I noticed it when I checked citations before rereading my own work.
The number felt heavier than the ideas.
My sense of worth didn’t collapse overnight—it slowly relocated.
At the beginning, citations felt abstract.
They belonged to papers, not people.
I assumed they were just part of the ecosystem.
Before, I thought of impact as something long-term and diffuse.
During the PhD, impact narrowed into things that could be counted.
Eventually, numbers started standing in for validation.
The shift happened when visibility began to feel interchangeable with value.
When publishing stopped feeling sufficient, citations became the next proof to watch.
I noticed how often I compared trajectories instead of ideas.
Who was cited more, faster, in better places.
My work started to feel unfinished if it wasn’t echoed elsewhere.
Silence felt like judgment.
Being cited began to feel like being seen.
Constant evaluation trained me to look for external confirmation.
What made it unsettling was how automatic it became.
I didn’t consciously decide that numbers mattered more than substance.
It just started shaping how I felt about my work.
I trusted metrics faster than my own judgment.
This wasn’t vanity—it was what happens when feedback is delayed and uneven.
Doubting my own intelligence made numerical signals feel safer than internal ones.
Over time, my nervous system learned to wait for external response.
Without it, the work felt suspended—unfinished emotionally, even if complete.
Value felt conditional on being referenced.
My worth didn’t actually change—the measuring stick did.
Why do citations start to feel personal?
Because they become one of the few visible signals of recognition. When other feedback is sparse, numbers take on emotional weight.
Is it normal to track citations closely?
Yes. Many academics do, especially when career stability depends on perceived impact.
Does low citation count mean my work lacks value?
No. Citations reflect timing, networks, and visibility as much as quality.
Tying my worth to citations didn’t make me shallow—it made me responsive to what was rewarded.
