As a woman of South Asian origin, and a woman of faith, I have used a variety of platforms to share my journey into academia and leadership, alongside the distinct barriers I have faced along the way. The more I have shared, the more people have wanted to know, and it was almost jokingly that I said to my manager one day “if only I could be the research subject, and just write a thesis on my own journey and the hurdles I’ve overcome”. It was at this point that the word autoethnography was first put in front of me. At the time, I didn’t quite believe that I could, or should, be the subject of my own research. 

Autoethnography is a reflective analysis of personal experiences within broader cultural contexts, offering a vital framework to navigate the complexities of self-reflection, and allowing us to examine the intersecting influences of heritage, gender, and socio-economic background. Examining how these factors have shaped my own leadership development, I am repeatedly drawn back to the experiences of racism, discrimination, the imbalance of power and the systemic injustices I have faced. However, alongside these barriers, I am also reminded of the friends, allies and strangers who have supported me, guided me, uplifted me and opened doors that seemed firmly shut.

It’s been sometime since that initial conversation. And while I am not taking an autoethnographical approach in my current PhD research, my story is refusing to stay on the sidelines and is becoming deeply interwoven into every part of this academic journey, in every discussion and in every piece of writing.

Narratives contributing to the discourse on diversity, equity and inclusion in academic leadership, offer indispensable insights into the lived experiences of racially minoritised academics. But painful questions still remain. When institutions perpetuate the very stereotypes and assumptions present in media and the wider society, how do we continue to progress? How do we survive in an environment that demands our excellence, but then weaponises our visibility?

The toll of navigating these spaces forces us to evolve into socially acceptable and digestible beings, stripping us of our identities and our voice. To exist in systems that were not built for us, nor accommodate us, our survival is chained to the refusal to be silenced. And while we mourn those who rest in power, we must honour their legacies, by rising in power.

I am resilient, because I have to be. 

I am outspoken, because I need to be. 

I am broken, because the system was never made for me.

I stand, because I have the right to be seen.

I fight, because of the barriers in front of me.

I rise in power.

May he rest in power, and peace.