the role of my observer

My goal is to write a blog entry right after I interview when it is still fresh in my mind. However, I had my third interview on Monday afternoon and I am just now fully digging into my reflections on it. If the last interview was characterized as being emotional, then I would describe this interview as being pained. Monday's interview was shorter than I had expected, yet still very rich, of course. The participant is originally from another continent and I was hoping to get the chance to explicitly hear him speak about the different cultural perspectives on miscarriage. Clearly, I have this belief that there is a cultural difference, which is not founded by any means so far. A noteworthy bias, indeed.

Outside of our interview, I have heard this fellow remarking about how he has never lived by himself before. He said that, at home, he always slept with his family members in the same room and when he came to the United States, he was with his partner. Now when he returns to his homeland, he is not used to sleeping with so many people in the same room and when he takes any space from others that he needs, people in his culture, his community assume that something is wrong with him. They think that he is upset when he spends time alone.

It was very apparent to me from the start that Monday's participant was anxious about the interview. He and I have worked on a project in the past that focused on boy's and men's issues with sadness and crying. It was then that I shared about my experiences, which, I assume, led him to feel comfortable enough to tell me that he had also experienced a miscarriage with his wife. My sense is that he felt compelled to push himself to share his story with me on Monday. When I approached him to participate, he made comments implying that he needed to be more open and share his feelings. Because I noticed these comments, I repeatedly asked him if participating was really something he wanted to do and made it very clear and assured him that he could change his mind at any time.

It was difficult to observe this man tell me about his experience. He had chosen to tell me at his office, which I think we both realized quickly was not a space that he felt safe to completely open up in. I don't think he would have opened up to me completely anyway, nevertheless it is necessary to have more privacy than thin office walls can provide. He was so clearly distressed about telling his story that I began to feel very sad and worried that I had participated with him in opening up something more than he had anticipated. I praise him for respecting his limits and stating that he had reached the end of what he was comfortable sharing. He stated that the interview had been helpful, but had not made anything better for him. He was, however, interested in being able to share the recording and transcript of his interview with is wife.

I must admit that I felt disappointed as I walked to my car after this interview because I had not had the chance to explicitly ask him about cultural perspectives on miscarriage. Now, it is very likely that this information is embedded in his narrative, but just not on the surface. So, whatever. What truly disturbed me, though, was observing that part of myself that was disappointed by not having this opportunity. In a single moment, it became apparent to me that at some point, unbeknownst to me, listening to men talk about their experiences of miscarriage had become less about them sharing their story with all its complicated thoughts and emotions and more about gathering data from them. I felt very gross when I saw this exploitation. Is it selfish? I do want to gather useful data to produce the highest quality report that I can. Yet it is shocking to me that I had not even seen this transition from fellow miscarriage experiencer to research data collector. I mean, I don't think I am one or the other, but rather more one than the other, like the two are extreme points along a spectrum. I feel embarrassed and a bit ashamed to disclose this here for all to read and I also had hesitations about doing so out of fear that potential participants might read about this and judge me as not a safe person to open up to. And would they be wrong? Yet it is what it is, ugly and all, but it is also not a fixed position along this spectrum. I trust that now that I have observed this and am more aware of this potential, I am less likely to be overcome by that data-grubbing researcher part of me. We, humans, are such silly, complicated creatures.