The Ambiguity of Lived Experience: Standing Between Two Truths
There is a tension I have been carrying for some time.
It has become more visible over the past few years as I have found myself spending more time in academic spaces, contributing to book chapters, collaborating with researchers, engaging with leading criminologists, and participating in conversations that challenge many of the assumptions underpinning the lived experience movement.
The strange thing is that I agree with much of what is being said. That admission feels uncomfortable.
Not because the arguments lack merit. Quite the opposite. The evidence is compelling, critiques are thoughtful, and questions being raised deserve attention. Yet I also recognise something else. If I were to share some of these debates without context, there is a real possibility that people who are only beginning their journey could hear something very different from what is intended.
They might hear that lived experience no longer matters, their aspirations are misplaced, and the very space they have worked so hard to enter is somehow flawed beyond repair. That is not what I believe.
And that is where the paradox begins.
For much of the past two decades, the movement has focused on visibility. Across criminal justice, addiction, homelessness, mental health, and social policy, people with direct experience of systems that affect their lives fought for something many others took for granted. They fought to be heard. The argument was simple. People should not be spoken about without being involved in conversations that shape decisions affecting them.
It was a powerful argument because it was true.
Many of us dedicated years to opening doors that had remained closed for generations. We challenged assumptions and questioned expertise that existed without proximity to the issues being discussed. Demonstrating that knowledge comes in many forms.
Slowly, things began to change.
People with lived experience found their way onto advisory groups, research projects, boards, conferences, and policy discussions. New opportunities emerged. Organisations began speaking the language of participation and inclusion. The movement gathered momentum.
I was part of that journey.
Through writing, podcasting, leadership programmes, public speaking, and community development, I have spent years advocating for greater recognition of experiential knowledge. I have watched people who once believed their past disqualified them discover that it could become a source of insight, credibility, and contribution. That work remains important.
But increasingly, I find myself sitting in rooms where the conversation has moved on. The question is no longer whether lived experience should be included. The question is what happens after inclusion. That shift changes everything.
It introduces a level of complexity that can feel unsettling. Suddenly, the discussion is no longer about access alone. It becomes about power, legitimacy, representation, accountability, and influence.
· Who gets to represent lived experience?
· Who decides which voices are heard?
· Does one person’s experience allow them to speak for many?
· Can lived experience itself become a form of gatekeeping?
· What happens when storytelling becomes a currency?
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· How do organisations avoid extracting narratives while claiming to empower people?
· What responsibilities come with being recognised as a lived experience leader?
These are not comfortable questions. Nor should they be. The strongest movements eventually reach a stage where they must examine themselves. Success creates its own challenges. Recognition creates new power dynamics. Progress introduces unintended consequences.
What concerns me is that many people remain focused on reaching the first destination while others have already begun debating the second. One group is trying to get through the door. Another is questioning what happens inside the building. Both conversations matter.
The difficulty lies in holding them at the same time.
I often think about individuals who are beginning their journey today. People leaving prison, overcoming addiction and rebuilding their lives after years of adversity. For many of them, the lived experience movement represents hope. It offers belonging, purpose, and the possibility that difficult chapters can become something meaningful.
I never want to undermine that.
At the same time, I believe we do a disservice to the movement if we refuse to engage with legitimate criticism. Movements do not mature through celebration alone. They mature through reflection. The challenge is that reflection can easily be mistaken for rejection. Critique can be interpreted as betrayal.
Questions can be viewed as attacks. Yet avoiding those conversations carries its own risks. Without scrutiny, tokenism flourishes. Limited accountability, representation becomes symbolic rather than meaningful. Lack of self-examination, movements can recreate the very inequalities they were established to challenge. Perhaps that is what I am wrestling with most.
I find myself caught between two truths.
The first truth is that lived experience has transformed countless lives, including my own. It has opened doors that once seemed permanently closed and enabled people to contribute knowledge that would otherwise have remained invisible.
The second truth is that lived experience alone is not enough.
A story is not a strategy. Visibility is not influence. Presence is not power. Recognition is not leadership. Those statements do not diminish the movement. They point towards its next chapter.
For me, the future lies in moving beyond the idea that lived experience is simply about sharing personal stories. The real opportunity is helping people develop the skills, confidence, networks, and leadership capacity required to shape systems, influence decisions, and create lasting change.
That means investing in research literacy, governance, public speaking, writing, facilitation, negotiation, partnership building, and strategic thinking. It means creating pathways that move people from participation to leadership and recognising that experiential knowledge has enormous value while also acknowledging that no single perspective holds all the answers.
Most importantly, it means accepting complexity.
Our world is rarely divided into heroes and villains. The most meaningful change happens in the messy space between certainty and doubt. That is where I find myself today. Standing between two truths.
One hand reaching back towards those still fighting to be heard.
The other is reaching forward towards a future that asks more difficult questions.
I do not believe the lived experience movement is in decline. Growth rarely feels comfortable. It often arrives disguised as uncertainty. Yet perhaps this discomfort is a sign that the movement is entering its most important phase. Not the struggle to gain recognition.
But the challenge of deciding what we do with it once we have it.
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If this challenged your thinking, you’re exactly who I write for.
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