Three weeks ago, I was not entirely sure what to expect from the early stages of my research project. Looking back, I realise the challenges I spent time preparing for were, in fact, not the ones I had to face. I expected my desk to be overflowing with reading materials, spending evenings meticulously examining data and immersing myself in the theoretical frameworks surrounding empathy development. Because of this, I had strategically planned my days to ensure I balanced time to prepare materials, test participants, analyse data, and still fulfil my personal commitments. I did not, however, consider the possibility that things might not go to plan. Over the last three weeks I have navigated changes to my research focus, adapted to my role in experimentation, responded to unexpected challenges with patience, and adopted an empathetic lens when approaching participants.When I first met my research team, my supervisor explained how our data collection in the subsequent 6 weeks would integrate into a larger, longitudinal project ongoing with a research team in the UK and Uganda. I was both grateful and inspired to be part of the exploration of such an important, yet understudied area of child development. However, I left the meeting uncertain of how I would produce a comprehensive 3000-word report and academic poster from only 6 weeks of researching a highly complex journey of cognitive development. Whilst I was excited to discover what our research would uncover in the long term, I decided to adapt my initial research question and focus on a more specific aspect of the developmental mechanism. So, I began my literature review, keeping in mind the parameters - namely time constraints - and considered what was feasible whilst still supporting my initial goal to cultivate a more culturally inclusive scientific community.
Later that week, we reviewed our methodology and received training on how to carry out our experimental tasks. I soon discovered that testing children using experimental behavioural measures involved some very dramatic performances from us researchers. We prepared a puppet show, a false injury, and a mishap with a box of beans. Having been unprepared for the prospect of such engagement in testing, I felt nervous about executing what I had learned accurately, so as not to compromise the validity of our data collection. As our first week of planning, training, and preparation came to an end, the pressure was building as I anticipated the move into Week 2 where we would begin our data collection phase and meet our first participants.
To be completely honest, when I received notification that our first two participants had cancelled I felt a slight sense of relief. I told myself I had more time to practise my lines and continue my reading, but really I was just delaying the inevitable first testing session, afraid of getting it wrong . This sense of relief soon washed away along with my various other rationalisations, and impatience soon crept in. I knew my lines and my reading was coming along steadily - now valuable research time was being lost. Having already been concerned that 6 weeks would not allow for sufficient data collection, another week down with no testing left me increasingly apprehensive. However, I reminded myself to be patient and focussed on preparing for the session scheduled later that week, hoping it would go ahead. Thankfully, it did! We finally tested our first participant and I came away having learned a lot. Following the session it was clear to me the importance of piloting experimental tasks before finalising them. Initially, spacing our participants far apart fed into my impatience and concerns about our volume of data; we had a method, why not execute it? I then understood this gave us the opportunity to critically evaluate how our measures functioned in practice and adapt tasks to ensure they were suitable and relevant to our sample.
By Week 3 I had reached a turning point. Everything appeared to be progressing as I hoped; I was more confident in my performance during tasks and participants were arriving on schedule. However, there was a challenge I hadn't anticipated: even if participants show up, it doesn't mean they will engage. Drawing out participation from children was not an easy feat and it required adaptation, patience, and perhaps fittingly, empathy. Rather than viewing participants as sources of data, I needed to step into their shoes and acknowledge their distinct characteristics and perspectives. It prompted me to change my approach to getting these children out of their shell, yet one technique did not fit all. I now appreciate the importance of recognising individual differences and maintaining flexibility within such an objective and controlled scientific environment; and doing so does not detract from the integrity of the research. As expected, many participants demonstrated varying levels of empathetic understanding relative to their age group. Yet fascinatingly, they displayed this through highly diverse behaviours not often accounted for in textbooks, which illustrated the tangible and context-dependent nature of empathy expression in children. Having seen this first hand, I am looking forward to using thematic and behavioural analyses to turn our observations into quantitative and testable datasets.
Writing this reflection and seeing the progress we have made has eased my initial doubts about whether we would collect sufficient data within the six-week timeframe, and I now understand the meticulous nature of scientific investigation which cannot be rushed. Working with children has taught me that whilst organisation and planning are important, the ability to respond to uncertainty is vital. As I enter the latter half of my research period, I will carry this adaptability, patience, and empathy forward and use any challenges as tools to further refine and deepen my learning.