House-sitting : A memoir of being an outsider in the room

I don’t come from an education rooted in research, but my education taught me something else: that I can be good at whatever I am passionate about. My journey into User Research began half a decade ago, with Dunning and Kruger on my back and the dream of being a really good Researcher in my mind. The dream is still the same. The two men still haunt me. But what’s changed over the years is what being a “good” researcher means to me.

It started with an interview. “We’re planning to start a research function, and it would be great if we could do it together,” they said. That sentence gave me a sense of ownership, continuity, even a feeling of being home. I joined a product company where the corner of the office I worked in was a melting pot of deep discussions, evolving hypotheses, and open debates. Over time, I started feeling more in control. I felt needed, embedded, visible.

Ownership is seductive. It promises control, continuity, a sense of home. But impact? Impact is sneakier.

A few months in, I found myself trying to measure research in ways that would impress people in rooms I wasn’t in. Top management wanted clarity on what value research added. Suddenly, I was split between the craft of doing good research and the task of making research visible.

I spent disproportionate time asking the questions many researchers wrestle with:

• How do you make a case for research?
• What does it take to get a seat at the table?
• How do you convince stakeholders to invest in research?

There are entire forums dedicated to these questions. And many of us are still asking them.

Two years ago, I made a change. I don’t remember the exact emotion I felt, but I do remember knowing something wasn’t working. The decisions I was making weren’t helping me grow.

People advised against it.

“You won’t have time.”

“Agency work burns people out.”

“Don’t leave a product role. It’s stable, long-term.”

And maybe they were right about some of it. But all that faded into background noise when I asked myself the questions that mattered most: Am I a good researcher? And what do I need to do to become one?

So I joined a research agency. I told myself this was my escape:

Escape from having to convince people why research matters.

Escape from debating ROI and relevance.

Escape from low UX maturity.

I believed that good researchers are shaped by their craft and I wanted to sharpen mine before I forgot what that even meant. But nothing about agency work is easy. Projects move fast. Timelines are tight. Deadlines are non-negotiable. And then there’s the context-switching. New domain, new brief, new users every few weeks. The last project closes and disappears from memory.

It’s a rollercoaster. And it will throw you off if you’re not ready.

Leaving a product company for an agency is rare. Some might even call it career suicide. But for me, it unlocked lessons I didn’t know I needed.

1.Breadth taught me to think in patterns

In product work, I was deep in one domain. Over time, I knew the users, the product language, the roadmap. It was a slow layering of understanding.

When I first joined agency work, the pace scared me. Every few weeks, I was dropped into a new industry, a new product, a new user group. I didn’t have the luxury to become an expert.

Instead, I had to become fluent in what matters. With time, I stopped clinging to specifics and started recognizing recurring user anxieties, frictions, and motivations across platforms, domains, and even geographies.

It trained me to abstract, to synthesize, to see the signal faster.

2. Constraint sharpen craft

In product work, I had time to perfect, to tweak discussion guides, run elaborate pilots, and linger in synthesis.

In agency work, there’s no such buffer. Timelines are tight, handoffs are rapid, and there’s always something new around the corner. I used to think this would compromise the depth of research. Instead, it forced clarity. I learned to separate what looks rigorous from what is rigorous.

Urgency didn’t dilute the research, it revealed what truly mattered.

3.Doing > Defending

In product work, I spent a lot of time defending research, pitching its value, educating stakeholders, asking for time and budget.

In agency work, I didn’t have to argue for research. I had to deliver it. So I focused on solving the brief.

It taught me how to act decisively, stay grounded in outcomes, and let the research speak for itself.

4.Being an outsider has its own kind of power

As an embedded researcher, you’re one of the team. You have influence, yes. But also bias. You become invested in what they’re building.

At an agency, I’m an outsider. I come in late. I leave early. I don’t always know the product or the politics. But that’s exactly why I can say the hard things. Ask the basic questions. Point out what people closest to the problem can’t see anymore.

Outsiders can get away with uncomfortable truths. They can name what others avoid. And sometimes, that’s where the real impact lies.

There are upsides and downsides to every role.

The feeling of home that I once had in product work isn’t entirely gone now. I’m still at home, except I’m a house-sitter in a new house every few weeks. It’s someone else’s house, but I’ve learned how to navigate it.

And in doing so, I’ve learned to be comfortable outside my comfort zone. To ask sharper questions, to trust my instincts, to grow without the control that depth brings.

Being an outsider is no longer something I fear.

Sometimes, it’s exactly what I need to become better at what I do.