were days when staying at home simply stopped working.
No amount of determination could overcome the feeling of being trapped indoors.
Spring and early summer in Britain can be surprisingly beautiful. After months of grey skies, the arrival of sunshine feels almost miraculous.
Our flat faces east, which means bright morning sunlight pours through the windows. Lovely for living, less ideal for concentrating.
On those days, I stopped forcing myself to stay at my desk.
Instead, I packed my laptop and books and headed out.
We live near the River Thames, where there are long walking paths and plenty of places to sit and think.
Sometimes I worked in a café.
Sometimes I read by the river.
Sometimes I simply went for a walk and returned home later.
Not every problem requires more discipline. Occasionally, it just requires a different environment.
4. There Is No Such Thing as a Perfect Research Day
This lesson took me the longest to learn.
Earlier in my PhD, if my plans fell apart, I considered the entire day a failure.
The result was not only lost productivity but also frustration that followed me into the evening.
My children often ended up experiencing the consequences of a bad research day.
Many PhD students have perfectionist tendencies.
Academia tends to attract people who set extremely high standards for themselves.
Yet one message I heard repeatedly throughout my doctorate was this:
There is no perfect thesis.
There is no perfect paper.
There is no perfect research project.
At some point, you have to submit the draft that is 80 percent ready rather than endlessly chasing 100 percent.
You have to write before you feel ready.
You have to send work to your supervisor before it feels finished.
The goal is not perfection.
The goal is progress.
I still struggle with perfectionism.
But I have become more willing to accept imperfect days and unfinished work.
Because studying while raising children is not really about doing everything perfectly.
Parenting is not perfect.
Research is not perfect.
Most days involve interruptions, compromises, and unexpected setbacks.
What matters is continuing anyway.
Not every day moves you forward by a huge amount.
But small steps, repeated over months and years, eventually carry you much further than you imagined possible.
