Written by Tracy Morison
Let’s be honest: reflexivity is one of the most overused and under-explained terms in qualitative research. We all say we’re being reflexive—often in a neat little paragraph in the methodology section—but what does that actually look like in practice?
This post is a practical (and hopefully honest) attempt to answer that question. It’s aimed at students and early-career researchers, especially those using feminist or critical qualitative methods, but may also be useful for more experienced researchers looking to deepen their practice. Think of it as a field guide to doing reflexivity in real life: not just writing about it, but using it to enrich your thinking and deepen your analysis.
Let me start with a story
Years ago, I was interviewing a woman as part of my doctoral study of reproductive decision-making. At the end of the interview, she turned the tables and asked me, “So when are you getting married?” I told her I was about to have a commitment ceremony. She nodded and calculated out loud: “OK… March, April, May… NOVEMBER!” We both laughed—she was jokingly suggesting that I’d get pregnant straight after the wedding! I smiled politely and said, “Oh no, I have to finish this PhD—that’s like my number one child.” We laughed again.
Later, when I listened back to the audio, I cringed. I’d completely sidestepped the fact that I didn’t want children (at least not biological ones). Instead of voicing that, I colluded in a shared narrative that naturalised heterosexual marriage and reproduction. In that moment, I wasn’t just collecting data—I was part of it.
This moment became a hinge for reflection. It helped me think about power dynamics in interviews, the expectations we carry into research encounters, and the silences we don’t challenge—not just in participants, but in ourselves.
What reflexivity is NOT
Reflexivity is not a performance; it is a practice. It needs to be woven into the doing and telling of your research. This is crucial, and I return to (hammer home) this point later.
Reflexivity is not about perfect neutrality, or creating a semblance of this. It’s about showing your hand: being transparent about the interpretive lenses you bring to designing and doing research.I love how Linda Finlay puts it, she says that reflexivity demands we “step out from behind the protective barriers of objectivity” and open ourselves—and our work—to scrutiny. It takes guts.
Reflexivity is not about writing a confessional autobiography or a laundry list of ‘positionalities’. Nor is it a tick-box technique to make our research look rigorous. It’s a process—a sometimes uncomfortable one—that challenges us to:
- interrogate how our identities, values, and assumptions shape the research,
- notice the power dynamics we co-produce in our relationships with participants, and
- examine how we listen, interpret, analyse, and write.
This means showing how your social position, interpretive decisions, and the specific context shape the project at key moments throughout, from beginning to end.
So how do you actually do it?
Here are some concrete, tried-and-tested practices for building reflexivity into your research.
1. Keep a research journal (and actually use it)
I am always pleased when my students provide some concrete way to practice reflexivity in their research proposal. Most often this involves using a research journal. Journals are a great way to track thinking, reactions, and emerging insights over time. They can be digital or handwritten, structured or messy. But let’s be honest. How many of us have abandoned the promised research journal because we didn’t know what we should be writing?
Reflexivity includes noticing how your ideas evolve. Use your journal to track moments that shape your approach to your research. For example, a participant challenged your assumptions, you changed your mind about what the data is saying, or a theme shifted in meaning over time. These shifts are often key moments of learning and should be celebrated, not hidden.
In addition to more generally tracking shifts in your thinking as the project unfolds, guided prompts are a good way to generate meaningful reflection. For instance:
- What assumptions am I bringing into this interview or analysis?
- How do I feel about this participant/story/finding, and why?
- What do I want to find? What might I be avoiding?
- How is my own identity or social location (e.g. gender, race, class, professional status) shaping this interaction?
And remember, reflexivity is not just about the researcher but also the broader social, political, and contextual forces that shape the study and its findings.
Another helpful approach is to habitually write short entries after key moments (e.g., after interviews, after coding sessions, or when you feel stuck). I try to write (or voice note) soon after each research encounter. After interviews, you might use the journal to record your reactions to participants and interviews or to note any discomfort, confusion, or assumptions that come up. This is how I captured the anecdote that I started with.
2. Reflect out loud—with others
In addition to a supervisor (or yourself!), talk to a trusted peer or research collective. Say things you might not write in your thesis or paper. Ask:
- “What am I not seeing?”
- “What am I avoiding?”
- “What might this response mean in light of my position or the research context?”
Reflective conversations can expose blind spots, validate hunches, and help you sit with ambiguity.
3. Write reflexive memos during data analysis
Don’t just code and move on. Pause to write about why you’re interpreting something a certain way, what drew your attention, or what theoretical ideas you see emerging. These memos can include:
- Interpretive decisions (e.g., “I grouped these quotes because they reflect neoliberal ideas about personal responsibility”)
- Questions about your assumptions (“Am I over-emphasising this theme because it aligns with my values?”)
- Tensions or contradictions in the data
- Include ‘meta’ notes in your transcripts
Capture moments that felt significant during interviews or group discussions: a pause, a laugh, a change in tone, something you said that changed the dynamic. These are often clues to deeper meaning. Mark points where you felt tension or uncertainty—these are often where power, identity, or normative assumptions are at play. Similar techniques can be used for other kinds of data too.
4. Analyse ‘trouble’ and ‘repair’ in interactions
Look for places where things got awkward or went off-script: a participant challenges your question, answers something you didn’t ask, or sidesteps a topic. These “troubles” are revealing. Ask yourself: “What made this moment difficult? What did I do in response? What discourses or power dynamics might be in play?”. (I say more about this in an article co-written with my PhD supervisor after completing my PhD.)
5. Revisit your own silences
As Mazzei suggests, listen to yourself listening. What didn’t you say or ask? Why? Were you trying to protect the participant—or yourself? In the anecdote above, my silence was about not disrupting social harmony. But it reinforced a heteronormative narrative and kept the “taken-for-granted” intact.
Build reflexivity into your write-up
Once you have these rich reflections, it’s time to actually use them. I cannot stress this enough: don’t relegate reflexivity to a few sentences in your methods chapter. Be transparent at key moments in your writing about how you shaped the project.
The introduction, method, analysis and discussion sections are places where this can be done. For example, the introduction to a thesis could include a brief narrative of how you approached the research and why and you might reflect in your discussion or conclusion about how your values and assumptions shaped your reading of the data.
A useful practice is to reread journal entries and memos before analysis and when writing up—you’ll often discover interpretive gold. That is, after all, one of the reasons to engage in reflexivity: to help illuminate the data and our findings.
Reflexivity is emotional, not just intellectual
One of the things we don’t talk enough about is how personal this work can feel. Reflexivity brings us face to face with our own discomfort, defensiveness, and contradictions. That’s not a flaw—it’s part of the process. As Wanda Pillow writes, “reflexivity should make us uncomfortable. It should trouble us.” So don’t be afraid to feel a bit messy. Just don’t stop there. Write it down. Sit with it. Talk it through. Then use it to deepen your thinking, your ethics, and your analysis.
A few final thoughts
There’s no one “right” way to be reflexive. But there is a difference between using reflexivity to check a box and using it to learn. It’s the difference between “adding a paragraph” and transforming how you think about your research. So my challenge is this:
- Make space for reflexivity from the start—not just in your methods chapter.
- Embrace the awkward moments. They often hold the most insight.
- Be honest with yourself, and generous too.
You don’t have to get it perfect. You just have to stay open.
Recommended reading
These are some pieces that shaped my own thinking about reflexivity
- Braun, V. (2000). Heteronormativity in focus group research. Feminism & Psychology, 10(1), 133 – 140.
- Etherington, K. (2007). Ethical research in reflexive relationships. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(5), 599–616.
- Finlay, L. (2002). Negotiating the swamp: the opportunity and challenge of reflexivity in research. Qualitative Research, 2(2), 209–230.
- Pillow, W. (2003). Confession, catharsis, or cure? Rethinking the uses of reflexivity as methodological power in qualitative research. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 16(2), 175–196.
- Mazzei, L. (2007). Silent Listenings: Narrative Interpretations of Silence in Research. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(1), 113–127.
About the Author
Tracy Morison is a feminist psychologist and qualitative researcher based in Aotearoa New Zealand. She is Editor-in-Chief of Feminism & Psychology and associate professor at Massey University. Her work focuses on reproductive justice, gender, and the politics of health and care.