Between Deadlines and Dreams

My Facebook timeline has been unusually busy with graduations lately. I find myself scrolling through photos of old friends—some finishing their degrees, some finally walking the stage after years of juggling work, family, and studies. And every now and then, I pause a little longer than usual, because I see pieces of myself in them.

I used to live that life too.

There was a version of me that was constantly in motion—teaching, attending graduate school, pursuing my doctorate, working full-time, and still trying to show up fully at home. Everything all at once, like I was running multiple lives in a single day and somehow expected to do them all well.

I remember Fridays vividly. After work, I would rush to the bus terminal just to get home by 7 or 8 PM. I’d sleep for maybe three hours, then wake up around 11 or 12 midnight, already preparing for Saturday classes. Assignments were always waiting, and most of the time, my “research time” existed in the in-betweens—between exhaustion and deadlines, between responsibilities that never paused.

There were even days when I was teaching at 9 AM while simultaneously attending my graduate school class online at 8 AM. I don’t even know now how I managed that overlap. But I did.

That was a life I once couldn’t imagine surviving. Yet somehow, I did more than survive—I learned how to balance it all. Time management became second nature. Discipline became survival. And somehow, I kept going.

Then came 2024 to 2025, and everything changed.

I had to let go of teaching. I was unable to finish my dissertation because life demanded more than I could give at that time. Work became heavier, travel became constant, and while I genuinely enjoyed the movement of it all, I also quietly lost something I used to hold closely—my academic rhythm.

I tried twice more. Two semesters of attempting to finish my doctorate. And twice, I fell short. Not because I didn’t want it, but because the version of me who once thrived on that kind of pressure no longer felt the same.

I miss that. 

I miss sitting down with my laptop, the background filled with instrumental music from YouTube—the same ones I used during Pomodoro sessions. I miss the noise around me while still being able to focus deeply. I miss reading without urgency, researching without the constant pressure of office deadlines chasing me.

Now, work deadlines feel heavier in a different way. Follow-ups, revisions, urgent requests—it’s all fast, all demanding, all rushing. And sometimes, I find myself missing the kind of stress that came from school, because at least then, it felt like I was building something that was mine.

Still, something in me is slowly gathering strength again.

I am beginning to consider pushing my doctorate once more—not in Cagayan de Oro this time, but here in Ozamiz City. It feels like starting over in an unfamiliar chapter of a story I thought I had already paused indefinitely.

But maybe that’s exactly what I need.

A fresh beginning. A quieter space. New connections. A different rhythm of life that might finally allow me to continue what I once started. I know it will not be easy. I know I will need support—from loved ones, from patience, and from whatever strength I still have left to give.

But I am learning to believe again.

I believe that nothing is ever truly wasted. That even the pauses, the detours, and the almosts are part of something bigger being written. And maybe, just maybe, this delay is not a failure—but a redirection.

If I am meant to be here, then I will begin here.

And if everything aligns the way it is supposed to, then maybe next year, I will finally be the one holding that doctor’s cap—not as someone who rushed to get there, but as someone who arrived through every version of herself she had to become along the way.