The Moments That Make It All Worth It

Academia can sometimes feel like a constant cycle of deadlines, revisions, and metrics. There are hours spent drafting grant applications, squeezing in writing sessions between meetings, and navigating service commitments that can feel invisible or undervalued. But every now and then, there are moments—quiet, often unexpected moments—that remind me why I do this work.

As a community-based researcher and critical disability studies scholar, the true reward lies in connection—in being in relationship with community members, students, and colleagues. These aren’t “small things.” These are rather the moments that make it all worth it.

Being a Gentle Qualitative Researcher

When I was conducting interviews for my doctoral dissertation—talking with people with intellectual disabilities across Ontario about their experiences with intimacy—I approached every conversation with care. I knew I was being trusted with vulnerable stories, and I wanted each participant to feel seen, heard, and respected.

One young woman and I had a rich, flowing conversation. After our interview ended, I thanked her, we debriefed, and she left. A few minutes later, she returned. She handed me a small, folded piece of paper and left again.

It was a handwritten note thanking me for being “gentle” and “kind.”

That word—gentle—has stayed with me. It’s easy in academic circles to reward what is bold, assertive, even aggressive. But gentleness can be radical. To be gentle is to lead with care, with openness, with humility. That note reminded me that how we show up in research spaces matters just as much as the data we collect. It shaped how I train students, write about methodology, and advocate for accessible, respectful research practices.

A Badass Student Moment

Not long ago, I attended a student-led conference. One student was presenting a research project she had envisioned and carried out—one that called out gaps in disability services and pushed for more accountability. She was bold, creative, and unapologetic. I was in awe.

After her presentation, I walked over to where she was standing by her poster and told her, genuinely, “I’m proud of you. That was fearless. You are badass.”

As I walked away to visit another poster, I overheard her telling her peers, with a huge smile, how much it meant to hear that. She wasn’t saying it for my benefit—I don’t think she knew I could hear. But I heard. And my heart filled with quiet joy.

As educators, we sometimes underestimate the weight of our words. A sentence said in passing, a moment of recognition—it can linger in someone’s memory, maybe even change their trajectory. We are so focused on delivering content and grading assignments that we forget we’re also shaping confidence, identity, and dreams.

Re-Energizing Conversations

I’ve been told that when I talk about my research—on disability, sexuality, intimacy—something shifts. That my face lights up, that my passion is contagious. I used to find this embarrassing. Now, I wear it proudly.

Students, both undergraduate and graduate, have told me that after we meet—whether over coffee or during office hours—they feel more inspired to write, to keep going, to believe in their work. That kind of feedback is the opposite of imposter syndrome fuel. It’s a reminder that being genuinely excited about your work, and inviting others into that joy, is itself a form of mentorship.

In a system that so often depletes, we need spaces of re-energizing. I hope I create those spaces, even unintentionally.

In Conclusion: The Joy Through Others’ Joy

What links these moments is that they weren’t about me seeking validation or recognition. They were about being present, about connection, about showing up with care and intention. The joy came not from an award or a citation count, but through the joy of others—participants, students, peers. That joy is real. And it’s more than enough to keep me going.