This is the second post in a mini-series of posts I am calling #AmIAllowed, which I am writing in response to questions I am asked by doctoral students on a fairly regular basis. I think, to some extent, I am asked these questions because academia is generally pretty opaque about the values that underpin different forms of research and writing, and how these shape our writing, our behaviors, and other people’s expectations of us (and our writing, reading, thinking and so on). In this post, I am focusing on a version of the question, ‘Am I allowed to reject some of my supervisor’s comments and suggestions on my writing, or do I have to do it all?’ You can replace supervisor here with peer reviewer, examiner or journal editor.

I have seen doctoral students tie themselves into knots and create incoherent texts because they are trying to respond to every comment every supervisor is making on their draft, as opposed to being given permission, overtly, to weigh the feedback against their own evolving argument and voice, and work out what to respond to and how, and what to push back on and why. Even if there is only one supervisor to respond to, which is increasingly less the case in many universities as joint supervision becomes more the norm, not all of the feedback – suggestions, comments, instructions – will be fully pertinent to your argument, and may, in fact, lead your argument away from where you are directing it. So, the short answer is ‘Yes, you are allowed to reject feedback you are given’. Conversely, you could put this as ‘You don’t have to do everything a reviewer of your writing tells you to do’. But there are caveats to this, limitations, perhaps especially when you are a doctoral student learning your argument-making craft and still in the process of becoming an expert in your area of study and finding your voice.

Perhaps a good place to start is to remind ourselves of why we give and are given feedback on written and other related research work (e.g., presentations and posters). We give feedback, in the first instance, in our capacity as a critical friend to a peer, a student, or a fellow researcher. The aim, always, is to be constructive and to offer comments, suggestions and questions that help the writer refine their argument, fill gaps that need to be filled, clarify claims, strengthen the use of evidence, and create coherent, readable and accessible texts for readers. In a nutshell :-). We are given feedback, then, to help us become not only better writers, but better thinkers and readers, too. Feedback is part of the overall act of joining a conversation, which is what every researcher is doing when they embark on a research project, big or small. So, I would argue, as in any conversation, there can and will be agreement, and disagreement. There will be feedback that is helpful, feedback that is challenging and hard to read but ultimately helpful, and feedback that is not pertinent or helpful.

I want to start at the end of that last sentence: with the feedback that is not pertinent or helpful. Why would it not be? Typically, in my own experience, feedback that I reject or push back on is that which asks me to write a different paper, or make a different argument to the one I am making, or feedback that asks me to make the argument or data larger than the framing of the paper (and the word count) allows. This has taken the form of, for example, requests for statistics, figures and details that will not necessarily add anything to the clarity or value of my argument, but that will add words that could be better spent elsewhere in the paper. Another example is comments that indicate the reader would rather I had made different claims altogether, because they would have found these more interesting or provocative than the ones I have made. I never reject feedback out of hand: all feedback needs to be carefully thought through. When I get these comments and suggestions, I have to think: ‘Why are they asking me for this? Is it because something is missing from this paper as it stands?’ If the answer is yes, then I have a plan for how to respond – add the data, reframe the questions, or indicate more clearly why the extra data is not necessary to the argument or why the questions are posed as they are and where they fit into the field. If the answer is ‘no’, I also have a plan for responding. So, the first point is that you need to know what changes or revisions you are choosing not to make, and why you are not making them, if you choose to reject or push back on feedback you are given.

But what about feedback that is not immediately either helpful or unhelpful, but is, rather, hard to read and hear because it is challenging? A good deal of feedback, from supervisors and peer reviewers, and examiners, sits here: these are the comments, suggestions and questions that make us think, that mean more reading, more research perhaps, certainly more writing. The feedback that means, as Pat Thomson has put it, re-working, re-thinking, re-visioning your argument or your work. This feedback sometimes is the stuff we want to push away and reject, because it asks for so much more work, work that is frustrating, exhausting, slow. But, this is the feedback to be most conscious of, I think. It may look, at first, as if you can brush past some of these comments or questions, either creating a simple surface fix, like changing a word or phrase, or just not doing it at all. But that would, most often, be a mistake. This feedback is offered with the intent to push you past where you think you can write and think now. It is supposed to be hard to respond to, because thinking work is hard work if we’re doing it well. These are comments, in my own journey, like: ‘I wonder if you have considered the research that challenges and critiques this point of view’. And ‘I’m not sure I would agree, here. Recent studies have shown that, in many cases, this is not what happens when processes break down. See X, Y and Z references.’

I could choose to ignore or reject this feedback, but what will happen when I put my argument out into the world, in published form? These readers and others like them will still have these hesitations and rebuttals, and may discredit my research, and have less respect for me as a researcher. Whereas, if I take the time to respond thoughtfully, even if only to point out clearly that I have considered the counter-arguments and have rebutted them in ways I explain in the paper, I will be more likely to be taken seriously and have a greater impact with my published research. We cannot expect that our supervisors, reviewers and examiners will always agree with us, or praise everything we claim or write. Part of being in academia is accepting a culture of critique, debate and challenge. This is not the same thing as accepting feedback written to be derogatory, cutting and cruel, to belittle you and make you feel small and stupid. That is not critical or constructive in the academic sense; that feedback is mean and unhelpful, and should be challenged where it is given.

Constructive, critical feedback meant to challenge and grow your writing and thinking can feel mean, sometimes, and arouses powerful emotions in us – shame, frustration, regret, sadness, anger. These are all normal emotions to feel when someone critiques what we have poured ourselves into, what has been hard to write or create (a chapter, a prototype, a journal article, a conference presentation). We need, though, to feel these feelings and then actively put them aside, so we can work out what is openly helpful feedback (which we can relatively easily respond to), what is challenging and tough but ultimately useful feedback (which may take time to think through and respond to), and what is not helpful for this paper, this argument, this project at hand (and therefore needs to be thoughtfully rejected, through explaining why the feedback is not useful right now). Getting stuck in these difficult emotions can lead to writing paralysis and stuckness, which can be a hard place to get out of.

You never have to do everything a supervisor, editor, examiner or reviewer tells you to do, or suggests you do. You are the author, the creator of that writing, and the argument and research being constructed. You have agency, and you are allowed to exert that agency within the academic spheres in which you are sharing your writing – within your supervision team, where you are the project leader and the person becoming an expert in your subject; within a viva, where you are now the expert and can converse with the examiners as an emerging peer; within a journal or book publication process, where you are now the expert, contributing to the ongoing conversation within your field of study with your new knowledge and insight. But, having said that, make sure, when you do push back or reject feedback and what it suggests or asks for, you know what you are rejecting and why, so that you can defend these choices as needed, and so that you use each writing-and-feedback process as another opportunity for learning, reflection, and growth.