The Conversation That Happens After You’ve Settled In

Picture this: It’s your third year as an assistant professor. You’ve survived the first round of course preps, figured out which coffee shop has the best Wi-Fi for grading, and finally memorized your university’s convoluted expense reimbursement system. You’re no longer the frantic newbie I described in my last post—the one fumbling through department meetings and learning the language of SSHRC. You’ve got your feet under you.

And that’s exactly when the next layer of rules reveals itself.

In our last conversation, we pulled back the curtain on the foundational unwritten rules of Canadian academia—the importance of collegiality, the art of grant writing, and the delicate balance of service. We talked about the things you need to survive your first few years. But surviving isn’t the same as thriving.

Once you settle in, a new set of rules begins to emerge. These are the deeper, more subtle dynamics that govern the path from a newly-minted Assistant Professor to a tenured, respected, and fulfilled member of the academy. If Part 1 was about learning the basic language, Part 2 is about learning the local dialect.

This is the candid mentor conversation that happens after you’ve settled in, when you’re ready to think about the long game. Let’s talk about the tenure clock, the politics of power, and the quiet culture of burnout—and how to navigate it all with your integrity and well-being intact.

Your Tenure File is Being Written Right Now (Yes, Really)

Here’s one of the most vital, and most misunderstood, unwritten rules: your tenure file is not something you prepare in your fourth or fifth year. It is something you build every single day from the moment you sign your contract.

Let me tell you about my colleague Dr. Jordan Lee. Jordan sat in my office in year five, absolutely panicked. She had taught beautifully, served on every committee imaginable, and was beloved by students. But when she opened her research folder, it contained… one book chapter and two conference papers. “I thought I had time,” she said, voice cracking. “I thought year five was when you start preparing.”

I sat there, coffee going cold, recognizing the fear in her eyes because I’d felt it too. The colleagues who will eventually vote on your case are forming their opinions about your research trajectory, your teaching quality, and your departmental citizenship long before the formal process begins. Every interaction, every committee meeting, every student email contributes to the narrative of who you are as a scholar.

The tenure clock moves faster than anyone anticipates. It’s easy to get so caught up in the immediate demands of teaching and service—especially at a smaller university like ours, where you’re wearing all those hats I mentioned last time—that you let your research pipeline run dry. The unwritten rule here is to treat your research time with the same fierce protection you give your scheduled classes. Block it out in your calendar. Learn to close your office door. Remember that while your teaching and service are vital, in a research-focused institution, your publication record is the cornerstone of your tenure case.

The Proactive Strategy: One of the smartest things you can do is ask your department chair or a trusted senior colleague to do a “mock review” of your tenure file a year or two before it’s due. This isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of strategic foresight. It allows you to identify any gaps or weaknesses while you still have time to address them, transforming the tenure process from a terrifying judgment into a manageable project.

The Invisible Hierarchy of Publications (And Why It Matters)

As you build your publication record, you’ll quickly learn that not all publications are created equal. The unwritten rule is that where you publish often matters as much as what you publish. A brilliant paper in a lower-ranked journal may be quietly discounted compared to a more modest contribution in a top-tier journal. This isn’t always fair, but it’s often the reality. Learning the journal hierarchy in your specific field is a critical part of playing the tenure game.

I remember my own awakening to this reality. I had spent six months crafting what I considered my best theoretical contribution yet to organizational behaviour research, and I was thrilled when it was accepted by a respectable mid-tier journal. At the Academy of Management conference reception in Boston, a senior colleague from McGill—someone I deeply respected—gently pulled me aside. “It’s good work,” she said, swirling her wine. “But for tenure? You need to be aiming higher. The committee won’t weigh this the way you’re hoping.”

I was embarrassed, then grateful. She was right. That conversation changed how I strategized my publication pipeline.

Similarly, co-authorship is a landscape of unspoken rules. Who is listed first? Who is the corresponding author? The conventions vary wildly between disciplines, but they are never arbitrary. These things signal your intellectual contribution and your role in the scholarly conversation. If you’re a doctoral student or new professor, have a candid conversation with your supervisor or co-authors about these norms before you begin writing.

Power Beyond the Organizational Chart

This leads to a broader point about power. The most influential person in your department is not always the one with the most senior title.

There are always informal power brokers—the respected senior professors, the long-serving administrative staff, the well-connected researchers—whose opinions carry enormous weight. Your job in your first few years is to listen, observe, and learn who these individuals are.

Understanding the informal social map of your department is just as important as 

understanding the formal organizational chart.

Think of it like this: the organizational chart tells you who signs your forms. The social map tells you whose nod of approval actually opens doors. Both matter. But only one is written down anywhere.

The Responsibilities Nobody Trains You For

At some point, you will be asked to take on responsibilities that were never mentioned in your job description. Two of the most significant are graduate supervision and administrative roles.

Graduate supervision is one of the most profound and professionally consequential relationships you will have in your career, yet it’s a skill for which most of us receive zero formal training. How you mentor your students—how you guide their research, support their well-being, and help them launch their own careers—reflects directly on your character and your professional standing. Your reputation as a supervisor will follow you.

I still remember my first master’s supervisee. I was only two years out of my own PhD, teaching organizational behaviour and leadership and I felt like an imposter sitting across from this bright, eager student who clearly expected me to have all the answers. I didn’t. What I had was a commitment to showing up, reading carefully, asking questions, and admitting when I didn’t know something. That student now has her own tenure-track position in Human Resources, and he still sends me drafts to read. The relationship outlasts the degree. That’s the point.

Likewise, administrative roles like Department Chair or Program Director will eventually appear on your horizon. These roles are both an opportunity and a trap. They are an opportunity to build institutional capital, to shape the direction of your unit, and to learn how the university truly works. They are also a trap that can consume your research time and energy at an alarming rate. The unwritten rule is to choose these roles wisely, to understand the trade-offs, and to have a clear exit strategy before you even begin.

📌 GRADUATE STUDENT LENS

Hey there, PhD candidate or master’s student peeking over the fence. Yes, this post is written for your professors, but here’s why you should care:

• The “mock review” concept applies to you too. Before your dissertation defense, ask your supervisor to do a mock committee review. The gaps you find at month 30 are fixable. At month 48? Much harder.

• Watch how your supervisor navigates. You’re getting a masterclass in academic politics whether you realize it or not. Notice who they consult before decisions. Notice whose names come up in conversation. You’re mapping the terrain for your own future.

• Publication hierarchy starts now. That graduate student journal in your field? It’s a fine starting point. But start eyeing the next tier. Ask your supervisor directly: “If I want to be competitive for the job market, where should I be publishing?” (In my case, it was the job market, not postdocs—know your own path.)

• Your supervisor’s reputation becomes yours. When they write you reference letters, their standing matters. When you list them on your CV, readers make associations. Choose mentors wisely, then learn everything you can from how they move through this world.

The Rule We All Break: Resisting Burnout Culture

Let’s end with the most important, and most violated, unwritten rule of all: you do not have to burn out to succeed.

Academia has a deep and toxic culture of performed busyness. Being visibly overworked, answering emails at 2 a.m., and never taking a real vacation are often treated as badges of honour—a sign that you are a “serious” scholar.

Resist this. Please, resist this.

Burnout is not a personal failing; it is a systemic problem. But you can, and must, build your own personal system of defense against it. Protect your weekends. Take your vacation time. Set firm boundaries around your availability.

Your mental health is not something separate from your academic career; it is the absolute foundation of it. A brilliant career is not a sprint; it is a marathon. And the only way to finish a marathon is to pace yourself, to hydrate, and to remember that rest is not a reward for hard work, but an essential part of it.

I learned this the hard way in year three. I was teaching overload—Organizational Behaviour, Leadership, and Strategic Management—supervising three undergraduate students, sitting on committees, and trying to maintain my SSHRC-funded research agenda. I was proud of how much I could handle, wearing all those hats I told you about in my last post, until I couldn’t. I found myself in my doctor’s office with stress-induced symptoms I didn’t even know were possible. The game is long, but I was playing it like there was no tomorrow. There are many tomorrows. Pace yourself accordingly.

The Game is Long (And You’re Allowed to Enjoy It)

The transition from surviving to thriving in academia is about shifting your perspective. It’s about realizing that the game is long, and that the unwritten rules are not there to trip you up, but to be learned, navigated, and, where necessary, challenged.

You have the power to define what success looks like for you, on your own terms.

The tenure game isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about becoming a sustainable, authentic version of yourself who can contribute meaningfully to this strange, wonderful, frustrating profession for decades to come.

So, close your office door when you need to. Ask for the mock review. Take the vacation. And remember: the best academics I know aren’t the ones who suffered most. They’re the ones who figured out how to build a life they actually wanted to keep living.

What other “next level” unwritten rules have you observed in your academic journey? Share your wisdom in the comments below — your story could be the guidebook someone else is searching for.

XOXO Ivy