Twelve years ago, I entered the world of clinical research with zero experience.

No publications. No mentors. No roadmap.

Today, I’ve written 90+ PubMed-indexed papers and received NIH funding.

But the things that moved the needle the most?

They don’t show up on my CV.

They’re not about one skill or one breakthrough paper.

They’re quiet principles. The kind you learn by doing—and relearning the hard way.

Here are 5 of those lessons I wish I’d understood from Day 1.

1️⃣ Show Up. Swing the Bat. Repeat.

So many people wait to start until they feel “ready.”

But readiness is a myth.

I didn’t feel ready when I submitted my first abstract. Or my first paper. Or my first grant.

I did it anyway.

↳ My first paper was rejected 10+ times. But I kept trying until it eventually got published—and that became one of my most cited publications.

↳ I cold-emailed 10+ senior researchers for my first big paper. One of those emails led to a career-defining collaboration.

The truth is: You learn by doing. You grow by submitting. You win by swinging.

The researchers who make it aren’t the ones who waited for perfect timing.

They’re the ones who kept showing up—even when the outcome was uncertain.

2️⃣ Protect Your Energy Like It’s Your Grant Money

Burnout isn’t caused by research.

It’s caused by trying to do all the research. And teaching. And mentoring. And every committee that asks you to join.

Early on, I said yes to everything. It felt like the right thing to do.

Until I hit a wall.

Now, I build in recovery time like I build in power analyses.

I’ve learned to:

• Say no (even when it’s uncomfortable).
• Block off “thinking time” like it’s clinic.
• Sleep, walk, reflect.

Because nothing good gets written from a place of depletion.

A rested mind writes better papers. Crafts better grants. And gets better ideas.

Your energy is your most precious academic currency. Spend it with intention.

3️⃣ Paint the Back of the Fence

Your reader may never know you spent 4 hours revising a single sentence in the Discussion.

But they’ll feel the difference.

The best work in clinical research—the kind that endures—is the result of invisible craftsmanship.

↳ Double-checking code before running regressions.

↳ Reviewing chart abstraction for consistency.

↳ Making that figure just a little cleaner so the message is unmistakable.

You may be the only one who sees it.

But that’s enough.

Steve Jobs once said his father taught him to build the back of a fence as carefully as the front—even if nobody would ever see it.

Because you would know. And that’s what matters.

That same mindset applies to research.

Precision in the invisible parts—your code, your draft, your thinking—builds trust.

And trust is what great science rests on.

4️⃣ Build a Stack That’s Uniquely Yours

You don’t need to be the best at everything.

You need to be good at combining things others don’t.

↳ Clinical insight + R programming.

↳ Writing fluency + machine learning.

↳ Bioinformatics + deep curiosity about a disease.

I wasn’t the strongest coder. Or the most brilliant clinician.

But I brought my lens (psoriatic arthritis) and layered in statistical thinking, storytelling, and systems.

That’s what made the work original.

It’s easy to compare yourself to people who seem to have it all figured out.

But your advantage isn’t in any one skill.

It’s in how you stack them.

The stack is your fingerprint. Make it yours.

5️⃣ Lead with Empathy but High Standards

I used to think good mentorship meant fixing things for people.

Now I know: it starts with telling your mentees and trainees that you are in their corner no matter what, then setting clear expectations and offering honest feedback.

↳ “My job is to help you succeed here. I’ll do everything I can to support that. This abstract needs to be better structured. But I like the core message. Let’s refine it.”

Feedback should be direct. But it’s always from a place of care.

What matters most isn’t how fast someone gets it.

It’s their attitude. Their curiosity. Their willingness to ask, “I don’t understand—can you explain?”

That question takes courage.

But it becomes much easier when they know you are in their corner.

And when that kind of safety meets high standards…

People rise.

I’ve learned these lessons through mistakes, rejections, and the slow drip of time.

But if you’re just getting started or even restarting, know this:

The work that matters most often doesn’t feel glamorous.

It just feels honest, deliberate, and true.

And it adds up.

One swing at a time.

What’s one lesson you’ve learned from your own research journey?