A few weeks before my Ph.D. viva, I wrote this reflection. At the time, the thesis had been submitted, but one final milestone remained. On 1 April 2026, I successfully completed my viva and earned my doctorate. Reading these words today, I realize that while the Ph.D. gave me a degree, its greater gift was something else: it changed the way I think about learning, evidence, failure, teachers, and impact.
1. How has your thought process evolved with the research?
Initially, my intent was to create a STEM course, test its efficacy, and submit the research. Today, I realize that the course itself was never meant to be the final destination. Its real value lies in what teachers do with the learning after the course. Perhaps the biggest change in me is that I no longer ask, "Did the intervention work?” I ask, “What happened after it worked?” Did teachers translate their learning into classroom practice? Did it change the way students experienced STEM? Was the learning sustained? Could the course respond to a rapidly changing educational landscape? Research taught me that statistical significance is important, but impact begins where the tables end.
There was another humbling realization. I designed the course in 2022. By the time I completed my doctoral journey, AI had begun reshaping how teachers plan, teach, assess, and learn. It reminded me that educational research cannot end with publication. An intervention that was relevant when conceived must continue to evolve with the world in which teachers and students live. So, coming back to the question, it is no longer about the thesis and more about the learner. I want the teacher to feel empowered post the course. I want to make a DIFFERENCE for the educator.
2. What have you learned over the three years?
In one word, 'PATIENCE.' You learn to be patient while designing the course, as I began creating the course, and my laptop malfunctioned. Every piece of data was lost, and the laptop had to be configured. For a few days, I was hesitant to even work on it, fearing data loss once again. I initiated my course in January 2023, and with more than 150 educators registering, I was elated, but when the course commenced, the number trickled to 35, and by the end, only 6 educators had completed the course. Those six educators taught me something that a perfect pilot never could. Low completion was not simply a disappointing number; it was data. It forced me to listen, redesign, and question my assumptions.
In June 2023, I reopened the course for educators, and this time, more than 40 educators completed the course. After that, I had to chase the educators to complete tasks, request interview times, and then begin gathering and analyzing data. Simultaneously, I had to present and publish research papers. The process was arduous, as one paper was quantitative and the other qualitative. To ensure I had two publications, I wrote three papers and then sought platforms to present.
And somewhere amidst the statistics, interviews, coding, and endless revisions came the moment every researcher waits for: the evidence began to tell a story. A teacher began seeking out free periods to create more opportunities for STEM learning in her classroom. On a rainy day, another educator took her students beyond the four walls of the classroom to observe how the changing weather affected the flora and fauna around them, eventually guiding them to design projects on rainwater harvesting. The course had made a measurable difference. But the qualitative voices of educators gave those numbers meaning. They helped me understand not only whether teachers had learned, but also how they experienced that learning, what challenged them, and what they needed next.
Finally comes the submission and viva, and the butterflies in your stomach create self-doubt. But overall, you learn that nothing happens overnight. Every process has its timeline, and you will also have to adhere to it.
3. Would you work on the same theme again?
Preferably, but with a twist. If I designed the course again, I would not simply improve the content. I would redesign the learning ecosystem around the teacher. I would begin with an in-person engagement with educators, building a shared understanding of the purpose and relevance of STEM Education and how it can be meaningfully integrated into classroom practice. The sessions would allow educators to experience STEM first-hand through experiential and inquiry-based activities, reflect on their own practice, and undertake initial assessments before transitioning to the virtual course.
During the course, I would want to conduct one-on-one meetings with each educator for 10 minutes/week to motivate and support them. I would also conduct synchronous meetings with all participants so they can interact, do group tasks with other members, and learn from each other.
After the course, I would want to organize one more day of physical sessions for educators to do some STEM group activities, where I could assess them. Also include a feedback session where they share the strengths and shortcomings of the course so that the course can be designed to be more robust and relevant.
4. What did the Ph.D not teach me?
My Ph.D. taught me research methodology, data analysis, and academic writing. But some of its most important lessons were not in the syllabus. It taught me to be comfortable saying, “I don't know.” It taught me that evidence can challenge beliefs I have held for years. It taught me that failure is sometimes data in disguise. And above all, it taught me that expertise does not mean having all the answers; it means learning to ask better questions.
5. Any final thoughts
To every person aspiring to get a doctorate, there will be times when you might want to throw everything and let go. Not everyone around you will understand why the Ph.D. matters so deeply to you. Some may see it as a personal pursuit disconnected from your professional responsibilities. Accept that not everyone needs to understand your journey. Growth often begins as a personal commitment, but the knowledge, discipline, and perspective you acquire ultimately influence the organizations, classrooms, and communities you serve.
So, if the Kavita of three years ago were sitting across from me today and asked, “Did we complete the Ph.D.?”
I would smile and say, “Yes.”
But I would probably add, "That turned out to be the least interesting part.”
Because somewhere between the failed pilot and the successful one, between datasets and interviews, rejected drafts and rewritten chapters, and self-doubt and the final viva, the researcher changed too.
The thesis was completed. The learning wasn't.
And perhaps that is what earning a doctorate really means.
