Tell me a story #4 - Becoming a Researcher 👨‍🔬, Becoming a Father 🏡

Over the past months, I struggled to find the right time, energy, and mindset to focus on writing this story. After a long vacation in China and signing the contract for my new position, I finally found the space to reflect on my research journey and put this story together.

The piece reflects on balancing research and parenting, the often unseen sacrifices of family members and making career decisions that consider both professional goals and family well-being.

It is intended for young researchers, especially PhD students and early-career researchers, who are navigating life-work balance, international moves, and major life changes alongside academic ambition.

From Engineer to PhD Student: A Life Built on Plans

Before my PhD, I worked as an R&D engineer in China for two years. When I decided to pursue a doctoral degree abroad, I moved to the University of Luxembourg with a clear plan: work hard, publish well, graduate on time, and move forward. I measured progress in experiments, deadlines, and papers. Everything seemed predictable, difficult of course, but controllable.

At that time, research was my center of gravity. My days were shaped by code, data, and writing. I believed that with enough discipline and effort, I could manage everything that stood in my way.

When Research Stopped Being Everything

Everything changed the day my son was born, in the middle of my PhD.

Before becoming a parent, time felt like something I owned. After becoming one, time belonged to someone else first. Parenting required more energy than I had ever imagined: sleepless nights, constant attention, emotional responsibility. These did not wait for deadlines, and they did not care whether my experiments failed or my paper got rejected.

I could no longer work late without consequence. My afternoons became fragmented, weekends disappeared, and exhaustion became familiar. The illusion that “hard work is enough” quickly collapsed. I realized that to survive academically and mentally, I needed clarity.

I learned to work differently: planning carefully, prioritizing strictly, and executing decisively. Good research became less about long hours and more about focus, understanding what mattered today and letting go of what did not.

Letting Go and Learning Gratitude

One of the hardest lessons was realizing that you cannot keep everything. I slowly gave up many hobbies: basketball became rare, and reading for pleasure almost vanished. At first, these felt like losses. Later, they felt like choices. Choices made for something greater.

Behind everything I managed to do, there was someone carrying a heavier burden than I ever could: my wife.

She gave up her job in China to move with me to Luxembourg. After our son was born, she devoted herself almost entirely to caring for him. We had no family nearby, no additional help, no safety net. I assisted whenever possible, but it was still incredibly hard. The sacrifice she made is something I can never repay. If I completed my PhD, it was because she carried far more than her share. For that, I am endlessly grateful.

When Time Shrinks, Collaboration Becomes Essential

Becoming a father didn’t just change my schedule, it changed how I approached research. With far less uninterrupted time, I quickly realized I could not do everything alone. Good collaboration stopped being a bonus and became essential.

Working with supportive colleagues made my research life sustainable. Collaboration shared workload during busy periods, kept projects moving through regular check-ins, and combined strengths in ways I could not achieve alone. It wasn’t just about productivity, it was about mutual understanding and support.

A few practices helped me collaborate well despite limited time: be transparent about constraints, define responsibilities clearly, respond reliably, and celebrate small progress together. Losing time to fatherhood ultimately taught me the value of leaning on others and made me a better researcher.

Traveling the World Together

One unexpected gift of academic life is travel. And one unexpected joy is sharing it as a family.

Over the years, my wife and son traveled with me to Oxford for a summer school, Vienna for ISSTA, Trondheim for FSE, and Seoul for ASE. Conferences were no longer just professional obligations; they became shared experiences. Cities became playgrounds. Hotels became temporary homes. Work trips became family journeys.

People often said, “That must be difficult.” Yes, it is. But it is also beautiful. My career does not happen away from my family. It happens with them. Academia, in its imperfect way, gave me the chance to grow professionally without losing the people I love most.

Redefining Success and Choosing Home

Having a family changed how I thought about my future.

Before, I cared most about rankings, prestige, and publications. Now, my first question is not “Where is best for my career?” but “Where is best for my family?” Stability, healthcare, education, and quality of life came first. Only then did I ask whether good research was possible.

Over the years, we slowly fell in love with Luxembourg. Its quietness, safety, and rhythm of life. Eventually, we decided this would be our home. I chose to continue my career here not only for myself but for the people I love most.

Life answered kindly. Recently, I received an offer from LIST as an R&T Scientist. At that moment, professional growth and family stability finally aligned.

If I could speak to my younger self, I would say:

I still care deeply about research. I still work hard. But success now means more than publications. It means peaceful dinners, a sleeping child, a resilient partner, and a life that does not require escape.

If you are a young researcher wondering whether life must be postponed for academia, I want to tell you: it does not. Your research life and your life shared with loved ones can grow together. It will not be easy, it will not be perfect, but it will be meaningful.

And in the end, meaning lasts longer than any publication.

Sincerely,

Tiezhu