Writing a Dissertation While Leading a Program Review

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from living inside two very different kinds of writing at the same time.

One asks you to defend ideas with precision, research, citations, and analysis.

The other asks you to evaluate systems, tell the story of a program honestly, gather evidence, align standards, and think about improvement on a large scale.

And somehow, both demand your full brain at once.

Over the past season, I’ve found myself writing a dissertation while simultaneously working through a major program review. On paper, both are professional accomplishments. Both are important. Both are deeply connected to growth, leadership, and educational impact.

But what people often don’t see is the mental weight of carrying both at the same time.

The constant shifting between researcher and practitioner.

Between theory and implementation.

Between asking, “What does the literature say?” and “What does the evidence in front of us actually show?”

Some days it felt intellectually energizing. Other days it felt like my brain had fifty tabs open that would never fully close.

There were moments where I would spend hours immersed in dissertation writing — revising chapters, tightening language, rereading articles — only to immediately pivot into program review meetings, accreditation standards, data analysis, documentation, and long-term planning conversations.

And the reality is, neither one truly ends at the end of the workday.

Program work is continuous. There is always another revision, another decision, another improvement cycle, another challenge to solve, another layer of support needed for the people connected to the work. The systems continue moving whether you feel caught up or not.

And the dissertation? It isn’t finished yet either.

There’s something psychologically difficult about carrying two forms of unfinished work at the same time. Two things constantly existing in the background of your mind. Two ongoing processes asking for attention, thought, energy, and emotional capacity long after you close your laptop for the night.

I think that’s the part people rarely talk about.

Not just the workload, but the inability to mentally set it down completely.

It’s strange how both processes ask similar questions in completely different ways.

What is working?

What evidence supports that?

Where are the gaps?

How do we improve?

How do we communicate the story clearly and honestly?

And maybe that’s why doing both simultaneously has changed me more than I expected.

Because somewhere between dissertation deadlines and program review documents, I realized I wasn’t just producing work — I was learning how to think more deeply, write more intentionally, and lead with greater clarity.

I also realized how lonely large intellectual work can sometimes feel.

People see the milestones: finishing chapters, submitting documents, meeting requirements, preparing reports.

What they don’t always see are the quiet nights spent staring at a screen too mentally tired to process another paragraph. The moments of self-doubt. The second-guessing. The pressure of wanting your work to be meaningful and rigorous while also trying to remain fully present in your everyday responsibilities.

There’s also something humbling about realizing that growth rarely happens in neat, isolated seasons.

Life doesn’t usually pause and say, “Here is the perfect uninterrupted space for deep thinking and major professional work.”

Instead, growth often happens in the middle of competing demands, unfinished to-do lists, emotional fatigue, and ordinary responsibilities.

And maybe that’s the real lesson I’m taking from this season.

Not that balance is always possible.

But that meaningful work often requires learning how to carry complexity without losing yourself inside it.

Oddly enough, working on both a dissertation and a program review at the same time has also reminded me why I care about this work in the first place.

Both processes are ultimately about improvement.

About reflection.

About asking hard questions.

About believing systems, programs, teaching, leadership, and learning can become stronger when we are willing to examine them honestly.

There’s purpose in that.

Even in the exhaustion.

Especially in the exhaustion.

And while I don’t think I’ll miss the late nights, endless revisions, or constant mental juggling, I know this season is still shaping me in ways comfort never could.

Because the truth is, I’m still in it.

The dissertation is still being written.

The program work continues.

The responsibilities haven’t paused simply because the work is hard.

But maybe that’s what difficult seasons of professional growth are supposed to do.

Not just test what we know — but refine how we think, lead, persevere, and continue showing up when the work feels unfinished.

So if you’re somewhere in the middle of your own overwhelming season — balancing large goals, carrying multiple responsibilities, wondering if your brain can possibly hold one more thing — I hope you know this:

Progress does not always look graceful.

Sometimes it looks like persistence.

Sometimes it looks like unfinished chapters, ongoing work, long days, and quiet determination.

Maybe unfinished doesn’t mean falling behind. Maybe it simply means you’re still becoming.