Knowledge Belongs to Everyone: Reframing Feedback in Research Writing

I read a fascinating post by Virginia Braun, who reflected on an article about the peer review process. 

What struck me was the quote: “Knowledge belongs to no one and everyone at the same time.” 

At first glance, that statement may sound abstract or even unsettling. After all, if you are pouring your heart, energy, and time into a thesis, article, or dissertation, it can feel very much like your work. You have designed the study, wrestled with the data, and painstakingly drafted every section.

However, when we zoom out, research is never created in isolation. Every idea builds on what came before, every claim is tested through dialogue, and every publication is shaped by multiple sets of eyes: supervisors, colleagues, peer reviewers, editors. Knowledge is not a private possession; it is a shared, evolving conversation.

This reframing is important because it alters our perception of feedback. Instead of seeing feedback as an attack on “your” ownership, you can begin to see it as the natural flow of knowledge moving between people, disciplines, and perspectives.

The Problem of Defensiveness

Many doctoral candidates and early-career researchers I work with describe the same reaction when they open a feedback file: a sinking stomach, a rush of defensiveness, or even anger.

“They do not understand my work.”

“Why are they criticising me so harshly?”

“Do they even see the effort I put in?”

This is a perfectly human response. When we identify too strongly with our work, feedback feels personal. It feels like someone is criticising us rather than engaging with our ideas.

Nevertheless, this mindset makes feedback heavy and paralysing. Some scholars avoid opening comments for weeks. Others rush to implement every suggestion without discernment, erasing their own voice in the process. Neither response helps.

Shifting from Ownership to Stewardship

The first step is to adjust our perspective on ourselves as researchers. Instead of thinking, “This is my work and I must defend it at all costs,” try reframing it to: “I am a steward of ideas that join a bigger body of knowledge.”

Stewardship does not mean passivity. You are still responsible for shaping, clarifying, and strengthening your research. But it means you recognise that knowledge is something entrusted to you temporarily — to develop, refine, and then share with others.

This reframing has two immediate benefits:

It lowers defensiveness. If feedback is not a personal attack but a contribution to collective knowledge, it is easier to receive.

It sharpens focus. Your task is no longer to “protect your work” but to “improve its clarity and contribution” for the wider community.

Feedback as Dialogue, Not Verdict

Too often, researchers treat feedback as the final word. If a supervisor comments, it must be obeyed. If a reviewer insists, it must be implemented. This perspective breeds frustration and resentment.

Feedback is rarely absolute. It is one perspective, shaped by the context, expertise, or preferences of one person.

Think of feedback as dialogue rather than judgement:

A supervisor’s note is an invitation to clarify, not a command.

A reviewer’s critique is a perspective that adds depth, not the final truth.

Conflicting feedback is a reminder that knowledge is negotiated, not dictated.

When you shift feedback into dialogue, you gain agency. You are not a passive recipient but an active participant in the conversation.

Practical Strategies for Working With Feedback

Reframing is powerful, but it needs to be paired with practical strategies to realise its potential fully. Here are the steps I recommend to scholars I mentor:

1. Pause Before Responding

Allow 24–48 hours before taking any action. Let the emotional sting pass so you can engage with the comments more objectively.

2. Sort the Suggestions

Create three categories:

Essential: critical issues you must address (e.g., missing citations, unclear methodology).

Negotiable: points where you could respond differently depending on your argument (e.g., choice of theoretical framing).

Optional: stylistic or personal preferences that do not change the substance of your work.

This sorting helps you see feedback as manageable and prevents over-compliance. 

3. Use a Feedback Matrix

Keep a simple table with columns for:

Reviewer/supervisor comment

Your interpretation

Your response (accept, adapt, respectfully disagree)

Actions taken

This not only keeps you organised but also demonstrates professionalism when you resubmit. You can download the feedback matrix here. 

4. Practice Respectful Pushback

It is perfectly valid to disagree, but how you phrase it matters. Avoid emotional language. Instead, show appreciation, then provide evidence:

“I appreciate Reviewer 2’s concern about sample size. While I recognise this limitation, the case study approach is consistent with my research questions and with comparable published studies.”

5. Keep Your Voice Authentic

Remember: the goal is not to erase yourself but to polish your argument. Ask yourself: Does this change make my argument clearer, stronger, or more aligned with my research goals? If yes, accept. If no, justify your decision respectfully.

Examples from Practice

One of my clients once received two contradictory sets of comments: Reviewer A insisted she narrow her scope, while Reviewer B demanded she expand her context. Her initial reaction was panic: “I cannot please both!”

Through working together, she realised the deeper message: her framing lacked clarity. By sharpening the boundaries of her study in the introduction, she satisfied both reviewers without needing to “choose sides.”

Another student told me she felt like she was “losing herself” because she was automatically implementing every comment. Together, we developed a system where she highlighted suggestions in three colours: red for essential, yellow for negotiable, and green for optional. This gave her permission to keep her voice in the final draft.

These small shifts transformed their experience of feedback from anxiety to agency.

Why Feedback Feels Different at Different Stages

It is also essential to recognise that feedback changes in tone and weight depending on where you are in the research journey:

Early-stage (proposal and design): Feedback often feels overwhelming because it touches on foundational choices that can significantly impact the project. The key here is to view comments as a form of scaffolding. They help you establish a strong structure.

Mid-stage (analysis and drafting): Feedback usually focuses on clarity, logic, and structure. At this point, your job is refinement.

Late-stage (peer review for publication): Feedback can feel harsh, but it is often about aligning your work with the broader scholarly community. Here, it helps to remind yourself that the goal is not perfection but contribution.

Recognising these stages helps you interpret feedback with more perspective.

Sitting Comfortably With Critique

Every academic, from the newest PhD candidate to the most established professor, encounters critique. Major revisions are an expected part of the process. The key difference lies in how individuals respond to this feedback. Seasoned scholars understand that critique does not reflect their worth; rather, it is the currency of knowledge exchange. They anticipate it, embrace it, and use it to improve their work.

This response to critique doesn’t mean it stops hurting. Instead, it means learning to sit with that discomfort, feeling the sting without becoming paralyzed. It’s about using critique as fuel for growth rather than letting it instill fear.

Writing With Clarity to Reduce Misunderstandings

One reason feedback can feel discouraging is that readers sometimes struggle to follow what you mean. The problem often isn’t with your ideas, but with how they are expressed. Clear writing won’t eliminate feedback, but it will make it more constructive and focused on substance rather than basic comprehension.

Here are some practical strategies you can use:

Signpost generously.
Guide the reader through your argument. Use clear transitions (“First… Second… Finally…”) and section markers (“In this section, I discuss…”). This reduces confusion and helps reviewers follow your logic.

Keep sentences lean.
Break long sentences into two or three shorter ones. If a sentence runs longer than three lines, ask: Can this be simplified?

Stick to consistent terminology.
Choose one word for a concept and use it throughout (e.g., always “participants,” not alternating with “subjects” and “respondents”).

One point per paragraph.
Every paragraph should develop a single main idea. Open with a topic sentence, develop the point, then close with a link forward.

Avoid unnecessary jargon.
Technical terms have their place, but excessive jargon alienates readers. Ask yourself: Would a peer in another discipline understand this sentence?

Read aloud.
Reading your work out loud forces you to hear awkward phrasing and overly long sentences. If you run out of breath, your reader will too.

Read backwards (bottom up).
Start with your last sentence and work your way upward. This breaks the flow of familiarity and helps you see typos, repeated words, and unclear phrasing that your eye would normally skip.

Check for “hidden verbs.”
Phrases like “conducted an analysis” can usually be simplified to “analysed.” 

Use formatting for clarity.
Numbered lists, bullet points, and subheadings are not “unacademic”; they are tools that make your ideas easier to navigate.

Ask someone outside your field to read.
If they can follow your main argument, you are writing clearly. If they get lost, consider where your explanations need sharpening.

Feedback is not an obstacle to knowledge. It is the very process through which knowledge grows, shifts, and strengthens.

Virginia Braun’s reminder that “knowledge belongs to no one and everyone” is not just philosophy; it is a practical compass for how to live as a scholar.

When you release the need to “own” knowledge, you can receive feedback with openness. You can participate in dialogue rather than defence. You can offer your ideas to the world knowing they are not diminished by critique, but expanded by it.

So the next time you open a supervisor’s comments or a peer-review report, pause and reframe: this is not an attack on your knowledge. It is an invitation to shape our knowledge together.

And that is the truest mark of scholarly maturity.