MonthNote #9: June 2025
- samanthaosys
- Jun 25
- 10 min read
Updated: 19 minutes ago
Disclaimer: This is my personal journal and includes rough notes from my PhD journey. Some thoughts may be incomplete or not thoroughly researched. Please do not consider any content in my monthly notes to be definitive or final. If you have insights on any subjects I discuss or would like to start a conversation on a topic, please get in touch!
The first half of June was focused on family, recovery, and finishing a new painting:
Like many PhD students, particularly those studying part-time while also working full-time, burnout has become a recurring theme. Over the past three years, I’ve been working around 70 hours a week: 35 in my day job and another 35 on my PhD. It’s meant to be 20 hours, but we all know how that goes.
After three years of this pace, my body gave out. My husband and I went on holiday, which began with a cold sore, followed by a bladder infection, then a severe throat infection, a sinus infection, and finally the worst migraine I’ve ever had. I think this might be a signal that I need to start taking better care of myself. My study buddy Rachel calls this "the irony of stopping"—a phrase that feels very apt.
I attend many PhD-related events and often hear the same challenges voiced: burnout, overwork, lack of support, imposter syndrome. For me, imposter syndrome plays a significant role. It drives me to constantly prove how hard I’m working—even when no one’s asking for that proof. I’ve always been like this. I enjoy working, being busy, doing meaningful work, and feeling valued. Work gives me structure, something I lacked earlier in life.
But I often forget the importance of balance, particularly when it comes to time and energy. If I’m spending 70 hours a week on work-work and my PhD-work, what do I do with the remaining hours? In theory, that time should be for rest. In practice, it isn’t. That’s when chores happen, housework gets done, I connect with family. It’s also when I knit, crochet, paint, write, blog, and so on. So, when do I actually rest? Is it the two-hour movie I watch once a week? The half-hour daily workout? The long Saturday walk before the park fills up with screaming children?
One of my mantras has always been "only boring people get bored," so I’ve packed my life with activity. But the cost is that I never really rest. I sleep, but I don’t rest. Even when I was unwell at the start of June, I found myself mentally drafting blog posts and presentation flows. I genuinely love my work and my PhD. I’d even love to return to full-time study, to be a student again. And yes, I know that's weird and sadly also unrealistic because 'life'. But I’m fine with that.
I’m fortunate to have a job and team that support me doing my PhD. I love studying at The Open University—the flexibility suits me, and I feel supported by my supervisors and the institution. But I need to get better at saying no. I need to stop doing things just to add to my CV. I need to find space to rest. I need to get better at looking after myself.
About a month ago, I decided not to continue for another term as a student representative. For the past two years, I’ve served in this role, sitting on the STEM Academic Committee, participating in the OU Senate as a student voice, joining mentoring programmes, and attending various student voice sessions. It has been a rewarding experience, and I don’t regret signing up for a second term. But recent months have made it clear: I don’t have the capacity right now. I need to focus on my PhD and on rebalancing my work–work–life dynamic.
So, this month I attended my last Senate meeting. In July, I’ll attend my final STEM Academic Committee session. After that, I’m stepping back. I may return in the future, but for at least the next year, I’ve decided to pause all extracurricular activities that aren’t directly related to work-work or my PhD-work.
Art History & Design WiP Seminar
This seminar series was introduced to bring together academics from art history and design to share work in progress every few months. Typically, a design researcher and an art historian each give a 20-minute presentation followed by a 10-minute Q&A. This time, I represented the design side, presenting my research. Following me was a PhD student who spoke about book collections.
I admit I felt a degree of stress leading up to the talk. To meet the expectations of an art history-focused audience, I opened with a brief overview of my background in the arts, specifically, the six years I spent studying printmaking and the history of art at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. This was the first time I had publicly spoken about my etchings and prints in the UK, the first time I presented them, and the first time some pieces were shown outside my university. I even had to photograph several works, as I had no digital versions.
You can see the slides I used for this presentation here.
As I progressed through the talk, I grew more confident, and overall, the session went well. The audience engaged positively, and I received several thoughtful questions. A key takeaway for me was the importance of including concrete examples in presentations. I have a tendency to assume that others in the room already know what I know. This assumption leads me to pitch content at too high a level. Presenting to a diverse audience reminded me that most people outside my specific field are unfamiliar with many of these ideas. Including tangible examples of design ethics and its relevance will make a noticeable difference in future presentations.
One comment during the Q&A highlighted the interdisciplinary nature of design and the confusion or discomfort that can arise from working across so many domains. This resonated with me. It mirrors why it's so difficult to pinpoint a clear origin for design ethics. On slide 6 in the presentation, I presented a historical timeline, which I summarised like this:
It is difficult to establish a clear starting point for design ethics because the field evolved gradually, drawing on multiple traditions. While ethical concerns have long existed in practice, they were not always labelled as “design ethics”. The formal concept only began to emerge in response to modern concerns about design’s social, environmental, and technological consequences.
Brief History of Design Ethics
18th Century – Enlightenment: Francis Hutcheson highlighted a major shift in aesthetic theory: from focusing on the object to the experience of the viewer. While not writing specifically about design, his view that moral and aesthetic sensibilities were closely linked laid foundational ideas.
Industrial Revolution: Design began to serve industrial and economic goals. In response, early design manifestos emerged, promoting quality and ethical awareness amidst mass production.
Arts and Crafts Movement (mid-19th century): This movement in Britain reacted to declining standards due to mechanisation. It combined design reform with social reform, viewing the two as inseparable.
20th Century: Scholars such as Alain Findelli and Carl Mitcham formalised design ethics as a discipline. Mitcham's 1995 article "Ethics into Design" argued for integrating ethics alongside design’s artistic and scientific aspects. Victor Papanek’s work critiqued the profession for ignoring social and environmental impact. He prioritised users, especially marginalised communities, and introduced concepts foundational to sustainable design.
21st Century: New ethical frameworks emerged to address digital, systemic, and global design challenges. However, scholars such as Tony Fry continue to critique the field’s underdevelopment, describing it as a “stranded debate”.
The literature I've reviewed tends to focus heavily on theoretical or philosophical aspects, with limited case studies. This presents both a challenge and an opportunity for my own work.
One of my PhD supervisors attended the session and offered a valuable observation. During the Q&A, someone asked about the language I use when discussing ethics. They noted that philosophers typically adopt precise terminology, whereas my approach appeared more pragmatic. I explained that my PhD focuses on practitioners, who often are not academics, so I adapt my language to suit that context.
In responding, I said:
“It’s hard to observe people in practice talking about ethics.”
That line captured a core difficulty of my research. In the workplace, people rarely speak explicitly about ethics, values, or impacts. Yet in interviews, these themes emerge indirectly but meaningfully. The interviews I am conducting as part of my empirical study will help identify what I’ve started to call “hotspots”: moments or situations where ethics manifests in the workplace. These will serve as guideposts or wayfinders for later stages of my research, particularly observational work.
OU Sustainathon
The OU Sustainathon is an initiative organised by the Design Group at the Open University, giving students the opportunity to engage in real-world design challenges. I was invited to support the event as a mentor, working with three different student teams.
It was a week filled with energy, inspiration, and a range of strong ideas. I continue to be impressed by the creativity of students—particularly those who are new to design or transitioning from other disciplines. Their thinking is often less constrained than that of people who have worked within organisations for extended periods. The longer one works within institutional systems, the more one becomes conditioned by constraints: administrative complexity, lack of resources, systemic blockers, or the familiar refrain of “this will never work.”
Despite working in groups and tackling live briefs for two real-world charities—English Heritage and Final Straw—the students refused to be limited by existing systems. They stayed open, curious, and inventive.
Some Observations:
1. Tech made things harder, not easier
Several students really struggled with the tech setup, especially Teams and SharePoint. Some had barely used them before, and just getting access to shared documents proved to be more hassle than it should’ve been. In the end, we had to get creative by sending screenshots, using Miro or MURAL, and working outside the official tools. It’s frustrating how often this happens. These platforms are meant to make collaboration easier, but too often they just slow us down. And it doesn’t seem to be improving with time.
2. Mentoring means different things to different people
I also noticed how varied everyone’s idea of mentoring was. Personally, I see it as being there to support and listen, not to give answers or lead the direction unless someone asks for that. I try to hold back on giving opinions or ideas unless invited, and I tend to adapt depending on what each student needs.
But not everyone takes the same approach. Some mentors were much more hands-on, offering solutions and detailed advice from the start. It’s not necessarily wrong—just a reminder that if you’re running something like this, it’s worth clarifying expectations early on.
PhD Researcher Monthly Catch-ups & Other PhD Conversations
A few months ago, Rachel and I set up a monthly get-together for PhD students in the OU Design group. The Open University doesn’t really have reading groups or regular spaces for research students to connect informally, so we thought we’d try something out. We wanted to create a space where we could meet others in the group, chat about our work, and maybe spot opportunities to collaborate on papers, projects, or maybe even set up a reading group.
Not many people attend regularly, but the invite stays open. For those who do make it, the conversations are always rich and worthwhile. This month, one of the things Rachel and I discussed was the Moravec Paradox and ideas around adoption and communities of practice—something that’s come up in both our work.
I also took part in all three of Rachel’s focus groups, which are part of the first stage of her empirical research. If you’re curious about her research topic or want to follow her progress, you can visit her website.
Over the past two years, I’ve taken part in quite a few research studies by other PhD students. Partly because I find the topics interesting and hope I can contribute something useful, but also because I know how hard it is to find participants. And, if I’m honest, it’s a useful learning opportunity.
It gives me a chance to see how others run their empirical work, how they approach interviews or focus groups, and how that compares to my own method. Just as there are different styles of presenting, there are also different ways of conducting research conversations. Everyone brings a personal style to the way they set up and run sessions, shaped by their audience, topic, and aims.
My own interviews are very unstructured. Because I’m looking for themes—what I’ve started calling “hotspots” of where ethics manifests in design practice—I try to stay out of the way. I do minimal introduction so I don’t bias the participant, and I let them lead the conversation. That way, I can see how and where ethics manifests for them, rather than direct them towards predefined topics.
Others do things differently. Some provide a more detailed introduction to help participants engage with the topic. They might also participate more actively in the conversation themselves. There’s no single right way. What matters is that the method fits the research question and context.
In one of the research studies that I have taken part in, one of the other participants said something that really stood out to me. I can’t say exactly what they shared, as it’s not my research, and they didn’t sign a consent form for me to use their insights. But what they said touched on cultural context and reminded me how central context is, especially when looking at things like ethics and values. Many of my participants have mentioned that their values come from their parents. While this seems intuitive, it’s striking how often it comes up, and it feels like one of the “hotspots” where ethics starts to manifest in practice: something about how people’s cultural grounding shapes what they perceive as ethical.
This also connects to a theme from my literature review: that design ethics benefits from more situated, context-specific approaches. A good example of this is the growing body of work on decolonising design. Rather than relying on dominant Western frameworks, decolonising approaches encourage designers to engage with local knowledge, cultural histories, and lived experiences. The goal is not only to reflect the values of the communities being designed with, but also to challenge the assumption that Western design methods and ethics are universally applicable. This shift requires designers to be more reflective about their own positionality and the power dynamics embedded in design processes.
It’s a useful reminder that ethics isn’t a fixed checklist—it’s shaped by culture, background, and lived experience.
Final Thoughts
Although June began with a funeral and illness, I allowed myself the space to recover, physically and mentally. That time off has made a real difference. Writing has come more easily, and I think that’s reflected in the length and depth of this month’s notes. It’s a reminder that rest isn’t a luxury; it’s necessary. Giving your brain space can actually save time in the long run because you return to your work with more clarity and creativity.
Over the past three years, I haven’t done this well enough. I’ve stayed busy. Partly because I enjoy the work, and partly because I’ve wanted to be seen as productive. But being busy isn’t the same as making progress. Sometimes, the best ideas come when you stop. Doing nothing—at the right moment—can sometimes be the best way to spark new ideas.
The main image shows the summer solstice at Stonehenge, which I had the opportunity to attend this year. While it is unrelated to my research, I couldn’t resist using it as the cover image for this blog post.
Due to being ill the first third of the month, my update on goals is not too accurate this month:
Ran/walked: 28 km (=438.5 km of the 1000km I want to do this year)
wrote at least 100 words a day: 14/30 days
Read at least 20 pages a day: 11/30 days
Healthy eating and drinking: 18/30 days
Didn’t buy anything: 9/30 days
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