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Constant learning while doing autoethnography 

I've been doing autoethnographic work for several years. I study my own practices of sustainable living that constellates various elements of (extreme) minimalism, slow living, simple living/voluntary simplicity, and zero-waste. I've published two autoethnographic articles (this one and this one) and my third article is currently in press. Some of my other works, such as my first editorial in the journal Environmental Values, and my book, use my autoethnography too. I live this way for ecological, spiritual, and aesthetic (but also health-related and financial) reasons, and I study my practice to understand how sustainable living unfolds in practice, instead of simply saying to fellow humans what they should do (e.g., consume less!), without having done any of it myself. As a sustainability researcher coming from a critical realist perspective, I strongly believe in the unity of theory and practice. On my research path, I have naively thought that I have faced all kinds of situations. I have received wonderful, encouraging, caring feedback from my fellow humans from various walks of life. I have also received angry comments from fellow humans. Some find my lifestyle authentic and inspiring, while others find it privileged. An overwhelming majority of comments that I have received has been incredibly positive and kind. I believe that many humans stepping onto the path of autoethnographic research realise that this research method is still niche in some spaces/disciplines, that doing autoethnography may feel vulnerable. I felt that I had a good understanding of what autoethnography would entail. Yet, there is always something new that I'm learning. Recently, for example, an interesting situation unfolded. 

Story:

To me, writing autoethnography means being as authentic as possible. My data must be transparent, and preferably everything that I write must be written as soon as I experience something. Otherwise it becomes storytelling, and there are some issues with this (e.g., I might not remember all the events perfectly well, especially considering that I live with aphantasia). 

I wrote about my pregnancy in my autoethnography almost as soon as I found out that I was pregnant. It signifies an enormous change in my life. This pregnancy so far has been very difficult. I have been hospitalised. I've lost much weight. I constantly feel nauseous and dizzy, despite being on strong medications every day. My partner, due to his childcare responsibilities, cannot be with me every day. I have no support network here in Denmark (my best friend lives in England). This is the reality of my life currently, and to some extent it affects my sustainability practices. For example, I haven't been able to spend as much time with nature as I would like to. I have been contemplating shaving my hair off (which would mean inviting a new object into my life) because I struggle to wash it in the shower due to dizziness. 

I decided to tell some fellow humans in my life about my pregnancy later on, most likely after the first scan in the beginning of the second trimester. I was hoping to share this information first and foremost with the following fellow humans: the readers of my autoethnographic work, my close colleagues (so that they can support me; e.g., my wonderful colleague at the journal where I serve as an associate editor helped me with some of my tasks when I was feeling unwell), my stepfather, my partner's stepmother and father (they have been incredibly kind and supportive), my partner's brother and his wife. Other fellow humans, such as my partner's mother, his child, the child's mother, my brother and grandmother would wait until the end of the first trimester. After all, it is my personal news, and it should be my decision who I share this news with and when. 

Yet, an acquaintance of my partner's mother was apparently following my autoethnographic work and told her about my pregnancy. It is both funny and somewhat sad. It is funny because this is something I have never taken into account when I began working on my autoethnography. It has never been something that crossed my mind as a possible occurrence. Ever. And I consider myself a good researcher. This situation is somewhat sad because I believe that when it comes to personal news, it is good to allow humans to share it whenever they themselves feel is right. At the very least, the fellow human in question could message me to ask if it's ok to share my news with a fellow human being. It is also sad because my autoethnography is my scientific project first and foremost. I hope to encourage fellow humans to consider sustainability practices, to reveal various nuances and struggles of walking a path of sustainable living. My data is not just a window into my personal life (e.g., who I am with, whether I am pregnant or not). This situation reminded me of the early days of my relationship with my current partner. Us stepping on the path of being together was complicated. He divorced his wife for us to be together. Since I'm a researcher, it is very easy to find information about me (my name, my public profiles, my photographs). Once I discovered that the aunt of my partner's ex partner was looking at my profile on LinkedIn. Of course anyone can look it up (here it is), but my hope is that my fellow humans search information about me and my life to learn something about sustainability, to give feedback on my work, to ask questions about my work, to get inspired to live more sustainably, to share their own experiences of navigating sustainable living, and so on. 

I do not have any negative feelings towards those fellow humans who seek information about me for other purposes (such as to satisfy their curiosity or to gossip), but in this case I still hope that they would consider learning about sustainability practices too, and eventually be curious more about these practices than about the very intimate details of my life.