And Then I Hit Submit

Last week, I submitted my PhD thesis. 

Even as I write those words, the experience still feels surreal. Like, is that it? Done! 

My thesis is titled The Reception of Ancient Book Formats in Modern and Contemporary Literature and Art. In this research work, I explored how ancient ways of producing and presenting written texts, including writing tablets and scrolls, among other ancient textual forms, continue to influence modern and contemporary writers and artists. It considers what happens when these ancient textual forms reappear in new works and how their materials, histories, and patterns of survival help to create new meanings.

My study shows that the form through which writing reaches us shapes both its survival and the meanings it acquires. My examination of how earlier textual forms continue to influence modern and contemporary creative works provides a historical perspective on how changing media technologies affect the life of texts and the ways they are understood and remade. Its findings also offer a foundation from which to consider emerging questions about artificial intelligence, creativity, and textual authority.

Now this thesis has about 100,000 words across eight chapters and represents three years and four months of work, reading, thinking, writing, and growing as a researcher.

Then, after all those years of work, it came down to one small action.

I hit submit.

My thoughts changed almost immediately. The thesis that had occupied my mind, controlled my days, travelled with me everywhere, and existed in several evolving versions on my laptop had finally left my hands.

I had imagined that moment many times, wondering whether I would feel an immediate rush of relief or some dramatic sense of completion. Instead, I felt a mixture of excitement, gratitude, and disbelief, along with the strange realisation that something so significant to my life over the past three years had ended with that simple act of hitting the ‘submit’ button.

The submission itself was simple. But reaching that point, as you must have imagined, was anything but simple.

When you think about it, submission actually begins long before that final day

When people see that a thesis has been submitted, they likely see the finished document. They rarely see the different choices that made the document possible.

They do not see every morning when the researcher returned to a difficult chapter they would have preferred to leave out, but which remained necessary to the argument. They do not see the stress you go through when you meet a source that changes the direction of an argument or struggle with getting the approval you need to go on with the survey you need to gather your data.

They really do not see every supervisory comment that needed you to go back and rework an entire chapter. They do not see you spending five hours, ten hours, a day or a week trying to compose a paragraph simply because you need it to carry the exact meaning you want in a way that builds your argument. They do not see the paragraph that had to be rewritten or even discarded after so much work because it no longer expressed the developing ideas clearly enough.

They may not see the periods of uncertainty when the researcher wondered whether the argument was original, whether the chapters connected, whether enough had been read, or whether the thesis would ever feel complete. Just yesterday, even after submitting my thesis, I was still reading and checking whether the contribution I had identified was indeed original.

We also cannot overlook the fact that, for mature doctoral researchers, the thesis is being written within an already established life. Family responsibilities continue. Work continues. Financial concerns continue. Your children still need your attention. Your relationships need care and attention as well. You realise soon enough that professional commitments do not disappear simply because your thesis has reached a demanding stage. You must learn to work within that life, sometimes with generous stretches of concentration and sometimes in whatever time and energy remain available.

I began this PhD after more than twenty-five years in education, publishing, and literacy work. Returning to the student role required me to learn new ways of working while continuing to carry the responsibilities and identities that existed before the PhD.

Submitting the thesis at this stage of my life felt like the completion of much more than a document. It marked the fulfilment of a promise I had made to myself when I began. That having started, I must finish it, as much as lies within my power to do so. 

For me, finishing required discipline more than motivation

Submitting my thesis was my major goal for 2026. I am grateful that I set that goal clearly because a PhD can easily expand to fill all the time available to it. You soon discover that, without a clear idea of when you want to finish, you can simply keep going. There is always another source you want to read, another example you want to include, another section you feel you must add, and maybe, just maybe, just one more sentence that could be improved. Research can become quite addictive because it continually opens new questions, even while the thesis requires the researcher to bring one particular investigation or key question to a close.

So, finishing within the timeframe I had set for myself came from treating my personal completion date seriously. Although I had a lot going on and remained involved in many activities throughout the journey, I never lost sight of when I wanted to finish. That date shaped how I organised my PhD study from the beginning. In the final year, it guided how I planned my time, responded to feedback, and decided what deserved my attention during the final months, even when I faced challenges that could have slowed me down.

And trust me, this does not mean that I felt motivated every day. One thing I had learned from the beginning of my PhD journey is that motivation rises and falls. Some days, I had all the energy and inspiration to fly, so the work moved quickly and the development of my thesis felt clear. On other days, I felt less motivated, and a small revision could take several hours and still leave the paragraph feeling unfinished.

Discipline meant returning to the work through both kinds of days. I had to find ways to encourage myself and keep going. Sometimes, playing music aloud helped me. Don’t ask me how. I learned that from my undergraduate days. And I am not saying it will work in the same way for you. Maybe it will. What I am saying, though, is that although I have enjoyed my PhD programme, the journey has not been filled with grand moments of inspiration all the time. I completed most of the thesis through repeated decisions to sit down, open the document, and do the next necessary thing, regardless of how I felt.

I have also learned that the final stage required a different kind of judgement

During the earlier stages of the PhD, my attention was directed towards developing the research. I focused on gaining clarity and discovering the connections among different ancient book formats, their material histories, and their reappearances in modern and contemporary literature and art.

But the final stage required me to engage in another kind of thinking.

I had to decide what still needed substantial attention and what had already achieved its purpose. I had to distinguish between a genuine weakness in my arguments and the natural feeling that any piece of writing could still be improved. I also had to consider the feedback from my supervisory team carefully, determine how each comment related to the thesis as a whole, and work through as many comments as I could, especially as they came from three different supervisors.

This walk-to-completion became one of the most important things I learned about during the final months.

I recall asking on LinkedIn a couple of months ago, “How can you tell that your thesis is ready for submission even though you feel like there are still some things you want to do?” I had often heard the expressions “A good thesis is a finished thesis” and “Progress over perfection,” but I couldn’t understand what they meant in practice. During the final period leading to submission, I gradually understood what these expressions meant and learned to apply them to my own work.

One way this became evident was in how I responded to feedback. I came to understand how invaluable feedback was, while also realising that completing a PhD required me to develop my own scholarly judgement, as all my supervisors had repeatedly pointed out. I learned to assess whether a suggestion warranted a substantial restructuring of the work and whether a possible addition would genuinely strengthen the central argument. Certain changes were essential, while others were helpful. Further ideas had to be left for later research, future publications, or even the corrections that might follow the viva. Developing that judgement was significant in reaching the point of submission. Without it, I could easily have continued revising indefinitely. The closer I came to submission, the more selective I had to become, and this was part of taking responsibility for the thesis. At some point, I had to recognise that I was the person who understood how the chapters worked together, why particular examples had been chosen, what the study contributed, and which late changes might create new inconsistencies. My supervisors had helped me develop the work and sharpen my thinking, but the final decisions belonged to me because the thesis had to become a document I was prepared to explain and defend in my own voice.

By the final stage, I understood that a thesis can be ready even while further improvements remain possible. I had to trust the years of thought I have put into the work and release it into the hands of my examiners.

If you are still somewhere along the PhD journey, remember that progress can feel very ordinary. Decide when you want to finish, keep coming back to the work on the good days and the difficult ones, and once you have done what the thesis needs, trust yourself enough to let it go.

My viva is still ahead, and there may be corrections afterwards. For now, however, I am allowing myself to recognise the significance of what has already happened. I began this PhD at fifty, as a mature learner, with an idea, a willingness to learn, and no complete understanding of everything the journey would demand. I also began it with an established professional identity, family responsibilities, and a life that would continue alongside the research. The thesis had to be completed within those realities, using the time, energy, and support I have. Discipline kept me focused on my goal of finishing within a timeframe I was comfortable with and helped me demonstrate to my supervisory team that I could bring the research to completion.

Three years and four months after I began, I looked at the completed thesis on my screen.

And then I hit submit.

I finished what I started.

And so can you. 

I am rooting for you.

Your mature PhD supporter,
Adeola Eze