This was shouted at me during the first face-to-face workshop I had facilitated after COVID-19. I was working with a group of senior leaders that had previously only met virtually. In the run-up to this workshop, they had asked for it to be more experiential and less theoretical and that they wanted to be stretched. This is where I come in as that’s what I do I work with leaders to stretch their understanding of themselves through experiences, and reflection and with just enough theory to hang their hat on.

What had I ‘made’ him do that led to him to shout at me? I had invited him to check in with a fellow participant for two minutes in silence.

Much to his discomfort this was real life. And an example of what I call an ‘itchy armpit moment’. This is because high-stress ‘risky’ environments can trigger the release of hormones like adrenaline, which activates the apocrine sweat glands especially prominent in the armpits. But mostly because, many years ago, my friend drove too fast around a roundabout. As she described her experience, her aunt asked, “Did you get itchy armpits?”. On reflection, she realized she had!

Where this comes from

I have been interested in what happens under pressure since my first career, as a runner and then as a broker on an open outcry trading floor. Now, as a development practitioner working with leaders, I am fascinated by how being under pressure impacts how we trust ourselves, make decisions, take risks, what we say, and importantly, what we do. How we judge and justify under pressure reflects our integrity and our hypocrisies (West TEDx – link embedded).

To explore this more, I have developed breaching experiments which put on some pressure to see how I think, feel, and act. I then use different methods to reflect on these experiences to understand better what goes on in those moments, and to discern what is really at risk in here and out there. I have also been embedding breaching experiments within the leadership programs I facilitate as experiential exercises that develop the capacity to notice habits, presumptions, and narratives.

I am fascinated by how being under pressure impacts how we trust ourselves, make decisions, take risks, what we say, and importantly, what we do.

Breaching Experiments

I believe that itchy armpit moments have the potential to breach our expectations and even our identity. However, simply telling people to ‘get out of your comfort zones more’ is easy to say but putting it into practice can be difficult. Especially at work, when doing something different can feel risky ‘in here’ and may even be risky ‘out there’. This is where breaching experiments provide a relatively safe way to breach our ‘everyday’ experience on purpose.

Garfinkel (1967) initially developed breaching experiments to “cause trouble” to reveal these background assumptions, expectancies, and common knowledge that people took for granted and which underpinned everyday social life. This is because, in Garfinkel’s view, “we are all busy constructing a world in which we feel at home” (p.113).

How do breaching experiments translate into every day, especially when they can feel so risky? By experimenting in relatively controlled ways outside of your every day, you are much more likely to be able to experiment inside it. While breaching experiments can feel subjectively risky ‘in here’ they are not objectively risky ‘out there’. Knowing this consciously means being able to pay attention to inner narrations which inform how and why this might feel risky, and any presumptions being made about our own or others’ expectations or behaviors. What beliefs are held, and which values are valued.

Breaching experiments help to interrupt our comfort zones and unsettle our mental short-cuts. This allows us to tune into our inner narrations, and learn to distinguish between our hunches, the stories we tell ourselves, and perhaps even, the voice of our inner critic. Through these experiences, and reflection and with just enough theory to hang our hats on, we can step back and see ourselves in action. We can then reflect on who we are, what we want, and importantly what we do not want. Further reflection makes it possible to challenge presumptions about what we can and cannot do.

While breaching experiments can feel subjectively risky ‘in here’ they are not objectively risky ‘out there’.

On one hand, breaching experiments provide a wellspring of narratives about judgment, power, criticism, and perception of risk. On the other, they can develop hunches, curiosity, and importantly, a greater sense of self. They also help uncover how these narrations may be limiting or indeed, liberating.

Change happens at the edges.

The ‘silence’ exercise often brings up all sorts of responses. Some begin to gesture wildly, while others stare at the floor. Some write things down while others bond by choosing to make eye contact. In experiencing, and then reflecting on what they notice, participants are often surprised by the range of assumptions and inferences they can make in those two minutes. It quickly becomes apparent to everyone just how much their inner narrations shape their experience beyond what is, in effect, a room full of people sitting together in silence for just two minutes.

This is not about the ability to read the room. That is not the point of the exercise. That is the easy bit, as their experience is often tangible. As my colleague once whispered to me upon witnessing the two-minute exercise “They hate you right now”. It would be easy to conclude that as the exercise feels difficult, I should not make anyone do it. And if I wanted them to like me, I would not make them.

Finding the edge of the breach is part of the experiment. For example, another breaching experiment is to have dinner by yourself. When I did this, I quickly realized that having a phone or a book with me made it much easier. So, if you are going to try this take them away. As it was, I ended up ‘journalling’ on the back of a napkin. I told myself a pedantic truth that was ok as it was neither a book nor a phone. Anything rather than face what was going on I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me.

The ‘silence’ exercise often brings up all sorts of responses. Some begin to gesture wildly, while others stare at the floor.

Recently, I suggested this breaching experiment during a workshop. One of the participants said that it would not be much of a stretch for him as he regularly travels to Kazakhstan for work. He often eats in restaurants without a book or a phone because he enjoys having interesting conversations with the locals. I said that sounded quite adventurous, almost daring.

He agreed heartily. I then asked where he lived he said Coventry. I suggested he have dinner by himself on a Tuesday night, without a book or a phone in Coventry …. “oh no, bugger that! I’m not doing that!”. His tale of Kazakhstan tells the story of a person who is adventurous and daring ‘out there’. However, his reaction to having dinner alone in Coventry on a Tuesday evening said more about what feels risky for him ‘in here’.

As well as the 2-minute silence and dinner by yourself experiment you could try wearing an unexpected item of clothing all day without explanation, go to the cinema alone and watch whatever film is next, or drive at precisely the speed limit (presuming it is safe to). I find it is best just to get on with it and not think too deeply or too much about what you think will happen. Just decide to experiment and explore what occurs.

By doing something different outside of your everyday experience in relatively controlled ways, you are much more likely to be able to experiment inside it. You will learn to differentiate what feels risky ‘in here’ from what is (or isn’t) inherently risky ‘out there’ because you can hear, challenge, and develop the stories you are telling yourself. The insights that arise can be so rich and rewarding that eventually, experiments and reflection become part of your everyday.

Biographical Disruption

I now realize that the practice I have been developing has, in effect, been micro-dosing experiences in anticipation of a much larger breach. Beyond insights, narrations, and hunches there are some experiences that not only breach but they biographically disrupt.

I started treatment feeling well but it was necessary for me to be very poorly to become invisibly better.

While micro-dosing is usually associated with the practice of consuming very low, sub-hallucinogenic doses of a psychedelic substance, this metaphor works for both my wider doctoral inquiry into trust in self, but also specifically, as part of a biographically disrupting diagnosis caught early, but aggressive form of breast cancer.

Bury (1982) describes the diagnosis of a chronic illness as “disruptions in the biography which are, at the same time, disruptions of social relationships and the ability to mobilize material resources” (p180). A diagnosis of this kind can evoke a search for meaning from past events to try and answer, “Why me? Why now?” while expectations and plans for the future are re-examined.

Pranka (2018) describes how a life-threatening illness breaks an individual’s social and cultural experience by threatening his or her self-identity. When reflecting in my journal, what emerged was that it was not the diagnosis itself, but rather, the biopsy was enough to create biographical disruption:

“Then that puncture of the biopsy. That’s when everything changed. Adrenaline ran through my body, and I cried. I don’t think it was fear for the future or life-ending stuff. I felt a sense of shame that I hadn’t appreciated what others before me had gone through. When my Dad had lung cancer I focused more on the details of cancer, not realizing the biographical disruption he could have experienced. This is the stuff of biographical disruption. It’s not just a lump it’s an infinite number of potential, moments that we will now experience. People to meet and stories to hear. And I notice I don’t want to talk I don’t have the language and I’m not ready to find one. I left the hospital with their words: cancer, operation, radiotherapy, and chemo, along with suspicious and “you strike me as a fighter”. They’re all quite heavy words and that’s more than enough to be getting on with. Even if it’s just a storm in a teacup there is a storm and there’s still a teacup”

With reflection, nascent patterns begin to coalesce and connect what otherwise would remain disconnected.

West Journal 28th July 2023 – Biopsy Day

I have been asked if biographical disruption is not just another name for trauma, or if my inquiry is about learning how to heal from such an event. For me, it isn’t. For example, so much has come from the impact of chemotherapy. I started treatment feeling well but it was necessary for me to be very poorly to become invisibly better. In that time, I have reflected on who I am, how I see myself, how much I can tolerate, and importantly, the precious finite value of time and energy. While there have been traumatic moments, and without doubt healing is required this work is not about trauma or healing. It is much closer to learning and self-determination.

Biographical disruption is not a one-off event it creates a series of breaching experiences. The past, present, and future are being challenged every day, requiring reflection on what has been taken for granted, or moral positions unearthed to explore how things are different and what could be different (Denzin, 2018, 197). And then what is needed to think, feel, or do something different (Fletcher & Pine, 2012).

Intuitively biographical disruption stretches beyond the bounds of chronic illness. Many of you reading this will recognize your biographical disruptions, for example, through illness, an accident, or the loss of a loved one in whatever way they feel lost to you. You may have gone through a divorce or redundancy. And many of you might not.

Micro-dosing breaching experiences

By using different methods to reflect on breaching experiences, it is possible to notice where thoughts run in the moment. With reflection, nascent patterns begin to coalesce and connect what otherwise would remain disconnected. Invariably, this provides enough momentum to think, feel, or do something different on the ground.

One method I use draws on Turner-Vesselago’s (1995) technique for writers ‘Freefall Writing’ (Marshall, 2008). Writing to understand helps to reflect on experience and gives rise to new insights. This emergent process regularly generates truly new ‘aha’ moments (Gopnick, 2000) and symbolic growth experiences (Frick, 1983). These can occur as I am writing or after some time, upon further reflection. Marshall describes the process of Freefall as “keep the hand moving; don’t cross out; don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar; don’t think to write; show, don’t tell give the sensuous detail; and go where the energy is, which may be forward” (p.11). Below are the specific instructions I give to participants during a program.

People often ask if they could type instead of write. I’d say try writing first. There is something about writing that connects the words as they flow from the pen. Plus, we tend to associate typed words with written communication with others. Subconsciously, you may become aware of spellchecks and formatting. No one will read this except you, and maybe not even then. It is intended to bring the thoughts out and potentially, bring them together. It is not to present them.

Once, I was working with a network of CEOs. After introducing freefall writing as a method of reflection, one of them asked afterward “How can I trust what I’ve just written?” He explained that he had struggled with imposter syndrome for most of his career, and he had not always trusted himself. I asked him how he felt as he was writing “I trusted myself to write what I needed, whatever that needed to be”. He seemed genuinely surprised at himself.

Speaking to understand helps me reflect and make connections as the words arrive in my mouth, creating clarity through emergent articulation. In conversation with those I trust, speaking to understand helps identify and express inner narrations and presumptions out loud, and often provides potential for sharing and connecting hunches, anecdotes, and moral challenges. We can hear our words judging and justifying ourselves and others.

Spack (1985) might describe this as serious gossip (as opposed to malicious gossip) and creates “a catalyst of social process. It provides an opportunity for self-disclosure and examination of moral decisions” (p. 34).

Serious gossip is not just passing the time with small talk as that would undermine its value in being able to share experiences as part of a social system. It helps us make sense of our underdeveloped latent dissent, especially in confusing social systems. Speaking with trusted others develops the articulation of dissent (Kassing, 1997).

These emerging conversations are key in programs as it is where much of the learning happens where participants create their content and make connections for themselves and with each other. Continuing in action learning sets provides an ongoing opportunity to develop this method. There is also the old-fashioned kitchen table confidante someone to talk to who has your interest at heart (thank you, Lynn).

It is important to note that these methods will not necessarily provide definitive answers there are no certainties, and nothing is absolutely ‘true’. Yet they do provide enough to help locate a hunch – and with enough inferencing potency to provide a catalyst for further reflection or action.

A Working Theory

My working theory is that there is potential to breach, transform, or threaten our self-identity at any time. Using the micro-dosing metaphor breaching experiences correspond with Bury’s biographical disruption of a chronic illness. They are simply on a different scale.

I also notice they differ in how they are authenticated to others. There is often less to substantiate and more to discount when describing learning that occurs during a breaching experience, especially when compared to a medical diagnosis, for example. Who is going to argue with me when I say having breast cancer has changed the way I think, feel, or act? And yet I have been challenged when explaining how change has happened as a result of having dinner by oneself, or the aha moment that occurred when wearing a hat for no reason.

In combining these, I would even venture to extend Bury’s concept of biographical disruption to autoethnographical disruption. This encompasses reflections beyond the biography (the life story of a person written by someone else), or autobiography as a confessional tale (Sparkes, 2020, p6). Autoethnographies show people in the process of figuring out what to do, how to live, and what their struggles mean (Bochner & Ellis, 2006, p. 111, in Ellis, 2007, p26). By extending biographical disruption with the additional emphasis on the ‘ethnic’ aspect it is possible to draw explicitly on personal breaching experiences which intentionally ‘illustrate and interrogate cultural beliefs, practices and identities’ (Adams & Hermann, 2020, p2). I intend to show how significant breaches can occur when eating dinner by yourself, having a conversation with a stranger, or with the puncture of a biopsy needle – just some of the many disruptions experienced that can fundamentally shift thinking, feeling, and action.