The Four Whys

I have an ambiguous relationship with the word ‘why’. Some I love. Some provoke a strong reaction against the question or a 'rabbit in the headlights' freeze where my brain has no idea how to process or understand the question. 

So here we go with the Four Whys

1. There’s the criticising why of ‘Why didn’t you do the washing up?’
2. There’s the being curious (and autistic) why of ‘Why didn’t you do the washing up?’.
3. There’s the a-ha moment why of ‘This is why you didn’t do the washing up.’
4. There’s also the condemnatory ‘This is why you didn’t do the washing up’

And, yes, you spotted correctly. Sentences 1 and 2 are identical. Sentences 3 and 4 are identical. And there's not much difference between 1/2 and 3/4 as words on the page.

And yet the four sentences have four very different meanings of why.

Understanding why there are four whys involves unpacking some of what goes on with communication that goes way beyond words on a page. 

In all communication, meaning is a glorious combination of:

• Words 
• Intonation 
• Body language 
• Culture 
• Past experience between the two people
• Past experiences with other people
• Current context 
• Current emotions 
• Current energy, resilience and health 
• Other things occupying the person’s mind

Clear communication that reaches a shared understanding of the meaning of a sentence depends on two people decoding and interpreting all of these in a more-or-less the same way. 

It is hardly surprising there is so much mis-communication in the world, and that's even before we start thinking about the challenge of communicating across neurotypes. 

I've found the most helpful approach in all situations is to assume good intent and to be curious. I would prefer to get it wrong that way than by assuming ill intent when none is meant. 

I find it wonderful how frequently everyday good-enough communication occurs when people have a desire to communicate. 

And, as an aside, I'm not posthumously diagnosing Erving Goffman as Autistic (although I guess I am). However, if he was autistic and had written Presentation of Self in Everyday Life as a guide for other autistic people on navigating social relationships, he couldn't have done a better job. It transformed my ability to choose when and how to make others feel at ease in different social settings rather than them feeling awkward at my social awkwardness. 

Footnotes and the neurodivergent writer

 I write with footnotes. Footnotes have replaced the parentheses that were littered through my writing. I used an eclectic mix of brackets, commas and dashes, depending on the type of parenthesis or my mood that day.

I still free-write chaotically. However, I now edit most of the parentheses out the main text and into a footnote. Why? Parentheses tend to disrupt the clarity of the story or narrative. I prize clarity highly and I can see how the parentheses within the text are disruptive. Yet, diversions feel essential to me as a neurodivergent writer.

I am autistic, and as a writer I can be pedantic about the need to qualify an assertion or provide additional context. As a reader, my concentration gets broken when I hit something that I feel needs more explanation or context for me to process what I’m reading.

I also have ADHD which, for me, means linear thinking is an impossibility. I need to draw connections and show people some of the treasures I found down rabbit holes.

And that brings me to footnotes and the neurodivergent academic writer.

I still thank Gideon Calder in my head every time I sit to write. He became my main doctoral supervisor and I am amazed he still has hair and that it hasn’t gone white. He was the person who suggested using footnotes for my thesis.

Footnotes provide a simple way to alert a reader to additional context or connections without disrupting the flow. As a writer, it enables me to craft something that means the reader isn’t left struggling to find the key information or flow in an argument. As a reader, other people’s footnotes let me postpone diving down the rabbit hole of wanting to know more in order to assimilate what I am reading. For me at least, the tiny superscript number doesn’t distract from the flow of reading because my brain doesn’t try to read it.

Endnotes and footnotes fulfil this purpose. However, having a footnote at the bottom of the page means it is easy to glance down to check the additional context or connections whenever suits. I value this highly. The act of flicking to the end of a chapter or paper destroys the flow of my thinking about what I am reading.

Footnotes will not work for all writers or all readers. However, if your writing is littered with parentheses, you may want to explore their use.

 

Getting to know Collis

I tend to refer to myself as Collis at times rather than Anne or Dr Collis. I thought I’d explain what is caught up in that decision. It isn’t as simple as being an academic affectation; it relates to identity, belonging and being known.

I went to a boys’ school where your last name was your only name.  [I’m not trans, being at a boys' school is a long story for another day]

Later, the term ‘You’ve been Collised’ got used as a short hand for someone having had a whirlwind landing in their lives, enthusing, inspiring and moving on leaving people in a state of shock. [Usually used as a friendly term, but I’m sure you can see the downsides…]

In Crossfit circles, I became used to ‘Oi, Collis’ aimed at whichever members of the Collis family were training that day.

Now it’s used by a few people as a term of affection and respect. To them, I am the phenomenon known as The Collis.

There is an academic context too.

I will never forget Inger Mewburn, the Thesis Whisperer, coming to Bangor University to talk about academic writing. At some point, she used the phrase ‘academics are known by their writings’. It stuck with me. I'm still musing on it (and using my notes from her sessions) some nine years later.

Some academics will only ever know me as Collis because they will never meet or interact with me except as I am visible in what I write.

It is an odd feeling that people I have never met, who do not know Anne Collis, can know something of who I am through my writing. It is even more peculiar to think that, somewhere, there is a disembodied identity called 'Collis' that is not-me but also me.

It is going to get even stranger later in 2026 when Collis and Collis start writing short monographs together under the banner 'Lessons from a Botanist'. The identity work involved in that is going to be fun. Both Collis' did undergraduate degrees in botany. From there, their paths diverged.

One continued in plant science research before moving to researching third sector organisations, leading a research team with colleagues with learning disabilites (oh, wait, both Collis' did that but not at the same time!) and through all that developing insights into sociology.

One shifted rapidly to sociology and accidentally found themself academically involved with organisational management, knowledge mobilisation and autism research.

We've been talking about our frustration that organisational and sociological academic work doesn't learn from botany. 

2026 is the year we will begin to be 'known through our writings'.