ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

What methodology is appropriate? Here are some thoughts that came up for me:

1. I want to sound like ME. Thesis formatting is so rigid and linear, so opposite to how my mind works. Does any mind function in this manner? In my graduate studies, I have expressed graduate-level thinking through modes like crochet, animated videos, storytelling, and short films. I’m de/reconstructing what is considered “good”, “academic”, “rigorous” schoolwork, and for what? Now I have to spend hours censoring, correcting, and professionaliz-ing myself? I hate AI, AND I understand why people rely on it when the demands push us to write like machines. How can my research resist dominant structures while truly reflecting what I mean in what I say?

2. I keep asking myself, who is this research for? Why am I doing this? If I create a “publishable” thesis or a “thorough” journal article, will the communities I advocate for in such work truly get anything out of it? Or will it stay siloed in “research world”, for academics to read, cite, critique, and reproduce? The research-to-practice gap is so profoundly evident in education. Do I really want to contribute to this? 

I don’t have easy answers to these questions, but I ease these tensions by adopting critical autoethnography, a methodology born out of similar questions: “We formulated autoethnography strategically as a mode of resistance to conventional ethnographic writing practices” (Bochner & Ellis, 2022, p. 15). Autoethnography addresses the need to “make human sciences more human” (Bochner & Ellis, 2022, p. 8), while critical autoethnography addresses the need to challenge oppressive sociocultural norms (Boylorn & Orbe, 2021).

I choose to represent my study as a multimodal website that engages with digital collections of writing, videos, crochet, and other artistic visual media (Coleman, 2021). I use a diverse range of data sources, which I analyze through Arts-Based Methods and Reflexive Thematic Analysis. Bartleet (2021) recognizes multi-modal presentation formats as opportunities to unlock broader social justice and artistic agendas in research. One example is Colin’s autoethnographic website (https://colinwebber.com), where they reflect on their Autistic identity and music-making process (Webber, 2011), which has served as a source of inspiration for me in creating a website for my thesis. It excites me to know that this work will not be stuck behind a paywall or black and white lines on a page. Autoethnography is a way of reaching audiences outside of traditional academia by creating accessible and evocative stories (Ellis et al., 2011). Arts-Based Research (ABR) frames crochet as my primary research language (Barkved, 2021). Just as Barkved (2021) utilizes digital drawing to explore "experiences, senses, and emotions," my stitching functions as an iterative process of meaning-making that anchors neuroqueer experiences into the physical weight and tension of the yarn. 

WHAT IS CRITICAL AUTOETHNOGRAPHY?

The “critical” in critical autoethnography uses critical theory and personal experience to challenge oppressive power structures (Boylorn & Orbe, 2021; Holman Jones, 2018). 

The “auto” refers to the self, or my own subjectivity and stories (Ellis et al., 2011). Adams et al. (2021) argue that autoethnography generates insights that would not be possible using other methods, particularly regarding the nuances of lived experience. Who is better suited to write my story than myself? My story is more than numbers, more than facts, more than places or things; it is love, despair, yearning, ignorance, joy, pride, and enthusiasm all in one. However, the sole act of sharing my experiences does not equate to autoethnographic research (Adams & Herrmann, 2023). 

The “ethno” indicates a sociocultural context. Autoethnography requires a working, in-depth knowledge of such a context by which researchers identify, explore, and sometimes challenge cultural beliefs and expectations (Adams et al., 2021; Adams & Herrmann, 2023). 

“Graphy” indicates expressing or representing something through a process of art or science. Adams and Herrmann (2023) describe two forms of “graphy” that autoethnography requires: the autobiography (the art of writing about one’s life) and the ethnography (the art and science of representing cultural expectations and practices). All together, critical autoethnography becomes the process, art, and science of writing about one’s life in relation to culture and power structures.

Critical autoethnography also interrogates the institution of academia itself. Academia is frequently critiqued for elitism and inaccessibility (Adams et al., 2021; Bochner & Ellis, 2022). Mykhalovskiy (1996) questions the true purpose and impact of having academics produce texts that circulate within academia to be read by only a handful of other academics. Furthermore, especially when considering autoethnographic work, the linear structure of academic research is often restrictive (Adams & Herrmann, 2023). Adams and Herrmann (2023) warn of autoethnographic research reports that strictly follow the "introduction-literature review-methods-findings-discussion-conclusion" formula, arguing that this "sterile formula" is not conducive to "good" autoethnography. They recognize that although researchers are encouraged to write this way, the format is generally a bad fit for autoethnography, and claim that autoethnographers who use this structure are likely unfamiliar with the creative demands of the genre (Adams & Herrmann, 2023). This voices the same barrier I have been experiencing. When I looked at how other scholars handle this institutional pressure to follow "proper" research rules, several strategies were conveyed for navigating this tension.

Kaufmann (2020) responds with the strategy of producing work that is so masterfully grounded in respected theory that its validity cannot be denied. In this approach, a researcher may follow required headings but ensure the theory is not something to add on, it would be something that bleeds through the writing (Kaufmann, 2020). She claims this satisfies the institution's hunger for "rigor" while maintaining the power of the narrative. Larsen (2008) addresses the requirements of his thesis by writing his methodology as a dialogue between his own "journey voice," a "critic voice," and his mentors. By doing this, he was able to do the method justice while remaining authentic to the vulnerability and intimacy autoethnography requires, using his critiques as a site for further autoethnographic inquiry. Denejkina (2021) breaks her academic writing into shorter sections and places them across each chapter to provide a continuous framework for her narrative.

I realize that by choosing to keep these prescriptive headings, I am walking right into what Adams and Herrmann (2023) called a “bad fit” for autoethnography. To counter the inherent inaccessibility in this structure, I employ the strategies of Kaufmann (2020), Larsen (2008), and Denejkina (2021). I aim to make my work undeniably grounded in theory, explicitly address the tensions between my creative processes and academic structural demands, and weave my art, crochet, and voice throughout a multimodal website that contextualizes academic language.

WHAT'S MY ROLE?

Reflexivity. Initially, the thought of writing about myself made me very uncomfortable. It seemed inappropriate to center my whiteness in a field that systematically rewards whiteness and oppresses BIPOC communities. I still hold this tension. At the same time, confronting these systems is not the sole responsibility of those most directly impacted by oppression. It is also of those who benefit from them. 

“Progressive white intellectuals who are particularly critical of ‘essentialist’ notions of identity when writing about mass culture, race, and gender have not focused their critiques on white identity and the way essentialism informs representations of whiteness” (hooks, 1992, p. 30). 

hooks (1992) is calling out how often white scholars like myself critique the way other identities get essentialized while leaving whiteness unexamined. Whiteness gets treated as something that is neutral, something that does not need examination, which is how it maintains its authority. When white critics refuse to see our own whiteness, we get to imagine ourselves as objective observers rather than active participants in the systems we are critiquing. hooks (1992) exposes the contradiction that we cannot claim to challenge essentialism while simultaneously protecting the essentialism built into our own identity.

This notion is what led me to critical autoethnography: the realization that, despite engaging in activism, adopting symbolic inclusive values, and having “good intentions”, I had yet to thoroughly examine my own whiteness and privilege. My positionality statement is not a one-time disclosure. My thesis, in many ways, IS my positionality statement. My positionality is inextricably tied to and woven through the entirety of this study. I prioritize the ethical responsibility to interrogate my own complicity in systems of power, committing to an ongoing process of becoming and embodying change (Holman Jones, 2016).

My role can be interrogated through what Hays and Singh (2022) define as a tool for self-reflection across three domains: the Researcher-Practitioner-Advocate (RPA) model. As I step into the role of Researcher, I engage in reflexive questioning and journaling. I interrogate the judgments I have carried about my own relationship with normativity and ask if I am implicitly judging my marginalized identities, such as my queerness or neurodivergence (Boylorn & Orbe, 2021). Hays and Singh (2022) define authenticity as striving for congruence between my inner world and the external text; thus, I will monitor whether my academic interpretations are actually aligned with my memories and experiences. I expect to find feelings of shame in my data, and as Jodi Kaufmann (2020) warns, this expectation might tempt me to "over-fit" my stories into a tragic story arc. Therefore, part of my reflexivity means allowing experiences to be nuanced, messy, and unfinished. I will practice unconditional positive regard for my process, accepting my incompetencies and assumptions as dimensions of my subjectivity rather than a failure of rigor (Hays & Singh, 2022). 

In my role as a Practitioner, I will employ the strategy of "waving the red flag," or stopping every time I use absolute language like "always" or "never" in my stories to uncover the "sometimes" that holds the real complexities of my realities (Hays & Singh, 2022). As Kawano and Kim (2024) suggest, I must ask how pervasive whiteness is as a cultural force in my own practice, noticing and taking responsibility for my stumblings and defensiveness. This overlaps with my role as an Advocate, where I acknowledge and reflect on the times I have unintentionally reinforced hierarchy by offering "good intentions" instead of actual justice. Stacy Holman Jones (2018) calls for an autoethnography that goes beyond personal growth and toward acts of social justice that connect the private to the public. Through a reflexive journal, I will document my thoughts, feelings, and reactions, asking myself critical questions to ensure my perceptions are truly aligned with the experiences I am uncovering (Hays & Singh, 2022). By engaging in these iterative cycles of self-reflection and acknowledging the privileges I experience alongside my marginalization, I use my lived experiences as sites of analysis (Boylorn & Orbe, 2021).

Participants. In individual autoethnography, the participant is the researcher, and the researcher is the participant. This is often categorized as a form of purposive sampling, where the researcher selects their own life experiences and relevant artifacts because they are information-rich cases that address the research question. The inclusion criteria for autoethnographic research are tied to having first-hand lived experience and possessing a particular cultural identity relevant to the study. In critical autoethnography, these criteria often focus on those living on the margins of society or those who have overlapping intersectional identities of marginalization. Regarding exclusion criteria, researchers often omit details or persons to maintain internal confidentiality or to protect others from potential harm. The context for participant selection for others in the study is rarely about traditional external recruitment; instead, participants are those who are already naturally implicated in the researcher's personal history (family, friends, community members, etc.).

I bring lived experience in the sociocultural context of white American schooling, both as a student and teacher, with intimate experiences in masking, being closeted, and feeling pressured by normative standards (Hays & Singh, 2022). This choice is a deliberate methodological strategy that aligns with the perspective of Adams and Herrmann (2025), who argue that personal experience carries unique epistemic potential that traditional, distanced methods cannot reach. While I am the only participant, I suppose my "others" are my past selves: the student and the teacher, entities in dialogue with one another, ensuring my work is a collective story of my shifting identity. Scholars and advocates are also brought in as collaborators, who are chosen to ensure the work is fundamentally grounded in anti-oppressive, critical frameworks (Holman Jones, 2016).

Ethical Implications. Tolich (2010) advises that I should treat my autoethnography as a tattoo, noting that public disclosures regarding my stories and identity are permanent. Since the process of interrogating my "good student" mask requires reliving instances of trauma and masking, I will follow Denejkina’s (2021) advice to enact self-care by controlling what is revealed and limiting my exploration of certain memories of mental health crises. Ultimately, as Kawano and Kim (2024) suggest, I will respect and respond to my emotions and mental health as a part of the research process, avoiding retraumatization and harmful performances. To further protect myself, I decided to adjust my research topic to my adult experiences instead of my previous focus, which began with childhood schooling experiences.

There is debate in the field on who counts as a participant in autoethnographic research. Because the degree to which other people are implicated is highly dependent on the study, there is no single or universal procedure for obtaining consent. Adams et al. (2022) suggest considering the timing of the research, the content, and how prevalent others are in the text. They hold tensions over whether a brief mention of someone constitutes the level of participation. To minimize harm, they suggest approaching participants as early in the process as possible. Tolich (2010) advocates for informed and process consent and questions acts of retrospective consent, claiming that doing so can have coercive implications. On the other hand, Adams et al. (2022) critique these claims of alleged coercion, saying it lacks nuance of the complex, diverse contexts researchers are situated in.

My journey specifically tracks my own internal processes, which does not explicitly implicate others. My main data sources are reflective journals and academic assignments. Adams et al. (2022) note several strategies for keeping information confidential, including giving pseudonyms, changing a person’s demographic information, creating composite characters, fictionalizing parts of a narrative such as time or place, and the use of artistic representation. My use of crocheting granny squares for analyzing data may serve an additional purpose of protecting confidential information through abstraction, which prioritizes the essence and meaningfulness over precise recounting of literal, identifiable details. Still, I will remain vigilant during data management processes, keeping Adams et al.’s (2022) other strategies in mind. Tolich (2010) also warns about the risks of internal confidentiality, noting that even if I use these strategies, people who know my history might recognize themselves in my writing. Reflexively considering these ethical concerns at play, I will commit to a practice of process consent, checking in with myself and potential others at every stage of the research to ensure that my stories remain a site of care.

My ethical responsibility does not stop with the people in my stories. Adams et al. (2022) remind me that I must also consider my audience. I can never fully know how the audience will react to my research. I understand that disclosing intimate details of my story may be unsettling. Knowing that I will be engaging others through my writing, art, and multimodal website, I justify the use of content advisories for any parts of my work involving potentially triggering content. I will continuously check in at every stage of the research to ensure that my disclosures serve the purpose of the study and are a legitimate call for justice.

Gathering Data. A diverse range of data enriches my study and will be used in conjunction with thick description and memory work to contextualize them. When engaging in ABM and RTA, this data will be analyzed alongside critical scholars as collaborators:

• Archival Educational Artifacts: school projects/assignments, teaching evaluations, and lesson plans will come from various storage spaces (laptop storage, Google Drive, email archives, and physical storage units). These provide a tracking system to contextualize my educational experiences and analyze traces of normativity throughout.

• Personal Artifacts: personal journals and multimedia art I have created related to school or experiences related to normativity will come from old diaries and sketchbooks, note-taking applications, and other digital archives. These provide my internal dialogues, or the deeper-seated emotions I was reckoning with.

When I begin gathering data, I will use an digital archive organized by year and type of data source. All raw data will be named to represent the type of data (e.g., personal journal entry) and the date originally created. Raw data will be stored in a secure network location with folders for each type (Nowell et al., 2017). I will use an Excel spreadsheet to log all raw data and to detail my progress. I anticipate data collection taking about one month to gather materials from my childhood home, online archives, and storage units. I will use critical theories such as Disability Justice, CRT, InCrit, and Neuroqueer theory as active lenses that inform which data to collect and how I relate them to past memories. Reflexivity throughout this process will ensure alignment and reflective practice. 

For some data sources, particularly graduate school assignments, I chose to make videos to represent my thinking. For these videos, my transcription will include paralinguistic cues such as pauses, sighs, or specific bodily movements. I will make minor grammatical adjustments to shorthand or abbreviations when it enhances the readability of the narrative without stripping its original nuances. Additionally, I will maintain reflexive journals to capture my thinking and responses to my younger self and will write descriptive context for each artifact.

The data analysis for this study is a systematic and reflexive process of meaning-making involving transforming raw data into a text, themes, and tactile art that bridges personal experience, cultural understanding, and critical lenses. This study utilizes Reflexive Thematic Analysis (RTA), following the six-step framework established by Braun and Clarke (2006): 1) data familiarisation and writing familiarisation notes; 2) systematic data coding; 3) generating initial themes from coded and collated data; 4) developing and reviewing themes; 5) refining, defining, and naming themes; and 6) writing the report.

In the data familiarization process, I will establish prolonged engagement with data, triangulate different modes of data collection, and document initial theoretical and reflective thoughts and judgments. This documentation will be in reflexive journals and through modes of crocheting granny squares. At first, the granny squares will be reflective of initial thoughts and judgments. As the process unfolds, more granny squares pertaining to themes will be developed. This is not a linear relationship; the granny squares inform themes as well. Nowell et al. (2017) claim that becoming immersed in the data involves the repeated reading of the data in an active way to search for meaning and patterns. I interpret this through crocheting. The intentional acts of choosing colors, patterns, and textures provide active involvement in searching and constructing meaning with the data. At the end of the project, I will construct a blanket made from the granny squares. 

During systematic data coding, I will focus on specific characteristics and attach labels through comments within each document. Braun and Clarke (2006) recommend that researchers give full and equal attention to each data item and identify interesting aspects in the data items that may form themes. When generating initial themes, I will orient myself towards the research question and literature. The research question relates to normativity, and the literature provides detailed examples of how normativity is embedded in schooling systems. The crocheted blanket may symbolically add to these squares. I am wary of the critique of deductive coding being less reflective of the data, and will try to balance the deductive nature of the literature and research question as guides while being open to the data. In balancing this, the crochet process invites a space of inquiry and opportunity that is nonlinear. Instead of pre-established criteria or linear interpretations, this process prompts questions and thoughts through doing and making.

Nowell et al. (2017) state that regardless of theme representation, it is important to have the data management process described in detail. To support this, my thinking can be tracked both visually through the blanket and textually in my descriptions of the blanket and reflexive journaling. They also warn not to abandon data or codes at this stage; even themes that may seem hardly relevant may later play a significant role or add nuance.

When developing and reviewing themes, codes are reviewed, and coherence is questioned. I will remain open to the changing, collapsing, reducing, broadening, specifying, rearranging, and refining themes. King (2004) suggested that if there remain any sections of text that are clearly relevant to the research question but are not included, the themes cannot be finalized. Hays and Singh (2022) encourage abductive analysis, which involves deliberately moving away temporarily to create time and space for hunches and intuition to reimagine data. I argue that crocheting also serves as a form of abductive analysis because, while crochet is a reflexive practice, I experience moments of calmness where the repetitive motion of the hook and yarn puts me in a meditative space where I am not “thinking”. Tamas (2022) describes this as a “slow scholarship”, which they claim is a necessary resistance against the excessive demands of neoliberal academic cultures. Crocheting helps me value my natural inclinations, where I can connect with my authentic self without the pressure of constant verbal processing that demands rigor over authenticity.

King (2004) advised that it is possible to go on modifying and refining definitions of themes forever, and one of the most difficult decisions to make is where to stop the process of development. Many autoethnographers argue that notions of completeness are impossible because our lives and stories are in a constant state of incompletion. Instead of searching for an objective stopping point, I will look for meaningful coherence, acknowledging that while my story could be explored from infinite angles, I will have provided enough thick description and thematic depth to represent the data ethically. In the final phase, I will synthesize my findings into an evocative report that articulates themes in a table, with crocheted granny squares accompanied by textual narratives. 

Traditional qualitative research often dismisses personal experience as being biased (Kawano & Kim, 2024). Thus, what constitutes “rigor” in autoethnography is a palpable tension in the field. Le Roux (2017) argues that when we try to fit autoethnography into standard qualitative markers like transferability or dependability, we miss the unique goals of the method. She suggests that because autoethnography can range from the highly evocative to the highly analytic to everything in between, the criteria used depend on the specific paradigm used. Le Roux (2017) proposes a five-point framework: subjectivity, self-reflexivity, resonance, credibility, and contribution.

Subjectivity and self-reflexivity are the basis and topic of this study. Resonance occurs when the audience connects intellectually and emotionally. My visual art and media come together on a multimodal website with layered, thick description that invites the reader to feel the experience from multiple access points (Le Roux, 2017; Bartleet, 2021). Credibility, according to Le Roux (2017), has less to do with credibility through checking findings against evidence and more to do with providing an emotionally authentic account. By showing emotional, descriptive, and critical nuances of a journey, it allows the audience to trust and enter the subjective world. In regard to contribution, Le Roux (2017) suggests that rigorous autoethnography must extend knowledge, empower others, or contribute to social change. This formal list of standards further complicates autoethnographic work. Critics warn that rigid checklists and criteria for autoethnography are precisely what autoethnography rejects. Still, I find Le Roux’s criteria helpful as a starting point in navigating autoethnographic research.

I will synthesize my findings into a thematic synthesis table. I recognize that utilizing RTA and displaying my data in this traditional table may fragment my lived experience into units, which is what I critique throughout this thesis. I recognize that the research process is nonlinear and messy, and that these themes overlap and intertwine with each other. I use these themes to locate patterns in my lived experiences and anchor my narratives in recurring themes. This table makes my thinking visual as a structural map that adds on complexities through multiple modes of representation. I will have photographs of the crocheted granny squares, similar to how I have done thus far, organized by themes. Thick, contextualizing description of the themes will accompany these photos to intertwine my lived experiences with critical theoretical lenses. The organization of moving from the clarity of the structural map to the reality of the craft ensures that the analysis honors the interconnectivity of my experiences as they are eventually pieced together into a blanket.