January – April 2012
Semel Neuropsychiatric Institute, UCLA
Visitor lounge computers, between 8:14 a.m. stair-climbs and 1:30 p.m. circle-time observations
This book was written in fragments—stolen moments while my 4 year-old son attended therapy sessions at UCLA's Early Childhood Partial Hospitalization Program ("ECPHP").
The book's inspiration had been the LinkedIn group PhD [alternative] Careers I'd created a year earlier, and grew organically to over 5,000 members. By 2012, this "project" became what I called a "mercy distraction"—a place where my mind could focus on helping others navigate career transitions when I was drowning in IEP meetings, medical appointments, and systemic legal fights I never chose.
Between advocating for my child and fighting systems that weren't designed to help him, I typed chapters on public computers. (When I could, of course: there were maybe 4 computers in the visitor's lounge, and many more of us parents waiting for our children, and back then I had a flip-phone.) I answered questions from postdocs about "overqualified" objections. I wrote about mental toughness because I was learning it in real time. Every "What You Can Do" section came from a PhD-and-Parent who had to figure out what she could do when few could truly help.
I self-published the 107-page manuscript (ISBN 978-0-9755072-1-6) and priced the Kindle/Paperback version at what I thought seemed reasonable. I was not interested in providing coaching services: I had zero bandwidth for "career consulting" while managing my son's medical care, and navigating (fighting with) special education systems.
Within weeks, three 1-star Amazon reviews accused me of "trying to make money as a coach." The accusation stung because it fundamentally misunderstood what the book was: a self-navigation guide written by someone who wished she had that guide back as a PhD student. I thought the book would facilitate what often felt for PhDs like a hostile process or an ex-communication procedure.
I was already fighting too many battles. I couldn't fight to defend this one too. I deleted the 5,000-member LinkedIn group. I stopped blogging about PhD careers. I let the manuscript become what I now call a "casualty of war"—collateral damage from trying to create something useful while everything else was falling apart.
But I refused to remove this book off Amazon no matter how tempted I was (and every single year I am tempted). Because I am neither an imposter nor a fraud. I lived through every single lesson I'd written. I have changed careers multiple times, and I have lived to tell others HOW.
This book was never a business plan. It was a lifeline I threw to others while I was drowning.
Every slide deck was built from chapters I drafted between my son's's therapy sessions. Every presentation was proof that even in the worst moments, I was trying to create something that mattered.
In 2014, McGill University's Career Planning Service (CaPS) created a permanent resource page for the book. It's still live today—more than a decade later:
McGill CaPS: PhD [alternative] Career Clinic
This quiet recognition meant so much to me. It told me the book had found a home at one of the world's top universities, helping PhD students long after I'd given up on it. CaPS validated that the work mattered—even if a few Amazon reviewers didn't understand why it existed.
📄 Download Full PDF (107 pages)
No signup form. No email capture. No coaching upsell. Just the book, exactly as it was meant to be used: a self-navigation guide for PhDs who refuse to let the system define their worth.