Negotiating multiple identities as a school-based researcher

When I began a research project investigating the relationship between mindfulness and prosocial behaviour in junior schools, I anticipated methodological challenges, ethical considerations, and recruitment hurdles. What I hadn't fully anticipated was how challenging it would be to slip between different roles – teacher, researcher, facilitator, practitioner – all within the same working day. As a psychologist, conducting research in schools didn't just mean managing logistics – it meant navigating who I was and how I presented myself to others, in each moment.

I had once been a full-time primary school teacher. Years later, after volunteering in a Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) programme, mindfulness became a personal and professional interest. Eventually, this led me to train as a mindfulness practitioner and to develop a school-based research project, with a focus on how mindfulness might influence children's behaviour. 

The publication of my encouraging findings (Crompton et al., 2024), where children were voted as more helpful by peers and showed more reciprocal relationships after the mindfulness intervention, shortly followed less positive media attention due to the findings of the large MYRIAD trial. Knowing what I know now about delivering mindfulness in schools, it was of little surprise to me that a national scale study showed disappointing results. Through my own experience of delivering mindfulness in schools, I learnt first-hand how important teacher buy-in really is, as well as the numerous compounding factors which can influence the effectiveness of any mindfulness intervention.

What emerged, however, during this work, wasn't just findings, it was a constant internal negotiation of identity. I was a novice researcher of psychology, a former teacher, a trained mindfulness facilitator, and a mother. Each role brought expectations, instincts, and biases that shaped how I interacted with staff and pupils – and how they interacted with me.

Researcher

I first contacted schools wearing my 'researcher hat'. I wanted to appear professional, credible, and prepared, carefully crafting emails, setting agendas for meetings, and turning up with folders and forms in hand. I was acutely aware that a positive first impression could shape everything that followed: how helpful staff might be, how open they'd feel, how willing they'd be to accommodate my research.

I experienced various levels of acceptance from school staff, with most showing polite enthusiasm about the project. During one meeting, however, I remember the teacher sighing repeatedly, even putting his head in his hands, saying it would be difficult to fit 'this mindfulness stuff' into his weekly timetable. His reaction stayed with me throughout the project, shaping how cautious I felt about asserting my needs as a researcher.

Looking back, I don't think I was fully prepared for the emotional labour involved in negotiating access to schools. As a full-time teacher, I had been a member of this intimate community, blissfully unaware of how tightly-knitted it can feel to an outsider. I remember feeling a weight of pressure during those initial meetings – keen to be seen as competent, organised, and easy to work with. I led with my researcher identity, hoping it would carry the right kind of authority. But perhaps in doing so, I unintentionally distanced myself from the very people I was hoping to build rapport with. 

In hindsight, I wonder whether leaning more openly into my experience as a former teacher might have made me feel more grounded – and perhaps helped school staff feel more connected to me, too. Introducing myself in a way that acknowledged our shared experiences in education might have set a different tone, one rooted more in collaboration than formality.

Teacher

Despite years away from the classroom, my internal teacher was alive and well. When I observed class behaviour, I instinctively judged it using familiar standards: Were they listening? Was I in control? When a class responded noisily during an introductory session, I felt myself slipping into old concerns: Am I losing authority? Will this result in a lack of respect from this class in future interactions?

I empathised deeply with the teachers I worked with. I knew what it was like to lose your planning time to meetings or have your classroom taken over by an external visitor. I tried to be as accommodating as possible, aware that pushing too hard might sour important relationships.

There were moments during the project when I felt my old teacher instincts taking over without me even realising it. When a class was noisy or disengaged, I caught myself interpreting their behaviour through a familiar lens – one shaped by years of managing classrooms, maintaining control, and reading the room for signs of disruption. It was automatic, almost muscle memory.

But I wasn't there as their teacher. At least, not in the traditional sense. That realisation unsettled me at times. I had to learn to pause and question whether my reactions were serving the purpose of the research – or just echoing a role I was used to playing. My teaching background helped me empathise with staff and understand school dynamics, but I had to be careful not to let it dominate how I responded to the children or shaped my expectations of them. It became a balancing act: allowing my past to inform my presence, without letting it dictate it.

Mindfulness Practitioner

When it came to delivering the mindfulness curriculum, a new identity took centre stage. I wasn't just teaching – I was modelling what it meant to be accepting and non-judgmental. I wanted to be different from the teacher I once was.

But when behaviour became challenging during sessions, I was torn. Part of me wanted to embrace their energy with mindful acceptance; another part of me wanted to regain order using familiar teacher strategies. I struggled: Was I being permissive? Or just present?

On one occasion, five boys disrupted a mindfulness activity by giggling and pulling faces. I responded by gently opening up a discussion with the whole class about distraction and attention – what it looks like, what helps, and how we can support one another. But that internal conflict surprised me – those quiet moments of tension between who I thought I should be and how I actually felt. As a mindfulness practitioner, I wanted to embody non-judgemental awareness. But when children were disruptive, or when sessions didn't go to plan, the old teacher in me resurfaced – wanting structure, control, and clear boundaries.

These moments of discomfort were where the real learning happened. I didn't have to choose between being a practitioner or a teacher or a researcher. Instead, I began to experiment with ways of showing up that were both grounded and flexible – structured enough to hold the space, but open enough to respond with kindness and curiosity.

Adapting over time

I kept returning to the question of how I presented myself – and why. In truth, I was all of these identities, but I didn't always know which version of myself to lead with. My identities began to overlap. I stopped seeing them as separate hats and started viewing them as a blended practice. I used teacher techniques to gain classroom focus but kept the tone of a mindful facilitator. I introduced mindfulness with enthusiasm but grounded it in evidence-based research when talking to staff. I was still mindful of staff's time, but less apologetic about what the project required. The more I allowed people to see the layers behind what I was doing, the more connected and human the whole process began to feel.

The project taught me that researching in schools is more than data collection. It's about human relationships. It's about recognising that your presence, your tone, your history – all these elements influence how your research is received and how meaningful it becomes.

To those planning to step into schools as researchers: think carefully about the roles you bring with you. Acknowledge the tensions. Embrace the overlaps. And most importantly, use these identities not as burdens to juggle, but as tools to build bridges between theory and practice.

Because in the end, it's not just what we study – it's how we show up while we study it.

Dr Katie Crompton

Research Fellow

University of Warwick