On Becoming an Associate Professor (And Telling the Truth About How I Got Here)

February 13, 2026

By: Destenie Nock

When people found out I was promoted to Associate Professor, the response was generous and kind. A lot of people said some version of: “Of course. You publish so much. It was a shoe-in.”

And honestly? I’m deeply grateful for that. It means people believe in me. 100%

It means my work has moved beyond academic research papers and landed in a way that might actually have impact. Everyone's support and belief in me means the years mattered.

But I also want to tell the truth. Because when people see how much someone works, they rarely ask why.

What I Thought the Job Would Look Like

When I started as an assistant professor, my goal was simple and reasonable: three or four papers a year, have a group of 4-6 PhD students.

Do quality research. Be present for my family and my students. Build a life with no regrets.

Somehow I went from that to publishing 25 papers in 2025. Way too much for a single year.

To be clear, that didn’t happen because I woke up one day and decided to replace my dance classes with productivity for sport. It happened because, for a long time, work was where I stored my grief.

The Years That Changed Everything

In 2019, my husband and I moved to Pennsylvania thinking we’d have a baby soon-ish.

It didn’t happen.

The first year passed. Then the second. To cope, I wrote grants. Every time I was sad, I wrote another one.

Ten grants in my first year.

When Wanda Vision (go Marvel) came out one of the characters said something that stuck: grief is just love with nowhere to go.

We got a German Shepherd who is far too smart for her own good, and relentless about getting me to go outside. And during the pandemic, we decided to become foster parents.

We fostered two sisters.

They were my joy and chaos. Those weeks I went from working all the time to princesses in the park, tea parties, paint nights, and more Chef Boyardee dinners than I ever thought I’d serve in my life. Fully attached. Mom status activated!

After three months, the judge decided they would return to their biological family, which is the goal of foster care.

Two things became true: 1) I was happy for them. 2) And I was also devastated.

The Quiet Part I Never Really Talk About

I fell into a deep depression.

I kept asking myself how I could be good at math, energy analysis, and engineering—but not good at the one thing everyone tells you is supposed to be the instinct women are born with: mothering.

I took the photos of our tea parties off the wall. I packed away the toys they forgot to take home. I tried to return to a life that was just me, my husband, and our dog.

I wasn’t okay. So I focused on the things I could change.

I gave twelve research talks in one year because I was tired of being in my house. The next year I gave sometimes two talks a month, and filled my calendar with meetings because I hated being in the silence.

I wrote papers. Mentored students. And...you guessed it...I wrote more papers and mentored more students.

Eight papers a year. Then twelve papers. My group of students grew to 11 PhDs, 2 post docs, 3 masters, and 6 undergrads at one point. People kept telling me they didn't know how I did so much. And I would smile and try to quiet the high functioning anxiety in my brain. Because the truth is that I was not joking when I would tell people, "I can barely keep up with myself."

And I don’t know if the people I collaborated with ever realized how much they saved me.

Working on energy poverty metrics with Lucy, Michelle, and Shuchen. Testifying in affordability cases for the Massachusetts AGO and with community advocates.

Building transportation models with Corey, Lily, and Jeremy. Thinking through climate-driven cooling needs with Costa, Jingjing, Jordan, and Andrew. Building energy models with Teagan, Charles, Alexandra, Erin, and Amrit. And sonma many more people.

Those collaborations kept me from being trapped alone in my own mind. So yes, I published a lot. And absolutely love working on energy affordability, reducing energy poverty and feeling like I might actually make a difference in this world.

But more than the promotion, here is the value I have found: working with amazing people helped me get back to a place where I could feel happiness again.

Building, Surviving, and Becoming a Mother

Then I started my company. I made some waves in the utility space.

After five years, doctors finally identified the fertility issue, and I became pregnant with a little girl who is funny, smarter than me and the dog, and the best mini-me I could have imagined.

After she was born, my doctor told me my thyroid was larger than an egg.

It might be cancer.

I was scared. Teetering on the edge of depression. Super quiet about it.

And when I started thinking about death, I did what I had trained myself to do.

I wrote. I collaborated. I mentored my students. I pushed so many projects over the finish line—just in case I didn't make it out of that surgery. So yeah. I did publish a lot of papers in 2025, but it was because (quoting from the play Hamilton) I wanted the work to outlive me.

I didn’t tell anyone how scared I was about dying in surgery. I only told my husband two weeks before. I wrote a letter to my daughter the night before.

The surgery is done. I’m cancer-free. Yay!

And I don’t regret how I coped. But I want to be honest about it.

Pulling Back the Hood

When people say they’re in awe of my success, I feel the urge to pull back the hood.

I don't want to diminish all the time and work I put in, but I feel the need to reject the idea that constant productivity is proof of wellness, balance, or someone who is "ok".

A lot of my output came from not knowing any other way to survive my grief. And now that my daughter is here, I’m doing something new: learning how to rest without guilt. Hence crab hats!

I don’t plan on missing her childhood. I also don’t plan on stopping being a professor, or shutting down my company. I love the work too much.

My dad is a workaholic and while I love how much he provided for my family, I know he struggles to sit still. My new mantra this year is "you are a human being, not a human doing. You don't have to do anything to be worthy."

There is no check box that determines your value.

My husband and I are preparing to adopt in the next year or two.

And as I look ahead (to tenure, to the next phase of my career) I’m holding a different goal:

Not just impact or excellence.

But a life that doesn’t require pain as fuel.

The Celebration, Finally

So yes...this is a celebration post.

I’m proud of the promotion. I’m proud of the science. I’m proud of the students, collaborators, and friends who walked with me through years I didn’t know how to survive on my own. But it’s also a confession of something I didn't really talk about.

If you’re working relentlessly, I hope someone asks you why. If you’re grieving and producing, I hope you know you’re not alone. And if you’re building something extraordinary while carrying invisible weights, and not knowing how on Earth you will keep working so hard....I see you.

This chapter closes with gratitude.

I am planning on opening the next chapter of my life with intention, and cookies. My daughter insists on cookies.