How to Start a Thesis (When You’d Rather Do Literally Anything Else)

Let’s Be Real—Starting Is the Hardest Part

You know that moment when you open a blank document, stare at the blinking cursor, and immediately feel like cleaning your kitchen instead? Yeah, we’ve all been there.

Starting your thesis can feel like standing at the bottom of a mountain in flip-flops. The pressure is real. You’re told it’s one of the most important pieces of writing you’ll ever do, and somehow that makes it even harder to just… begin.

But here’s the deal: no one writes a thesis in one perfect sitting. And every polished, bound copy on your university’s bookshelf started out as a chaotic mess of half-formed ideas and scribbled notes.

So if you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure where to even begin, take a breath. You’re not behind. You’re just human.

Let’s talk through it step by step—no jargon, no judgment. Just real talk from someone who knows how it feels.

Start With the Topic, Not the Title

If you’re agonizing over the perfect title before you’ve even settled on what you’re writing about, stop right there. Your thesis isn’t a novel—it doesn’t need a gripping headline from the start. In fact, many thesis titles don’t even come together until the end. That’s totally normal.

Instead, think about what genuinely interests you. Is there a topic from one of your courses that left you with more questions than answers? Did something you read frustrate you, or spark your curiosity? That’s where your thesis begins—not with a clever title, but with a question you actually care about.

Don’t be afraid to be messy here. Jot things down. Talk out loud to yourself. Scribble notes in your phone when ideas pop up while you’re waiting for your coffee. It’s all part of the process. And sometimes, the idea that seems too vague or scattered at first ends up being the one that sticks.

Try this: Write down three things you’ve been curious about in your field lately. Not things you should study, but things that genuinely make you go, “Huh, I wonder why that is.” You might be surprised where it leads.

Do Some Light Reading (But Don’t Fall Into the Rabbit Hole)

Once you’ve landed on a rough topic, it’s time to poke around the literature. This isn’t the official, write-100-pages-on-it kind of literature review—just a vibe check to see what’s out there.

Look for the big players in your field. Who’s writing about your topic? What are they arguing? And just as importantly, what aren’t they saying?

Read with a purpose. Try to spot gaps, disagreements, or ideas you could build on. You’re not here to become an expert overnight—you’re just gathering fuel for your own thinking.

Skim abstracts. Read introductions and conclusions. Take notes, but don’t let yourself fall into the trap of reading everything. There’s a point of diminishing returns. When your notes start repeating themselves, you’ve probably read enough to move forward.

And one more thing: don’t fall into the trap of endless reading without writing. Set limits. Take notes. Move on. One of the smartest things you can do at this stage is time-box your reading. Maybe give yourself a week to gather sources. Two weeks, max. Then shift gears and start building your own argument.

Find Your Research Question

Once you’ve got a feel for the conversation happening around your topic, it’s time to start shaping your own question. This is the part where you zoom in.

Ask yourself: What do I want to find out? What problem am I trying to understand, solve, or explore? A good research question is specific, focused, and manageable. You’re not trying to save the world—just contribute something thoughtful and original.

Keep it simple to start. You can always add complexity later. If your question feels too broad, try breaking it into smaller pieces. What’s the one thing you absolutely must understand to move forward?

If you’re feeling stuck, try freewriting. Set a timer for 10 minutes and just write whatever comes to mind about your topic. No structure, no editing—just thoughts on the page. You’ll be surprised how often your real question starts to reveal itself.

Don’t stress if it’s not perfect on day one. Research questions evolve. But having one—even a rough one—gives your writing a direction. It gives you something to test, explore, and shape.

Outline a Rough Plan

You don’t need a ten-page roadmap right now. Just sketch out some key steps. What are the major areas you want to explore? What kind of methods might you use? Are there any early deadlines you need to meet?

Getting a bird’s-eye view of the process can ease some of the anxiety. It gives your brain something to hold onto when the path ahead feels fuzzy.

Try making a timeline with mini-goals. Not “write chapter one,” but smaller, more doable steps. Like “write 300 words on my research gap” or “summarize three articles by Friday.” Smaller tasks are more motivating—and more realistic.

If you like visuals, consider using a whiteboard or sticky notes to map things out. Move them around. Rearrange as needed. This stage is all about building momentum.

Talk to Someone (Seriously)

If you’re stuck, talk it out. A friend, a supervisor, a fellow student—anyone who’ll listen. Just hearing yourself explain your ideas out loud can help you sort through the clutter.

Sometimes you’re closer to clarity than you think. And other times, someone else’s question or comment will spark a whole new direction you hadn’t considered.

Don’t wait for everything to be “ready” before you reach out. You don’t need a finished plan. You just need a conversation.

Give Yourself a Low-Stakes Start

Still dreading the blank page? Then don’t start with the introduction. Or the first chapter. Or anything that feels “official.”

Start by writing yourself a note. Describe your topic in plain language. Tell your future self what you’re trying to explore. Dump your ideas in a messy doc. This isn’t writing for your supervisor—this is just for you.

You can even start with bullet points. Or a voice note. Or a sloppy Google Doc with half-sentences and question marks. The point is to break the ice.

The sooner you stop thinking of your thesis as “writing a masterpiece” and start thinking of it as “figuring stuff out on paper,” the easier it gets.

Final Thoughts: Progress, Not Perfection

Starting a thesis isn’t about waiting for inspiration to strike. It’s about showing up—awkwardly, imperfectly, and consistently. Your first draft will not be your final draft. And that’s not a failure. That’s the process.

So open the document. Write one sentence. Then another. Reward yourself with a snack. Or a nap. Or a walk around the block.

Every thesis begins with a single, imperfect word. Then another. And another.

You’ve got this. Not all at once. But step by messy, meaningful step.