Project
Becomings
engage · learn · reimagine · grow
Reimagining recovery narratives following adversity
The Researcher Body
Exploring how my body, emotions and responses were part of the research — rather than separate from it.
The Researcher Is A Body Too
Researchers are often written into research as though they primarily observe, listen, think and interpret. But I did not enter Project Becomings as a detached mind. I entered it through a body.
My body was present in workshops, conversations and creative encounters. I sat alongside co-researchers, handled materials, moved through spaces, listened to difficult experiences and responded emotionally and physically to what was happening around me.
At times, I became aware of these responses very clearly. An encounter might produce discomfort, tension, warmth, recognition, vulnerability or a feeling that something significant was happening before I could fully explain why.
Rather than assuming these responses should simply be removed from the research, I became interested in what they might draw my attention towards.
This did not mean treating my feelings or bodily responses as evidence of what somebody else was experiencing.
My response belonged to me. But noticing it could prompt me to ask questions about the encounter: What had changed? What was happening between people? What had a particular space, material, conversation or moment made possible?
Paying attention to my own body therefore became part of reflexivity. It reminded me that I was not simply observing research encounters from outside them. I was also being affected by what happened within them.
Being Affected By The Research
Researching trauma recovery was not an emotionally neutral process. Conversations, creative practices, relationships and moments within Project Becomings could affect me in ways that were sometimes immediate and sometimes only became apparent later.
Being affected did not always mean experiencing a strong or easily identifiable emotion. Sometimes it was more subtle: a change in the atmosphere of a room, a bodily feeling, an unexpected sense of connection, discomfort or vulnerability, or simply a moment that seemed to stay with me.
These responses mattered because they reminded me that research relationships do not operate in only one direction. I could influence what happened within an encounter, but the people, materials, spaces and experiences I encountered could also act upon me.
This required care. My emotional responses could not be assumed to tell me what a co-researcher was feeling, and my own history could shape why particular moments affected me more strongly than others.
Reflexivity therefore involved noticing these responses without immediately turning them into explanations. Sometimes they prompted further questions.
Sometimes their significance became clearer later. And sometimes they needed simply to remain my response to the encounter, rather than becoming part of an interpretation of somebody else's experience.
Recognising that I could be affected also challenged the idea that good research requires the researcher to remain untouched by what they encounter. The responsibility was not to become unaffected, but to consider how being affected might shape what I noticed, how I responded and what I subsequently came to understand.
What My Body Drew My Attention To
Paying attention to my body sometimes drew my attention towards aspects of a research encounter that I might otherwise have overlooked.
A feeling of tension, ease, discomfort or connection could make me pause. I might notice that the atmosphere had shifted, that I was responding differently to a particular conversation, or that an encounter with a person, material or space had affected me in an unexpected way.
These responses were not treated as straightforward evidence. Feeling something did not tell me why it had happened or what it meant for somebody else.
Instead, they could become prompts for reflection. Why had I responded in that way? Was something from my own experience shaping my response? Had something changed within the relationship or the space? What assumptions was I bringing to what had happened?
Sometimes this meant returning to an encounter later through reflective writing or considering it alongside other parts of the research. The aim was not necessarily to find a single explanation, but to remain open to things that might have been missed if I had paid attention only to what was spoken.
My body therefore became one way of noticing, rather than a tool for determining what was true.
This required both openness and caution: taking embodied responses seriously enough to reflect upon them, while resisting the temptation to give them an authority they could not hold.
Caring For The Researcher, Too
Research ethics rightly places considerable emphasis on protecting and supporting participants. But recognising the researcher as someone who can also be affected by research raises another question: what care does the researcher need in order to continue doing this work responsibly?
Researching experiences connected with trauma could sometimes be emotionally and physically demanding. My own lived experience also meant that particular conversations or encounters could resonate in ways that were difficult to predict beforehand.
Acknowledging this did not mean making my wellbeing the responsibility of co-researchers. Nor did it mean avoiding difficult material. Instead, it meant recognising my own limits, responses and need for space to reflect and process what I was encountering.
This was important for the research itself. Continuing when overwhelmed, ignoring strong responses or treating emotional distance as evidence of professionalism would not necessarily have made me a better researcher. How I was feeling could affect how I listened, responded, made decisions and related to others.
Care therefore needed to extend to the conditions in which I was researching: having opportunities for reflection and support, recognising when something had affected me, and allowing time and space to respond rather than assuming that I should simply absorb difficult experiences and continue.
This also challenged the idea that vulnerability belongs primarily to research participants while researchers remain protected by their professional role.
Researchers can hold responsibility and authority while also being vulnerable and affected themselves.
Taking that vulnerability seriously became part of doing the research responsibly — not something separate from it.