Pursuing a Ph.D. is often described as a journey—a long, intense, and deeply personal academic pilgrimage that demands unwavering dedication, curiosity, and resilience. It represents the pinnacle of formal education, not just in terms of intellectual rigor but also in the time, energy, and emotional bandwidth it consumes. But what happens when that journey no longer feels right? When the goal that once shimmered with promise begins to feel distant, unclear, or even irrelevant? Knowing when to pause or leave a Ph.D. program is one of the most difficult decisions a student can face. Yet, it’s a decision that requires honesty, introspection, and sometimes, the courage to walk away.
For those already immersed in doctoral study, the road can feel isolating. Unlike undergraduate or even master’s-level education—where learning is largely collaborative and course-based—a Ph.D. is a solitary pursuit. Much of the process centers around deeply specialized research, most of which is conducted independently or under the supervision of a single adviser. It culminates in a dissertation that is expected to offer original contributions to a field, a task that is daunting in both scope and expectation.
Nicole Westrick, assistant vice president and dean for the College of Interdisciplinary and Continuing Studies at Morgan State University, notes that doctoral students must come to grips with their intellectual identity in ways they never had to before. “Really figuring out who you are as a writer and a thinker is so crucial to success in a doctoral program,” she says. That identity formation is a transformative process—often uncomfortable—because earning a Ph.D. is not just about mastering content, but about creating new knowledge and stepping into the realm of scholars. It’s a fundamentally different experience from any previous academic endeavor.
Before even embarking on this path, prospective Ph.D. students are strongly advised to understand what research truly entails. Oscar Holmes IV, a professor at Rutgers University and director of the Student Executive program at the Rutgers School of Business in Camden, emphasizes the importance of talking to both current students and graduates to grasp the full picture. “You really need to get as much information as possible from people who are doing it, and people who’ve already done it,” he explains. “Because it requires an enormous amount of sacrifice—not just from you, but from those around you. It affects your relationships, your mental health, your financial stability.”
Despite all preparation and planning, reality sometimes unfolds differently. Interests shift. Life changes. Burnout becomes real. And while many doctoral students feel pressure to persevere no matter the cost, that’s not always the healthiest—or wisest—choice. Knowing when to stay the course and when to walk away requires discernment, and for some, leaving a Ph.D. program can be the most productive and self-compassionate move they ever make.
There are a multitude of reasons why someone might consider quitting their doctoral studies, but a common and deeply valid one is a shift in career trajectory. The reality is that many students begin a Ph.D. with a vision of becoming a tenured professor or leading academic, only to discover that academia isn't the right fit. The lifestyle, the politics, the uncertainty of tenure-track positions, and the constant pressure to publish can begin to weigh heavily. Holmes reflects that forcing oneself through years of research and academic training when the end goal no longer aligns with one's personal or professional aspirations is rarely worthwhile. “This is a long-term investment—often five years or more,” he says. “It’s not helpful to keep pushing through something that doesn’t make you happy anymore.”
Other students find that life outside of academia begins to exert greater pressure. Full-time employment, caring for family members, or significant changes in personal circumstances can all make it difficult to sustain the level of commitment required in a Ph.D. program. For some, the rewards of earning the degree no longer outweigh the costs of staying enrolled. Westrick notes that the time demands of a doctoral program can become incompatible with life responsibilities, especially as one’s priorities evolve.
Then there’s the financial aspect—a hurdle that often remains underestimated at the outset. While many doctoral programs offer funding in the form of stipends and tuition waivers, the financial support is modest at best. “The stipends aren’t that much,” Holmes admits. “There were times I had to lean on my family, take out loans, just to get through the semester.” During these years, students are often unable to contribute to retirement savings, build wealth, or make significant life investments. Those lost opportunity costs can feel particularly acute for students with families or dependents.
Recent legislative changes in the U.S. have further complicated this landscape. With the enactment of the "One Big Beautiful Bill Act" signed into law in July 2025—gradually rolling out changes such as the elimination of Grad PLUS loans and capping total graduate borrowing at $100,000 starting in July 2026—many doctoral students are now facing additional financial uncertainty. For students who self-fund, these changes can significantly alter the feasibility of continuing in a program. Westrick notes that such financial stressors may force many to rethink their capacity to remain enrolled, even if academically capable.
But beyond logistical challenges, there’s a more subtle and often hidden reason why some doctoral students leave: the toll on mental and emotional health. The pressures of research, teaching, publishing, and navigating academic politics can sometimes lead to burnout, depression, or anxiety. For some, the environment becomes toxic—especially if they face discrimination or harassment from peers or faculty. Ben Selznick, associate professor at James Madison University, explains that quitting becomes necessary when staying would result in serious harm to mental health or personal well-being. “There must be limits,” he says. “Getting a Ph.D. is difficult and stressful, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of your health or dignity.”
Holmes himself experienced this firsthand. In his first Ph.D. program, he encountered racism and exclusion from faculty members, which deeply affected his physical and mental health. “The first two years were really hard. I gained weight. My anxiety was through the roof,” he says. Eventually, he made the decision to leave that program and reapply elsewhere. With support from The PhD Project—a nonprofit that helps minority students in business Ph.D. programs—he secured new letters of recommendation and was accepted into the University of Alabama, where he ultimately completed his degree in 2013.
Transferring between Ph.D. programs, however, is rare and fraught with obstacles. Most institutions have limited capacity, and because doctoral curricula are often unique to the department or adviser, students typically cannot transfer credits easily. Holmes was fortunate that his new adviser allowed him to skip redundant coursework based on the quality of his earlier work, but this kind of flexibility is far from guaranteed. Many students who transfer must effectively start over, adding more years and more cost to an already long process.
Before making any final decision—especially one as significant as leaving a doctoral program—experts advise students to engage in deep self-reflection. Consider what your goals were when you entered the program, how those goals have evolved, and whether the Ph.D. still aligns with your long-term aspirations. Sometimes, the answer may not be to quit entirely but to take a temporary leave of absence.
That was the case for Westrick, who stepped away from her own doctoral program at Temple University for 18 months after receiving a work promotion. She found that her adviser was not supportive of her full-time work responsibilities, which added to her feelings of isolation. “I really thought about leaving,” she recalls. But in the end, she returned to the program with renewed purpose. “I had a question I really wanted to answer—and that brought me back.”
Taking a break, however, is not without its risks. The longer one is away from research, the harder it can be to regain momentum. Fields evolve, data becomes outdated, and students can lose touch with the academic community. That’s why, even when considering a pause, students are encouraged to make concrete plans and set timelines for reevaluation.
If, after careful consideration, you decide that leaving the program is the best choice, it’s critical to have a transition strategy. Selznick advises students to map out the next six months to a year in detail, even if that time is spent exploring new career paths, enrolling in professional training, or searching for jobs. Having a roadmap can help combat the stigma often associated with quitting and restore a sense of direction and agency.
Ultimately, deciding to leave a Ph.D. program is not a failure—it’s a redirection. Academia often places immense value on perseverance, but sometimes the most courageous act is to acknowledge that your values or interests have changed. Everyone’s path is unique, and the worth of your experience isn’t diminished by choosing a different route. As Selznick puts it, “We tend to stigmatize quitting, when in reality, it’s important to evaluate both the real and opportunity costs of staying versus going.”
Whether you stay or leave, the decision should be grounded in self-awareness, not fear or shame. Pursuing a Ph.D. is never a mistake—it is an experience that sharpens your thinking, deepens your knowledge, and clarifies your purpose. And sometimes, clarity leads you in a new direction altogether.