Story, responsibility, and becoming
Holding the Fire
Personal Reflections
I did not come to this work through theory alone.
My research is shaped by the spaces I have moved through, the things I have carried, and the relationships that continue to guide me.
I often return to the question of what it means to do this work in a good way — to remain accountable to community, to story, and to the responsibilities that come with both.
This space holds some of those reflections.
At the Center of This Work
At the center of my work is not just research, but responsibility.
I think about that often, sometimes more than I think about the work itself. I think about how knowledge is carried, who it is for, and what it asks of me in return. These are not questions I can answer once and move on from. They stay with me. They shift depending on where I am, who I am in relationship with, and what I am being asked to hold.
There are moments where I feel the tension between what is expected in academic spaces and what I know to be true. I have sat in classrooms, in writing, and in conversations where I can feel that disconnect. Story is treated like data, timelines matter more than relationships, and the most meaningful parts of the work do not always fit into what can be measured or explained.
I have had to make a choice in those moments. Not to push those feelings aside. Not to reshape my work just so it fits more neatly. Instead, to stay with that tension.
I am still learning what that looks like. I am learning to move slower than I am told I should. I am learning to listen more than I speak. I am learning to trust that building relationships, taking time, and sitting with what is being shared is not falling behind. It is part of doing this work in a good way.
Sometimes this work feels like holding a fire. Not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet and steady way. It is something that needs attention. Something that cannot be rushed or left unattended. Something that asks me to be present, to be careful, and to think about how I carry what has been shared with me.
This work comes from lived experience. From what I have seen, what I have felt, and what I continue to witness, especially in how Indigenous women move through digital learning spaces that are not always built with them in mind. That reality stays with me. It shapes what I ask, what I notice, and what I feel responsible to respond to.
These writings are part of that process. They move through my past, my present, and the ways I am beginning to imagine the future. They reflect the experiences that have shaped me, the questions I am currently sitting with, and the directions this work may take as it continues to grow and change. They are not separate from my research. They are part of how it is formed.
Because of that, I do not experience research as something separate from my life. It is something I carry with me. It shows up in how I think, how I move, and how I connect with others. It changes as I change. The more I learn, the more I realize that this work is not about having answers. It is about staying accountable to the questions and to the responsibilities that come with them.
From Reflection to Practice
In my work, reflection is not separate from practice. It is how the work begins, how it shifts, and how it continues.
I have come to understand reflection as a form of story — not in the sense of something fictional or distant, but as something lived, carried, and shared with responsibility. Story holds what we have experienced, what we have witnessed, and what we are still trying to understand. It does not ask to be rushed or reduced. It asks to be listened to.
When I sit with these reflections, I am not only thinking about ideas. I am listening for what is being revealed. I am paying attention to where there is discomfort, where something feels incomplete, or where something important is not being held in the ways it should be. These moments are not interruptions to the work. They are the work.
From there, the work begins to take shape.
Projects like The Fire Inside the Screen and Echoes of Us did not begin as fully formed ideas. They emerged from these moments of noticing — from recognizing gaps in how Indigenous women are supported in digital learning spaces, and from asking what it would mean to respond differently. They are shaped by story, by relationship, and by a responsibility to create something that does not replicate the same forms of harm.
In this way, story is not something I add to my work. It is what guides it. It is what holds it together. And it is what continues to shape what the work becomes.