405800

hop and ShepherdQualitative Health Research

QHR21910.1177/1049732311405800Bis

Ethics

Ethical Reflections: Examining

Reflexivity Through the
Narrative Paradigm

Qualitative Health Research

21(9) 12831294
The Author(s) 2011
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DOI: 10.1177/1049732311405800
http://qhr.sagepub.com

Emily C. Bishop1 and Marie L. Shepherd1

Abstract
Being reflexive and providing these reflections for public scrutiny is often considered a key element of ethical, rigorous
qualitative research. Prevalent conceptualizations of reflexivity, however, need interrogating and sharpening. We aim
to contribute to this by examining reflexive practice, and in particular researchers reflexive accounts, through the
lens of the narrative paradigm. Our aim is to demonstrate that acknowledging the role of narrative reconstruction in
reflexivity creates more ethical research, and that it is therefore crucial for researchers to more explicitly recognize
this. Both authors present an analysis of one particular exchange between interviewer and participant. This analysis
highlights that despite our best efforts at doing reflexivity, both immediately following and when reflecting back on an
interview, there are influential factors that escape our gaze. Reflections of the past are particularly imperfect. Without
fully recognizing this, we are not utilizing all the tools available for ensuring honest, ethical research.
Keywords
biographical analysis; narrative inquiry; reflexivity; research, qualitative; self

Emerging from key feminist analyses, it is now well

established in the research methods literature that qualitative researchers subjectivity/standpoint/autobiography/
self-biography can filter, skew, [and] shape their research
(Armstead, 1995, p. 628; Cotterill & Letherby, 1993;
DeVault, 1996; Harding, 1987, 1991; Letherby, 2003, 2005;
Peshkin, 1988; Reinharz, 1992; Smith, 1987, 1990; Stanley
& Wise, 1983, 1993). Researchers are encouraged to identify, be sensitive to, and document how their social background, assumptions, positioning and behavior affect all
stages of the research process (Finlay, 2006, p. 21; Green,
Franquiz, & Dixon, 1997; Letherby, 2005; Poland, 2002;
Silverman, 2004; Willis, 2010). It is also widely accepted
that the temporal nature of self-biography precludes our
ability to replicate past research findings (see Arvay, 2003).
In this article, we aim to go beyond these conventional
ideas by further highlighting the utility of viewing reflexivity through the narrative paradigm. Specifically, we
emphasize that acknowledging the role of narrative reconstruction in the development of reflexive accounts creates more ethical research, and therefore it is essential
for researchers to more explicitly recognize this.
Although it is generally agreed that reflexivity, in some
form and to some degree, is necessary (see, for example,
Breuer, Mruck, & Roth, 2002; Knuuttila, 2002; Mauthner &

Doucet, 2003; St. Louis & Barton, 2002), the extent to

which research reports, including published articles, should
entail reflections on the impact of personal biography
remains contentious (see Kobayashi, 2003; Riach,
2009). Unfortunately, researchers must tread carefully
to avoid their work being criticized as self-indulgent
(see DeVault, 1997; Letherby, 2000, 2003; Mykhalovskiy,
1996; Sparkes, 2002).
Certainly, researchers should prioritize participants
voices and avoid placing themselves at the epicenter of
their research interpretations and output (Alvesson, 2003;
Riach, 2009). It is only through systematic, ongoing reflexivity, howeverincluding a continuing examination of
personal subjectivitythat we can avoid self-indulgence,
that we can avoid the trap of perceiving just that which
my own untamed sentiments have sought out and served
up as data (Peshkin, 1988, p. 20). Through self-reflexivity
we gain awareness of the political/ideological agendas
hidden in our writing and insight (albeit limited) into

University of Tasmania, Launceston, Tasmania, Australia

Corresponding Author:
Emily C. Bishop, University of Tasmania, School of Sociology and
Social Work, Locked Bag 1340, Launceston, Tasmania, 7250, Australia
Email: Emily.Bishop@utas.edu.au

1284
how factors such as our social location and personal assumptions shape research encounters and interpretations (Hertz,
1996, p. 7). Providing these insights alongside brief
expositions of personal biography for public scrutiny demonstrates moral integrity (Kvale, 1996, pp. 241-242),
a commitment to honest, transparent, ethical research
practice (Finlay, 2002; Hertz; Pini, 2004). This should be
encouraged rather than disparaged.
With our position on the necessity of reflexivity articulated, we introduce our key argument: that a more explicit
focus on the reconstructed nature of reflexive accounts is
required. This argument emerged through observations of
our own research experiences and observations of the
reflexive accounts of other researchers. Despite a synthesis of systematic self-analysis and fieldwork analysis, we
sensed that there had still been various influential factors
at play that had escaped our awareness. When interviewing, for example, it was likely that we held certain assumptions that even deep sociological introspection (Sparkes,
2002) did not reveal, and that affected our interviewees in
ways that we did not (and could not) see. Furthermore,
we were conscious that we had affected different participants in different ways, and that even if we were to question them about their thoughts on the interview experience,
such information is only imperfectly knowable.
We found that rather than often or overtly acknowledging this, researchers tended to present their reflexive analyses as objective reports, or truth claims about the ways they
had shaped their research process and findings. This is
problematic for several reasons. It conflicts with qualitative epistemologies; specifically, it conflicts with the idea
that truth can never be confirmed (Kvale, 1996), it fails to
fully appreciate the existence of forces that lie beyond our
grasp, and finally, it suggests a tendency for researchers
to position their reflexive accounts as more sociologically
informed and thus more accurate than participants
accounts are typically considered.
As an entry point into our discussions, we briefly
overview key elements of narrative identity theory and
highlight the implications of this for reflexivity. Next, we
demonstrate why the idea of the benefit of hindsight is
problematic for reflexivity, and following this, both authors
provide a brief positioning account (see Arvay, 2003,
p. 163). These accounts outline the personal experiences
that motivated our respective research projects and provide
insight into how our current self-stories differ from how
we viewed ourselves during the data collection phases of
the research projects informing this article. We then each
analyze one interview excerpt, discussing some of the
possible ways in which elements of our social and personal identity might have shaped this exchange. Our chief
aim is to demonstrate some of the shortcomings of current conceptualizations of reflexivity by highlighting that
despite our best effortsboth immediately following an

Qualitative Health Research 21(9)

interview and with the presumed benefit of hindsight
when doing reflexivity, we can never be certain of our
conclusions.

Narrativity and Ethical Reflexivity

Whereas interviews often remain seen as portals to personal thoughts and subjectivities (Sarantakos, 2005), narrative theorists have emphasized that participants accounts
are narrative constructions (see Atkinson & Delamont,
2006; Chase, 2005; Riessman, 1997, 2002, 2008). We
cannot know whether we access true subjectivity because
we cannot read peoples thoughts, and because interviews
can be opportunities for identity construction and performance (see Langellier, 2001; Langellier & Peterson, 2004;
Riessman, 1991, 1993). The narrative approach has been
valuable for understanding the nature of our data and for
engaging reflexively with our role in creating this.
Postmodern perspectives view the self1 as fragmented,
incoherent, and multiple (see Castells, 2002; Featherstone,
1995; Turkle, 1984, 1995). Narrative theorists however,
recognize that we experience a coherent and unified self
(see Ezzy, 1998a; Lucius-Hoene & Deppermann, 2000;
Polkinghorne, 1991, 1996; Somers, 1994). The latter is far
more useful to the reflexive researcher, because it is only
through conceiving of the self as in some way locatable
that the role of the self in the research can be examined.2
For narrative theorists, identity is constructed through
experiencing life events, composing and telling a narrative of these. Furthermore, although we tend to view ourselves in terms of unified, fixed attributes, over time, and
in light of new experiences, we reconstruct our identities
(see Ezzy, 1998a; Ricoeur, 1984; also see Polkinghorne,
1991) and, related to this, our ideological frameworks
and subjective perceptions.
Social scientists are increasingly acknowledging the
narrative construction of identity3; that life, and the self, is
storied (see Ezzy, 1998a, 1998b, 2000a, 2000b; Hurwitz,
Skultans, & Greenhalgh, 2004; Mischler, 1992, 1999;
Plummer, 1995; Riessman, 1991, 2002, 2003, 2008). Also,
as noted earlier, the temporal nature of the self and the
consequences of this for replicating our research findings
are well recognized. The implications of narrativity for the
ontological status of researchers reflexive accounts are
yet to be fully examined, and require more focused attention, far beyond the account provided here.
Pertinent to our argument is the way that participants
self-narratives have been increasingly referred to as personal myths4 to highlight their constructed and temporally
located nature (see May, 1975, 1991; McAdams, 1997; see
also Passerini, 1990). We suggest conceptualizing and discussing researchers reflexive accounts in similar terms.
Rather than stable, objective analyses, they too are temporally situated, often written some time after the completion

1285

Bishop and Shepherd

of the research, subjective and constructed in part through
guessworkalbeit theoretically informed guesswork. There
is much we cannot know about our role in data production, and our reflections can thus be thought of as mythical
constructions.
To further illustrate this, consider the interview process.
There is much to think about: careful observing and
active listening without leaving lengthy pauses; providing
encouraging responses but not interrupting; maintaining
positive, open body language; creating engaging probes;
and balancing the tension between staying on topic and
allowing the participant to speak what they consider relevant (Minichiello, Aroni, Timewell, & Alexander, 1995;
Walter, 2006). We are also managing our own identity performance. With so much to contemplate, we cannot simultaneously undertake a comprehensive deconstruction of
our impact on the interviewee and of how they are affecting us, particularly because these socially shaped, interpersonal factors and their outcomes are so dynamic. There
are also forces at play on an unconscious or embodied
level that, despite rigorous, ongoing analysis, we cannot
become fully cognizant of. Even reinterviewing participants to investigate their perceptions of us, seeking to
discover exactly how they see us as having affected them,
cannot address this gap in knowledge. This is because
their accounts would be both subjective and narratively
reconstructed. We cannot provide complete and accurate
reflections.
Social researchers seek to create valid, meaningful,
quality, and perhaps of most importance, ethical research.
Discussions of research ethics have often centered on
confidentiality, informed consent, opportunity to withdraw, and not doing harm (see Habibis, 2010; Punch,
1994), and it has become taken for granted that honesty
and integrity (see Kvale, 1996) are fundamental to ethical
research. Reflexivity is particularly valuable to qualitative research because it brings honesty to the fore, asking
us not to feign objectivity or reach post hoc conclusions,
but to acknowledge that multiple factors, including our
personal narratives, shape the data we produce and our
interpretations of this data (Kemmis & McTaggart, 2003;
Mays & Pope, 2000; see in particular McCorkel & Myers,
2003). Being completely honest about the situated, coconstructed nature of our research findings does not dissolve
ethical tensions (Cloke, Cooke, Cursons, Milbourne, &
Widdowfield, 2000, p. 133), but it does help to address
some of the moral tensions in interpretation and representation (Riach, 2009, p. 367).
Although this aspect of the relationship between reflexivity and honesty is established in the literature, a further
step forward is required. Within our reflexive accounts we
must be honest about the fact that even though we might
reflect deeply, analyze from multiple perspectives, and seek
industriously to unravel and explain the factors at play,

we cannot. Presenting reflections as objective accounts, or

even failing to fully acknowledge their temporality and the
myriad factors that we cannot discern, is a form of fabricationa key facet of unethical research. To adhere more
closely to the ideal of producing ethical research then, it is
important that as researchers we unambiguously engage
with and demonstrate a commitment to these ideas within
our reflections. Enduring beliefs in the benefit of hindsight, however, might be precluding this conceptual shift.

Hindsight and Insight

Mauthner and Doucet (2003) agreed that determining the
impact of the researcher on the research is difficult and
limited. We disagree however, with their explanation:
that many of these influential forces only become
apparent once we have left the research behind (p. 425).
They argued that hindsight brings greater insight; more
reflexivity:
Time, distance and detachment from our doctoral
work have allowed us to be more reflexive about
our processes. The security of a job, and a position
within academia make it easier to admit and articulate the confusions, the tensions we felt and how
these manifested themselves in our research . . .
hindsight has enabled us to understand and articulate . . . what is influencing our knowledge production and how this is occurring. (Mauthner &
Doucet, 2003, pp. 418-420, emphasis in original)
Their use of the term detachment is peculiar. It conflicts
with qualitative epistemologies that contest objectivity and
detachment (see Finlay, 2002; Finlay & Gough, 2003; Pini,
2004), and with qualitative methodologies that encourage
intimacy and closeness to the data (see Birch & Miller,
2000; Denscombe, 1998; Lucius-Hoene & Deppermann,
2000; Oakley, 1981). Their account also conflicts with
relativist ontologies, which often underpin qualitative
research, because they suggest that with distance and
detachment comes an ability to capture the pastas
though the past exists out there, independent of our
subjective and dynamic view of this (Neuman, 1991).
Other authors have taken a similar stance when discussing their reflexive journey (see Carolin, 2003; Doane,
2003; McKay, Ryan, & Sumsian, 2003). Pini, for example,
argued: Clearly, my reflexive journey on this issue is not
complete (2004, p. 175). This suggests that she foresaw
an end to this journey; that at some point she would manage to accurately elucidate the myriad factors that shaped
her research. Certainly time produces greater detachment
from the data. Hindsight, however, does not make the
effects of the researcherresearched relationship more
apparent (Mauthner & Doucet, 2003). Rather, our

1286
memories and recollections become differently colored and
restoried by our new experiences in the social world, by our
newly acquired knowledge and attitudes, and by our shifting personal and professional identities. Narrative epistemology thus helps illuminate that hindsight is not an open
window through which we can clearly review the past.

Reflections as Self-Stories
Even when seeking to access and scrutinize our own subjectivity, our personal values and persuasions (Peshkin,
1988), and to make these accounts of the self public in
some form, elements of subjectivity remain beyond our
consciousness, like a garment that cannot be removed
(Peshkin, p. 17). This has implications for the status of
both self-biographies and our reflexive practices. Because
it is integral to identity development (Plummer, 1995, see
also Rankin, 2002), people find many contexts and opportunities for telling self-stories. Storytelling is doing identity, confirming an existing self or renarrating the self in
a different way (Lee & Roth, 2004; Warren, 2006; see
also Snow & Anderson, 1987; Snow & McAdam, 2000).
Researchers written reflexive accounts provide opportunities to position the self in a particular way. They are
as much stories of the present self as they are stories of
the past. Although true for all researchers, because identity is renarrated over time, early career academics such as
ourselves are perhaps more invested (either consciously
or unconsciously) in telling stories to construct a particular identity: that of the legitimate, competent, reflexive
researcher.
In light of the above, our brief self-biographical accounts,
presented below, can be considered reconstructions of the
past. Phrases such as I remember and I recall should
be interpreted from the narrative perspective. These
accounts nonetheless provide an indication of our personal
myth during data collection. We cannot be sure of our role
in shaping the excerpts analyzed. The factors that escaped
our perception thenin part because we could not access
our participants thoughtswe can no better explicate
now. Furthermore, our identities have changed, shading
our memories of these events. It is useful to know that we
are both at different stages in our personal and professional
lives. Emily Bishop is in her early 30s, completed her doctoral research in November 2008, and currently holds an
academic position. Marie Shepherd is in her 50s, has a
30-year background in nursing, and plans to complete her
postgraduate studies in February 2013.

Bishops Research
Research Outline
My research examined the stories told by young, rural
Australians to make sense of the risks they had faced and

Qualitative Health Research 21(9)

continued to face in their sex lives. I aimed to challenge
the stereotypical view of young, rural youth (in particular)
as at risk, and to highlight their risk-minimization strategies. I interviewed 31 young men and women who spent
their childhood and adolescence in a rural area, and conducted a narrative analysis of the data. Key findings
included the way participants avoided presenting themselves as real risk takers and sought to portray themselves as moral and cautious and that their interpretations
of risk and sex were highly moralized (Bishop, 2008).
My interest lies chiefly in the implications of this for
understandings of and approaches to preventing sexual
risk behavior among young people (Bishop, in press).

A Biographical Prcis
My research was closely connected to, but not consciously
motivated by, my personal experiences. At age 18 I unintentionally became pregnant and chose to become a young
mother. I remember that I felt negatively judged as lacking
self-restraint and ambition. Then, when my sons father
left me, I constructed a particularly negative self-narrative
around tropes of betrayal, lost youth, and optimism.
However, in light of a newfound engagement with feminist
theory during my undergraduate studies, I crafted a more
positive story. During data collection for my PhD degree
I worked hard, however, to be cognizant of and to minimize the impact of my feminist beliefs on the research
process. Through ongoing self-scrutiny, particularly during data analysis, I was able to recognize that despite my
beliefs about broader gender relations, gender was not the
most salient variable within my participants stories.
I feel satisfied that I have arrived at my research knowledge through a high degree of self-scrutiny. Nevertheless,
I believe that both my past experiences and my feminist
sympathies still permeated through to my research in
some way, particularly my interview encounters, which
I discuss further below. I have significantly redrafted
my self-narrative since achieving my doctorate and securing an academic position. No longer do I hear that Yourea-disappointment story playing in the background. This
identity shift, as well as time away from data collection,
has not, however, brought me closer to objective insights
into how I influenced my research. Rather, time and
distance have made for even murkier recollections of the
numerous hours spent talking to participants about their
pleasurable and problematic sex lives.

A Reflexive Account
Below are comments from 26-year-old Charlotte,5 who
discussed some of her sexual risk experiences. Prior to this
point, we had been discussing her enjoyment of sex generally, and teenage sex in particular. My question here was,
So were you, like, thinking much about the risks when

Bishop and Shepherd

you were having sex, then? [as a 16-17 year old]. Her
response:
I mean, I didnt really think about the risks though,
like, intentionally take risks. It was just like, yeah
youre hot! Im gonna [have sex with] you! You
know what I mean. . . . Yeah it was only like, when
I got pregnant the first time, and I had to catch the
train all the way down to Bigtown that like, I really
sort of. I mean, that was awful . . . sitting in the
waiting room and going through it all [termination
of the pregnancy]. I mean, young guys, god even
older guys [ha-ha], they just dont get that stuff.
They dont have to deal with that stuff, you know
what I mean.
When interviewing Charlotte I could sense that somehow,
both my physical presence and my beliefs had some bearing on our interactions. I reflected afterward on whether it
was my feminist standpointmore specifically my belief
that mens sexual pleasure remains privileged and that
feminine sexuality remains constructed as passive and
receptivewas breaking through, and encouraging her to
tell her story in this particular way. I reflected on the interview many times. I had not said anything explicitly referencing such ideas. Had I asked leading questions? I did not
think so. I actually asked very few questions, because the
interview flowed in a conversational manner (see Rubin &
Rubin 1995), and regardless, each line of questioning was
integral to pursuing the interview topics. I did manage to
identify some instances where I had assumed a shared
meaning, rather than following up on a potentially ambiguous answer. Even immediately following the encounter,
however, I could not isolate my ideological approach as a
key factor in shaping the data created.
Rather, there were multiple social, personal, and environmental factors at play. Reanalyzing this encounter
from the present, I still cannot ascertain just how these
operated. In part, this is because many of these elements
are omnipresent, embodied (see, Ezzy, 2010; Sharma,
Reimer-Kirkham, & Cochrane, 2009), and to an extent
unknowable. We cannot step outside of the self, to view
the impact of the self. Also, because I cannot discover precisely how Charlotte perceived me, any argument I make
here regarding how I affected her account cannot be confirmed. Furthermore, our impact on each other was fluid;
it shifted throughout the interview as we both narrated further chapters of our stories. My reflexive account of this
interview encounter is therefore closer to a mythical construction than to an objective truth.
Interviewing is often described as being characterized
by a power imbalance (Karnieli-Miller, Strier, & Pessach,
2009). Some interviewees however, see academics as lacking useful, real-world knowledge, and in these instances
researchers hold little status and power outside the

1287
university (Armstead, 1995, p. 631). We suggestbut
emphasize that we cannot confirmthat for this interview, my age, and specifically my youthful appearance,
manner, and lexis, facilitated a relatively balanced distribution of power, at least more so than might have
otherwise been achieved. Like many of my participants,
Charlotte often punctuated her sentences with you know
what I mean and you know what its like. Based on my
journals and an intimate (hopefully attached, rather than
detached) knowledge of the data, Shepherd and I argue that
these were statements rather than questions. Had I appeared
older, part of a past when social norms and practices were
different, Charlotte might have been less likely to assume
that I knew what she meant. Had she viewed me as
more of an adulta responsible authority figurethen it
is less likely that she would have considered me someone
with whom to laugh about her sexual exploits and prowess. A different interaction, and a different account, might
have ensued.
I was (perhaps partly consciously) self-narrating and
performing a young, casual, nonacademic-type self-identity,
which was expressed through factors such as the way
I dressed, sat, spoke, laughed, drank, and smoked. It is
possible that Charlotte (even prior to any of my selfdisclosures, discussed below) viewed me as the kind of
person who had shared similar experiences to her own,
was comfortable speaking candidly about them, and was
young enough to recall these. We do not argue, however,
that my youth led directly to rapport with Charlotte, or
with any of my participants, because it did not. More than
just age was at play, and like other subgroups, young people are diverse (see Cohen, 1997; White & Wyn, 2004;
Wyn & White, 1997, 2004). It is possible (but not verifiable) that some of the young rural participants (particularly those who had never lived outside of their regional
areas) saw me as an urban, intellectual type, who could
not empathize with their experiences of growing up in an
isolated region. Indeed, this was evident in that, at times,
some of the participants were openly anxious, uncomfortable, and withdrawn, whereas others spoke comfortably
for hours, appearing to enjoy the experience. The impact
of my personal/social identity on my research was never
patent, uniform, or straightforward.
Age, of course, intersects with gender. If I was a man,
Charlotte might have been less likely to assume that I knew
what she meant by men dont get that stuff. Her assumption was also relatively accurate (as I clarified this with her
later in the interview). She was referring to the way that
young men often consider contraception to be the womans responsibility, and that they lack intimate knowledge
of the stress and trauma women endure, more than even
the fear that an unprotected sexual encounter has led to
a pregnancy, and of the experience of termination. Even
though gender is therefore likely to have been an influential factor, we suggest that this worked in conjunction with,

1288
and cannot be disentangled from, the impact of some brief
self-disclosures I made during the interview, namely that
my (amazing) child was the outcome of an unintended
teenage pregnancy.
Researcher self-disclosure is a contentious issue
(see Cotterill, 1992; Dickson-Swift, James, Kippen, &
Liamputtong, 2007; Miller, 1998). Cotterill, for example,
has argued that participants do not necessarily want to
hear about interviewers private lives. Resistance to selfdisclosure, however, limits the relationship between two
people and increases the imbalance and distance between
researcher and interviewee (Wenger, 2002). I adopted
Oakleys (1981, p. 49) idea that intimacy is important for
successful interviews and that there can be no intimacy
without reciprocity (see also Lucius-Hoene & Deppermann,
2000). We suggest that, given the private nature of the
topic, revealing to Charlotte (and to a number of other
participants) that I had engaged in the type of practices
that I was probing into, assisted her to voice her risky
(condomless/unprotected) behaviors, because it demonstrated that I was unlikely to be shocked by or to judge
her for these. It is impossible, however, to determine the
extent to which I have reconstructed this rationale, how it
might reflect my current self-story. Perhaps I am unconsciously seeking to justify my self-disclosures to understand and present myself as an informed, thoughtful, and
capable researcher.
Although I was armed with self-knowledge and worked
hard to avoid expressing my various beliefs (feminist or
otherwise), it is inevitable that I also held certain assumptions that even this self-interrogation did not reveal, and
that these assumptions fashioned the questions I asked and
the responses that I gave to her comments. That I even asked
certain questions and therefore unconsciously excluded
others illustrates the inescapable and imperfectly knowable role of the researchers personal myth in shaping
research data.
Charlotte and I have shared some similar experiences
(both having taken sexual risks and both becoming teenage mothers) and a similar social position (in terms of age,
gender, ethnicity, and income). Our shared knowledge
of this invited intimacy (Birch & Miller, 2000) was
therefore conducive to particular interactions and disclosures. My reflections on this interview encounter are
clouded, however, through the very process of looking
back. Distance and time have not brought me closer to the
truth of exactly what happened.

Qualitative Health Research 21(9)

reinforce dominant, middle-class ideals. Within these parenting discourses, working-class (low socioeconomic)
values and practices are positioned as inferior. The aims
of my research are two-fold: first, to identify how participants attribute meaning to parenthood, and second, to
better understand the ways in which these meanings are
shaped and negotiated through the interactions between
child health nurses and parents. I employed both participant observation and in-depth interview methods. My
ongoing analyses indicate first, that when nurses find
that their ideas about good parenting differ from those
expressed by the parents they encounter through their work,
to avoid appearing critical and judgmental, they rarely confront them outright with this. Second, that by utilizing particular strategies, nurses nevertheless impart their opinions
on the matter in question, and thus shape parents values
and attitudes.

A Biographical Prcis
My research relates directly to my employment experiences: 30 years of working as a nurse, the last 15 as a child
health nurse. Prior to taking on further study, I remember
holding on to a distinctly positive self-narrative, of a skilled
and experienced nurse. Returning to university, however,
I realized that my nursing practices lacked a critical, social
framework, and I came to see myself as a novice, an
interloper in the world of social research. I worked hard
to examine and challenge my biomedical assumptions,
and have also endeavored to minimize the possible impact
of my past on the research process. In my field journal
however, I documented a tendency during my early interviews to sometimes feel inadequate, and therefore return
to the more familiar nurse identity, which I discuss below.
A few years in, I have again recrafted my narrative. My
nursing practices are more critically informed, and I am a
capable, reflexive social researcher. Nevertheless, reflecting our analyses of Bishops interview, we argue that two
key things confound my reflections, or more specifically
my ability to accurately portray these past events here.
First, that I am viewing these encounters through the prism
of my current self-narrative, and second, that I cannot
know how I was perceived by my participants. Researchers
might choose, within their reflexive accounts, to view the
past through the restricted lens of one or more particular
social or personal variables (such as age and gender), but
for the most part, there is a complex interplay between
multiple factors.

Shepherds Research
Research Outline

A Reflexive Account

In our society, good parenting is chiefly measured through

the application of expert knowledges that reflect and

My account further illustrates the difficulties researchers

face when seeking to meaningfully disentangle the factors
that might have influenced their interview encounters.

Bishop and Shepherd

One of my first interviewees was 26-year-old Emma. The
interview took place in her lounge room, as she breastfed
her baby, with the television on quietly in the background.
After settling in, one of my first questions to her was,
What was life like for you before you had kids, family,
that sort of thing? What did you do? Her response was
immediate and (I believe) frank:
Before I had kids? I wasWell, I moved out of
home when I was 15. Lived on the streets till I was
16, and then got heavily involved in drugs and alcohol and that. And like, it was only when I found out
I was pregnant with twins that I, well, at that
stage I was only [only knew I was] pregnant with
one of them, but I was like, Wow. Okay. This is
not going to be good for my baby. So um, just
gave it ALL up.
As noted, this excerpt is from one of my early interviews,
when my sense of being a novice researcher was a key
theme in my self-story. It is possible that my lack of confidence in this new researcher identity was noticeable to
Emma in some way, and this actually helped to redress
the interview power imbalance. When reflecting on the
interview, I realized that I had also, however, at times performed my child health nurse identity. Perhaps it was this
which chiefly shaped the confessional nature of her story,
as evidenced in the exchange above? As a nurse, I was
used to listening to people. This was usually undertaken,
however, to treat, to provide support, information, and
advice, and to develop a plan for the delivery of care,
which is obviously not the role of the social researcher.
I found that on occasions during this interview, when
asked specifically by Emma, I provided my professional
opinion and advice.
By disclosing my clinical background from the outset, I might have encouraged Emmas questions to some
extent. Like Bishop, I had a sound understanding of existing debates over self-disclosure (see above), and had
sided with Eder and Fingersons (2002) position that first
and foremost, researchers have an ethical responsibility
toward reciprocity with their participants, particularly the
more vulnerable, because of the inherent power imbalance.
I nevertheless acknowledged Millers (1998, p. 62; see also
Liamputtong & Ezzy, 2005) point that we must consider
the possible implications of self-disclosures carefully; for
example, how might they affect what participants feel
able to voice during an interview? I considered the possibility that participants might have experienced a negative encounter with a child health nurse or related service
provider, and what this could mean for the encounter.
Ultimately, I determined that because my background was
such a key part of my self-identity, revealing that I was a
child health nurse and mother of three was the honest and

1289
thus ethical choice (see, Eder & Fingerson, 2002; Holmes,
2010). My embodied nurse/mother identity was likely to
become evident and to be an invisible force anyway
whether I revealed it to participants or not. Perhaps, knowing I was also a nurse, Emma perceived me as a caring
professional, trustworthy enough to be told her story of past
bad behaviour, but also as someone who would maintain
her clinical distance.
It is also possible that my gender, or more specifically
the fact that we were both women, increased the likelihood that Emma would tell her story in the way that she
did. Had I been a man, for example, Emma might have
felt less comfortable openly breastfeeding in front of me
as we spoke. Because I am a woman it is possible that she
viewed me through the prism of dominant constructions
of femininity; as more likely than a man to be caring and
a good listener, and that this contributed to her many disclosures (similar to those provided above). Emma might
have unconsciously assumed that, as a mother, I was more
likely than a man (or a childless woman) to have the capacity to fully empathize with her sudden sense of connection to and desire to protect her unborn child.
Perhaps, however, Emma did not hold such assumptions about femininity (it was not my aim to investigate
these during the interview process). It might be that Emma
actually perceived me as too old to remember the pain and
beauty of childbirth and breastfeeding, or as too different
(in terms of education and social position) to empathize
with her. The forces that were at play are more likely to
have been a synthesis of multiple factors, including both
gender and age. I was not just any woman. I revealed
(both explicitly and through appearance and speech)
that I was an older woman, with great experience in a caring profession. Maybe on some level she perceived me as
a kindly mother figure; someone with experiential knowledge of lifes trials and tribulations; someone willing to
listen and likely to offer supportive congratulations for her
transformation from risk-taking teen to protective mother.
Ribbens (1998) however, has argued that it is unlikely for
an interviewee who is also a mother to believe that
researchers can avoid making judgments about them, so
maybe despite my assurances that I was not there to evaluate her mothering practices in any way, Emma felt that a
level of judgment or appraisal was inevitable, and thus she
sought to make this a positive one.
It is also possible, of course, that the effects on Emma
of my novice researcher and older child health nurse identities were negligible. She might have seen me mainly as a
highly educated, professional researcher; someone with a
social status quite distant from hers. Later in the interview
I heard more of Emmas story. She described feeling negatively labeled as a single teenage mother, particularly
by hospital staff when her twins were born. It is possible that Emma was not at all concerned with who I was

1290
(or appeared to be). Maybe she was utilizing the interview
as an opportunity to challenge the negative labels she felt
imposed on her, and to document her story of redemption.
Rather than a coparticipant in the discourse, I was the audience, enabling the transformative power of telling selfstories to flourish (Warren, 2006).
Presumably, we would have created different data had
I not disclosed that I was a mother and child nurse. My
age, gender, background, and self-story, however, were all
variables at playall dynamically influencing our interactions and the data produced. Bishop and I suggest that it
was the combination of older/female/child health nurse/
interloper that assisted me to form trusting relationships
with many participants. It is not possible to say in any
definitive way, however, what exactly it was about me (if
anything), or the interview scenario, that Emma perceived,
responded to, or was affected byin part, because I do
not and cannot fully know what she thought about me.
This further illustrates the need to construct a more
nuanced conceptualization of reflexivity.

Ethical Reflexivity
Analyzing even the short interview excerpts above demonstrates our key point: that we cannot say with certainty
which aspects of our past experiences, social background
and position, personal assumptions, self-narrative, appearance, and behavior during the interview shaped our data
collection and research as a whole. We cannot unravel or
quantify which of the factors outlined above was more
influential than another. Nor can we speak objectively
about how exactly these forces functioned, or the precise
impact of these. This is because they are often omnipresent and imperceptible, or embodied and difficult to articulate, and because of the way that we reconstruct narratives
of the past in light of new experiences and new identities.
Our analyses therefore illustrate our key argument: that a
more explicit focus on the reconstructed nature of reflexive accounts is required. They support our claim that we
are ethically obliged to ensure that reflexive accounts
explicitly acknowledge that we cannot fully capture our
role in data production.
What we have provided above are particular, temporally bound accounts that are as much stories of the past
as they are stories of our contemporary selves. They are
inevitably (and to some extent strategically) attempts to
portray ourselves as insightful, qualified researchers and
academics. We hope to have made a modest contribution
to current understandings of the partial and mythical
nature of not only qualitative research findings, but of our
reflections on these. We have not, however, questioned
the importance of reflexivity for enhancing qualitative
research. Reflexivity is a necessity, helping us to better

Qualitative Health Research 21(9)

understand the cocreated, situated nature of research
findings. Although we do suggest that more advice on
exactly how researchers can come to identify their selfstory, their assumptions, and their epistemological standpoint would be useful to early career researchers. Our aim
has not been to redress this gap or to provide how-to
guidelines, but to contribute to a more nuanced understanding of some of the issues reflexive researchers face,
and in doing so, to sharpen current perspectives on producing ethical qualitative research.
It is one thing to know on an intellectual or intuitive
level that we have an effect on other peoplethat we
shape our research encounters and cannot be completely
objective in our interpretations of these; it is another thing,
however, to document when and in exactly what way. We
cannot know or articulate the effect we have on others
(which changes depending on the person). We cannot
know how we are being perceived by our participants, or,
of particular importance, exactly what self-stories and
assumptions they bring to the research. The researcher can
endeavor to make his or her comprehensive standpoint
and/or self-biography explicit for private and/or public
examination, but ultimately we cannot achieve this, and
we cannot evade its influence. Angen (2000, p. 383) articulated this:
We cannot step outside of our intersubjective
involvement with the lifeworld and into some
mythical, all-knowing, and neutral standpoint. . . .
By our very being in the world, we are already morally implicated. Our values and beliefs will show
themselves in our actions whether we stop and think
about them or not.
Hindsight and distance do not allow us to see the past.
They provide a different view of this. Our memories are
obscured and reimagined over time. Narrative epistemology helps us to open up a space where we can recognize
this; where we can be explicit about what we can and cannot achieve through our reflexive accounts. To improve
our research skills and to enhance researcher transparency,
we should continue to be reflexive; to throw as much light
as possible onto our research practices and processes. We
should do so, however, within a framework that more
overtly recognizes the reconstructed nature of our reflections. This will contribute to creating more nuanced and
ethical accounts of our qualitative research endeavors.
Authors Note
This article is based on our doctoral research studies, undertaken
in the School of Sociology and Social Work at the University of
Tasmania. Ethics approval was granted by the University Ethics
Committee.

Bishop and Shepherd

Acknowledgments
We thank all of the participants who graciously shared their
private stories with us.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The authors declared no conflicts of interest with respect to the
authorship and/or publication of this article.

Funding
The authors received no financial support for the research and/
or authorship of this article.

Notes
1. Postmodern approaches to identity are of course widely
varied (see Butler, 1993a, 1993b; Danet, 1998; Halberstam, 1998; Harraway, 1991; Heelas, Lash, & Morris, 1996;
Touraine, 1997). Furthermore, it is not our aim to examine
the varied attempts to distinguish self from identity
(see Ashmore & Jussim, 1997; Gergen, 1968; Jenkins,
2004; Swann & Read, 1981). In line with most narrative
approaches to identity, we use the terms self and identity
interchangeably.
2. Nevertheless, some researchers have tried to capture the
ways that their multiple or fragmented selves shaped their
research, depending on which self was given prominence in
a particular context (see, for example, McDowell, 1998; Pini,
2004; see also, Etherington, 2004).
3. Although in the literature different authors have used slightly
different terms, they are referring to the same idea: the selfnarrative (Gergen & Gergen, 1984, 1988; Polkinghorne,
1991); narrative identity (Ezzy, 1998a; 2000a; LuciusHoene & Deppermann, 2000; Somers, 1994); and narrative
self-understanding (Rosenwald & Ochberg, 1992).
4. Accounts of the utility of thinking of identity as a personal
myth initially arose, and continue to be discussed, within
psychoanalytic and social-psychological frameworks (see
May, 1975, 1991; McAdams, 1997). These terms however,
have been adopted and extended by narrative theorists
working within the social sciences. We argue that narrative
understanding and terms such as mythbiography (Passerini,
1990) and personal myth capture the same meaning. This
view is in part shaped by the subtlety of accounts of narrative truth (see Bruner, 1987).
5. Pseudonyms are used throughout. Ethics approval was
received for both research projects from the combined university and health department Social Sciences Human Research
Ethics Committee.

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Bios
Emily C. Bishop, PhD, BA, is a lecturer in the school of
Sociology and Social Work at the University of Tasmania,
Launceston, Tasmania, Australia.
Marie L. Shepherd, BHSc, BN, RN, is a PhD student in sociology at the University of Tasmania, School of Sociology and
Social Work, and a child and family health nurse for the
Department of Health and Human Services in Launceston,
Tasmania, Australia.