Within and Between
Who gets to tell their story, whose voices are heard, and what happens when those who have been marginalised move towards the centre?
Who gets to tell their story, whose voices are heard, and what happens when those who have been marginalised move towards the centre?
I went looking for words in someone else’s writing. I hadn’t anticipated finding words for my own story.
I thought I was simply deciding how to frame three pieces of Hungarian embroidery. I hadn’t anticipated what would emerge from the conversation.
I thought I was simply explaining my research to an ethics committee. Instead, I found myself understanding it in an entirely new way.
I love the unexpected tangents that emerge during counselling sessions—and the things I learn when conversations wander somewhere I never anticipated.
Perhaps the stories we inherit are not carried forward word for word, but in the feelings, images, and truths that remain long after the details have been forgotten.
The most important writing is not always done at a desk. It begins in the quiet places where the mind is finally free to wander.
Naming a methodology is not always a neutral act. The words we choose—or choose not to use—often carry meanings of their own.
The most important discoveries in doctoral research are not always found in journal articles. They emerge when the project begins to reveal what it has been asking of you all along.
The most enduring poems are not those we remember. They are the ones that quietly change who we become.