Living Academia as a Mad Scholar: Embracing the Highs, the Lows, and Everything in Between

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Academia comes with expectations of constant productivity and emotional steadiness, an image of the “ideal academic” who never falters. For those of us living with mental health experiences, that expectation can be impossible. This is my reality as a mad scholar: I love what I do, but my mind and body don’t always cooperate in the ways academia expects. I use the term mad intentionally, drawing from Mad Studies, to reclaim and politicize mental health experiences rather than hide or pathologize them.

The Myth of Consistency in Academia

Academia often expects consistency. But for those of us who live with mental health experiences, consistency is an illusion. My mood and mental health fluctuate, and some days the desire to do the work I love is there, but my mind and body do not cooperate. These fluctuations don’t make me any less committed to my work, but they shape how I experience it.

Being Human in a System That Often Forgets It

During low times, I sometimes find myself more sensitive to feedback and critique, which is an inherent part of academia. Most of the time, I appreciate critique for what it is—a way to make my work better. But there are days when even constructive feedback feels heavier. That’s the reality of navigating academic life while living with mental health experiences: the tension between knowing critique is part of the job and having moments where processing it feels overwhelming.

Building Transparency and Trust with Students

One of the most meaningful parts of my job is mentoring students. Some of them live with mental health experiences themselves. I choose to be transparent with them about my own challenges, and they often appreciate that openness. Just recently, during a team meeting, all of us were collectively running low—tired, overwhelmed, and not in the best place mentally. We acknowledged it together. We didn’t ask each other to “perform” happiness or pretend to feel differently. Instead, we adjusted the agenda, made it lighter, and shortened the meeting. That small decision carried weight, and it hopefully affirmed that we, as a team, value well-being over performance.

Finding My Place in Critical Disability Studies

Years ago, during my PhD, I questioned if academia was even for me. I loved research, teaching, and writing, but the pressure to be “always on” felt incompatible with my reality. I am lucky that my field is critical disability studies, which challenges ableist norms and creates space for different ways of being. I am surrounded by colleagues who understand, who see my humanity and the value of flexibility, not as a weakness but as part of doing this work differently.

Breaking Stereotypes About What “Mad” Looks Like

Sometimes my disclosure of living with mental health experiences is met with disbelief. “But you’re such a bubbly person!” someone once said, or simply, “Really?” Yes, really. I can be enthusiastic, funny, and passionate and still live with mental health challenges. Having low days does not cancel out who I am when I’m thriving. This is true for so many other mad, disabled, and neurodivergent scholars I’ve spoken to who have wondered if academia is “for them.” The truth is, we are here, and our presence is reshaping what academia can be.

Loving the Work, Despite It All

Even with the hard days, I love my work. I enjoy most of it—mentoring students, diving into research questions, co-creating knowledge, and challenging norms about disability and mental health in academic spaces. My experience reminds me that we need to make space for fluctuation, for humanity, and compassion in academia. Because when we do, we create communities where more of us, mad, disabled, and neurodivergent, can thrive.

Reimagining Academia, Together

I share this because I know I am not alone. I have heard so many similar stories from other mad, disabled, and neurodivergent scholars, others who have also questioned if academia is for them, wondering if there is space to bring their whole selves to this work. To all of us: we belong here. Our presence challenges the narrow definitions of what an “ideal academic” looks like.

I believe academia can be different. It can be a space where fluctuations in mood and capacity are not seen as failures but as part of being human. It can be a place where we offer each other grace, where students and colleagues don’t have to hide their reality to fit in. It’s not always easy, but moments like that team meeting—where we honored our low energy instead of pretending—give me hope.

We can build an academia that values authenticity and care. And in doing so, we create space for more of us not just to survive here, but to thrive.