Turning Uncertainty into Action: Interview with Hema Thakur
Research journeys are rarely linear. They’re filled with detours, pauses, and sometimes, unexpected setbacks. In her TEDx talk “Beyond the Numbers: Turning Struggles into Strength,” Hema Thakur, Manager, Skill and Knowledge Development, Cactus Communications, reflects on how unfinished research and moments of doubt shaped not just her academic path but also her understanding of resilience, truth, and purpose.
In this candid conversation with Radhika Vaishnav, Ph.D., Managing Editor of Editage Insights, Hema opens up about navigating uncertainty, staying motivated during research blocks, and redefining what it means to succeed in academic and creative work. Her reflections remind us that setbacks are not endpoints but stepping stones to deeper growth.
RV: “Beyond the Numbers,” you talk about navigating unfinished research and personal setbacks. Could you share a specific moment when you felt the most uncertain, and how you overcame it?
HT: Honestly, uncertainty was a constant companion. It just kept changing shape. Before I even began, it was the raw “what will I do?” kind of uncertainty. Once I started, it shifted into “how do I actually do this?” And later, when my models didn’t yield the insights I’d hoped for, it turned into the more existential “why is this happening; why me?”
It’s almost funny, because as someone who studied statistics, I should’ve been more at peace with the idea that uncertainty comes in different forms. There’s aleatory uncertainty, or the randomness you can’t eliminate, and epistemic uncertainty, which comes from what you don’t yet know. My journey mirrored that: some of it was pure chance, some of it was knowledge gaps.
Overcoming it depended on the type. When I didn’t know enough, diving deeper into the literature helped. When I felt stuck, just getting into the work and setting the ball rolling made a difference. And when limitations were unavoidable, I had to practice acceptance, not out of complacency, but from a mindset of “okay, this is real. How do I work with it now?” That shift turned uncertainty from a roadblock into part of the process.
RV: Research often comes with unexpected pauses or reversals. What helped you stay motivated during those gaps?
HT: I actually wrote a whole piece on this called “Let the Words and Inspiration Flow: Tips to Cure a Researcher’s Block”. In it, I describe the scene so many of us know too well: “You’re sitting in your room charged up on caffeine (with another mug at your desk for good measure). The air is calm and quiet, and free of distractions. The conditions are perfect to get started on your dissertation. And yet, you don’t.” That moment of being frozen despite everything being “perfect” is real. I talked about strategies like dividing your goal into 1% shifts, lowering the “activation energy” to get started, managing choice paralysis, and remembering your why. But I’ll admit, practicing what you preach is the hard part. When I hit pauses in my own work, I often had to revisit those very reminders I was writing about. Sometimes it was as simple as shifting focus to a smaller, technical task instead of the “big creative one.” Other times, it was about reframing my expectations: accepting that not finding what I hoped for was still progress, because “research leads to research.” In the end, what kept me going wasn’t just discipline, but compassion for myself and the process. A block doesn’t mean failure; it’s just another stage in the cycle. And if nothing else, those caffeine-fueled standoffs with my laptop taught me that motivation often returns once you start moving, even in tiny steps.
RV: You mention resilience as a key outcome of your journey. How do you define resilience in the context of academic or creative work?
HT: For me, resilience feels less like being an unshakable oak and more like being a blade of grass. The oak stands tall, but it can snap under enough force. The grass bends with the wind and then straightens back up. That flexibility—what some might even call “sensitivity”—is actually what makes it strong.
I’ve often been told sensitivity is a weakness, but in research it became one of my greatest strengths. Placing myself in other researchers’ shoes, thinking about how they might overcome setbacks similar to mine, even engaging with people through surveys, like hearing firsthand how they navigated something as real as inflation, reminded me that resilience is not about shutting feelings out. It’s about staying open enough to adapt, connect, and keep going despite the friction.
In that sense, resilience in academic or creative work isn’t a rigid refusal to break down; it’s the ability to bend, to absorb the storm, and then rise again with new understanding.
RV: Truth emerged as an important theme in your talk. How did you uncover—or perhaps redefine—the “truth” you were seeking in your work?
HT: I’ve come to see truth in research as something provisional: everything is “true” until it’s challenged or debunked by another researcher. In that sense, truth is always our version, anchored in the evidence we have, but never the final word.
That’s why I was conscious of not letting my own preferences bias my recommendations for other authors. To counter that, I even turned to a large language model experiment on sequence and order, just to see how a machine might structure things without the weight of my subjective leanings.
Of course, bias is inevitable: confirmation bias, selection bias, and so on. That’s why I’m naturally skeptical about “proven” hypotheses. For example, imagine I observe that it rains every day for ten consecutive days. Can I conclude, “it always rains here”? No, my sample period is too small. A single sunny day would upend that “truth.”
What fascinates me is how truths can coexist without canceling each other out. There’s this Big Bang Theory episode where the characters are crushed because one paper claimed symmetry, another claimed asymmetry, and they thought their work had been invalidated. But eventually, they realized both could be true simultaneously, just in different ways, and that insight made their contribution even more valuable.
To me, truth in research works like that: parallel, layered, and sometimes even contradictory. The challenge is not to chase one final truth but to stay open to multiple truths unfolding over time.
RV: Many readers struggle with starting or completing long-term projects. What practical strategies or mindsets did you adopt that others might find helpful?
HT: My own research was relatively short-term, but I’ve had the chance to work alongside long-term researchers. I noticed that while some challenges overlap, others are almost opposite. For me, the limitation was not enough data. For them, it was too much data.
I once interviewed Dr. James Abdey, an assistant professor at LSE, for a podcast we ran for editors. He made a striking point: “If the sample size is large enough, anything becomes statistically significant.” And he’s right. In long-term research, you’re often swimming in data. The danger is that patterns will appear significant simply because the numbers are so vast, even when the relationship is spurious.
Take the example of alcohol consumption and teacher salaries. Both might rise at the same time, and a huge dataset will show a strong correlation. But that doesn’t mean one causes the other. A more plausible explanation is that the overall economy is doing well, which in turn affects both.
That’s why one of the most important mindsets is discernment: being careful not just about crunching numbers, but about interpreting them. Long-term projects can feel endless, so breaking them down into manageable stages (what I call “1% shifts”) really helps. But equally important is remembering that significance isn’t everything; context, causality, and meaning matter more.
RV: Your experience turned personal setback into strength. What advice would you give to early-career researchers or writers facing similar challenges today?
HT: When I hit setbacks, I often asked myself: “What would someone like Brené Brown do?” She’s one of us in a way…her findings are grounded in research, and her work carries that rare balance of rigor and humanity. You can trust her because she hasn’t just studied vulnerability and resilience, she’s lived them.
If I were to sketch a Brené-Brown-style map for struggling researchers, it would probably have four points:
- Permission to be vulnerable – Acknowledge the self-doubt, the messy drafts, the false starts. They’re not detours; they’re part of the path.
- Courage over perfection – Ship the paper, submit the abstract, ask the “obvious” question. Perfection stalls; courage moves.
- Connection as fuel – Talk to peers, mentors, even non-academic friends. Sometimes resilience is borrowed until it’s built.
- Meaning above metrics – Remember why you started. The citations, the impact factors, the accolades—they matter less than the fact that your work is part of a larger human conversation.
And, of course, I’d add a fifth: watch my TEDx talk!! Because if nothing else, hopefully it serves as proof that setbacks can turn into stories worth sharing.
Hema’s journey offers a refreshing perspective for anyone working in academia or creative fields: resilience isn’t about pushing through unscathed, but about bending, adapting, and finding meaning in the process. By embracing uncertainty, staying open to multiple truths, and choosing courage over perfection, she shows how struggles can become strengths—and how unfinished research can still spark lasting insights.
For early-career researchers and writers, her story is both a comfort and a call to action: your challenges don’t diminish your work; they enrich it.
