Vulnerability and its place in sensitive and emotionally challenging research

Over the last four years I have come to learn that researcher wellbeing (RWB) is not a separate concern from sensitive and emotionally challenging research, but rather it is woven into the very process itself. My PhD focused on sibling sexual abuse and disclosure, and this journey showed me not only the emotional realities of victims and survivors’ stories, but also the emotional labour involved in holding, analysing and honouring those stories ethically.

I aimed to build a victim- and survivor-centred evidence base that recognises disclosure as relational, evolving, and largely shaped by power and context. My approach was grounded in a feminist interpretivist and social constructive perspective one that centred lived experience, voice, and power, and remained attuned to how meaning-making is largely shaped by relational and structural dynamics.

No research is objective

My approach to this research did not just shape my methods and analysis, but also how I was to understand myself within the research. As Ruth Behar reminds us in her book The Vulnerable Observer, we cannot extract ourselves from the knowledge we helped to create, but rather our identities, histories and emotions inevitably permeate through the work.

I recall the first day of my PhD. I was, in my mind, massively underqualified to be sat in front of my supervisors. In fact, I’m sure one of their first memories of me is me breaking down in tears, claiming that they must have made a mistake in choosing me. This vulnerability and openness is what got me through some of the most challenging aspects of the last four years. In fact, the examiners in my viva even thanked me for my openness and honesty in discussing my wellbeing in the work. What I thought of as a weakness, has become my strength.

In my early exposures to literature surrounding child sexual abuse (CSA) and sexual violence, I began to feel the emotional residue often associated with sensitive and emotionally challenging work. I saw the words, in black and white in front of me, written over and over again. They caught my attention in a way that felt unexpectedly sharp, touching a part of my subconscious I hadn’t realised I’d tucked away.

Nobody 'gets used to' sensitive material

I told myself: “senior academics and police officers do this and see worse every single day and they are "fine", why am I not fine"? The truth of the matter is, in trauma related research, emotional labour is inherent, regardless of seniority. It is present, for some, during any career stage and at any phase of the research process. Every single stage of the process can be marred by emotional residue.

My supervisors guided me through a complex terrain, one often plagued by impostor syndrome and compassion fatigue – impacts I know resonate with so many others. The warnings they instilled within me were not simply of potential distress, but the deeper emotional labour involved in sustained exposure to often traumatic and painful narratives.

They prepared me, as much as anyone could be prepared, for the complexity of sitting with stories of harm and for the often-unspoken emotional residue that can linger, long after interviewers ended. Preparing me in those early phases involved interview role-playing exercises, hot debriefs scheduled after each of my interviews with participants and prioritising a flexible and responsive approach to my wellbeing needs. I spoke at length reflexively with my supervisory team.

Extra support empowers us

Such openness and transparency within supervisor-supervisee relationships is something I advocate for to any postgraduate researcher I meet in sensitive and emotionally challenging fields.

However, all the tools in my tool belt seemed redundant when I fell pregnant during data analysis phase, and not only was I left with recordings and transcripts detailing accounts of painful, complex and inherently brave experiences, I also was navigating the hormonal and emotional perspective which came with becoming a first-time mum.

It was at this phase I once again approached my supervisors, who sought me clinical supervision, which gave me more tools in my belt to take with me in my career. Showing vulnerability in those moments wasn’t a failure of resilience; it was the very thing that enabled me to continue doing this work ethically and sustainably.

Vulnerability is essential

What I learned through my PhD and from my personal experiences of navigating pregnancy, early motherhood, and the emotional weight of my research is that vulnerability isn’t something we overcome to become “good researchers” or to be “fine”, it is something we work with. It is a form of reflexivity, an ethical stance, a commitment to acknowledging what the research demands of us and what we need in return.

For me, vulnerability became not an interruption to the research process, but an integral part of it. It was a constant reminder that RWB is inseparable from the quality, integrity and humanity of the work we produce.

Dr Abbie Lake, Researcher Wellbeing Research Assistant, International Policing and Public Protection Research Institute (IPPPRI)