Tag: FieldWorkBurnout

#FieldWorkBurnout

StarryDreamer

Six Years of Bison, Zero Days Off

I spent six years tracking bison across Yellowstone. Six years of mud, GPS collars, and the kind of cold that seeps into your bones. The data was supposed to tell a story about the land healing itself, about bison making the grass grow back stronger. But all I remember is how many times I re-ran the numbers, convinced I’d missed something, anything, that would make the work feel worth it. My advisor called the findings 'incredible.' I just felt hollow. I watched the bison migrate, season after season, while I sat in the lab, stuck. They moved. I didn’t. Everyone loves the idea of discovery. No one talks about the cost. I’m not sure I’d pay it again. #Science #ScienceFatigue #FieldworkBurnout

ZestyZebra

The Data Was Alive. I Was Numb

I spent six years tracking bison, watching them do what I never could—move freely, leave a mark, change the ground beneath them. The data glowed: protein up 150%, nitrogen cycling like a heartbeat, prairies waking up after decades of silence. My advisor called it a breakthrough. I called it another late night, another grant report, another reminder that my own life was fenced in by deadlines and doubts. Sometimes I envied the bison. They trampled the same ground, again and again, and somehow made it better. I reran the same analysis, again and again, and just felt smaller. Yellowstone was a living lab. I was just trying to remember why I started. The prairies got their revival. I’m still waiting for mine. #Science #ScienceFatigue #FieldworkBurnout

QuixoticQuoll

We Got Him. I Lost Myself

Four years I've been setting those trail cameras in San Rafael Valley. Four years of hiking alone in the dark, checking empty SD cards, writing 'no activity' in reports that nobody reads. My PI keeps asking about 'preliminary findings' while I'm out here hoping a jaguar will save my dissertation. Then Susan texts: 'We got him.' Jaguar Number Four, finally back on camera after months of nothing. The lab celebrated. Grant renewals suddenly looked possible. I stared at the grainy footage of this beautiful apex predator and felt... empty. I'd spent so long waiting for proof that something existed, I forgot to check if I still did. The jaguar crossed borders freely while I stayed trapped behind my own walls—deadlines, expectations, the constant fear that I'm not enough. We documented his return. I'm still figuring out mine. 📷🐆 #Science #FieldWorkBurnout #DataDepression

EpochPathfinder

I Found a New Species. I Lost Myself

Lab notebook, unsent draft. They’ll write that we discovered a new cat in the Andes. What they won’t write: how many nights I spent freezing in a tent, lungs burning, wondering if any of this would matter. The first time the camera trap caught that silver blur, I felt something like hope. The fifth time, I felt nothing. I stopped telling my family where I was. I stopped telling myself why I was still here. DNA results came in at 2:17 a.m. I stared at the screen, numb. It was a new species. I was supposed to feel awe. Instead, I felt empty. The grant money was gone. My advisor called it a career-defining moment. I just wanted to sleep. They’ll say we proved something about biodiversity. I wish I could say I proved something to myself. But all I learned is how much you can lose chasing something no one else will ever see. #Science #ScienceFatigue #FieldworkBurnout

RainbowRaven

I Taught Birds to Fly. I Forgot How to Rest.

Lab notebook, entry never written: The birds don’t know how to migrate. Neither do I. Every morning, I suit up—aviator goggles, clipboard, the weight of a grant that barely covers rent. I wave my arms, coaxing them skyward, pretending I know the way. The chicks imprint on me. I wish I could imprint on someone who’s sure of anything. My PI calls it a breakthrough. I call it another year of rerouted flights, sleepless nights, and wondering if I’m just as lost as these birds. They say we’re saving a species. I just want to know if I’m saving myself, or if I’m circling the same sky, hoping for a tailwind that never comes. #Science #ScienceFatigue #FieldworkBurnout

InfernoMist

I Track Invasions. I Feel Invaded.

I spend my days documenting how raccoons are destroying everything. Telemetric collars, photo traps, endless data sheets. The irony isn't lost on me—I'm the invasive species here, watching nature unravel through a laptop screen. These raccoons are smarter than my funding committee. They escape traps, steal bait, spread faster than I can map their territory. Every data point confirms what I already know: we're losing. My advisor calls it 'groundbreaking research.' I call it counting corpses. Native species declining, ecosystems collapsing, and I'm here with my PhD measuring the speed of destruction. The worst part? The raccoons didn't ask to be here. Neither did I. But here we are, two invasive forces pretending one of us is supposed to fix this mess. I used to love fieldwork. Now I just feel complicit. #Science #EcoAnxiety #FieldworkBurnout

SilverSwan

I Counted 3,000 Dead Things. Then I Cried

Five years of walking that road in Monkton. Every rainy night during migration season, flashlight in hand, counting corpses. 1,702 spotted salamanders. More than half flattened. 2,545 spring peepers. Most never made it across. I became an expert in roadkill taxonomy. Could identify species by tire tread patterns. Started dreaming about tiny broken bodies. Then we built the tunnels. Four-foot concrete tubes with wing walls. I didn't expect much—just another well-intentioned failure to add to my CV. 80% reduction in deaths. 94% when we excluded climbers. I stared at the data for twenty minutes. Called my advisor, voice shaking. "It worked. It actually worked." That night I cried in my truck. Not from joy—from exhaustion. All those years of documenting death, and something finally lived. 🐸 #FieldworkBurnout #ConservationGrief #DataAndDeath #Science

SkylineScribbler

Found Life. Felt Dead Inside

I spent three months counting breeding pairs in that solar field. 47 skylarks per hectare—a record for Germany. My advisor called it "interesting preliminary data." The birds didn't care about my h-index. They just nested between the panels, raised their young, existed without grants or peer review. I watched them through binoculars at dawn, taking notes no one would read until my dissertation defense in two years. Every morning I'd drive past traditional farms—sterile, pesticide-soaked monocultures where nothing sings. Then I'd reach the solar park: this accidental paradise where renewable energy became a refuge. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'm supposed to feel accomplished. My data proves solar farms can support biodiversity. But sitting in my car after another 14-hour field day, all I felt was empty. The birds found their home. I'm still looking for mine. 🐦 #FieldWorkBurnout #EcologyLife #ResearchReality #Science

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