The accidental academic: finding purpose in autism research

Dr Samantha Friedman: university lecturer and researcher - Edinburgh, Scotland

“I applied for a really big grant last year. I spent so long on the application, I had so much phenomenal support from my colleagues, and it got four reviews back. I was chuffed that it even went out for review because it could have been rejected before that. Two of the reviews were really positive, one was positive about almost everything, and the fourth essentially said, ‘This is worthless’. They didn’t see the point of it. I believe in a neuro-affirming approach; they thought I should take a more medical approach. So it got rejected.”

Working in academia can be brutal, as Dr Samantha Friedman (Sami) knows only too well. “I called my best friend and sobbed on the phone. And I read the reviews a million times. You work so hard on something. You care about it so much. You’re trying to make a positive difference. And then it goes to a reviewer who doesn’t see eye to eye with you, so they don’t give it a good score. And that’s it. It’s over.”

“There’s so much rejection – whether it’s a student who doesn’t like the course you’ve taught and submits bad feedback, or a paper where the reviewer just hasn’t understood what you’re trying to do. It’s tremendously hard not to take it personally.”

Despite the harsh realities of academic life, Sami can’t imagine doing anything else. She’s a lecturer in Applied Psychology at the University of Edinburgh, researching how autistic people connect with nature and how this could be used to transform education for neurodivergent children. But as she puts it, “The trade-off of caring and loving what I do so much is that it really weighs heavy”.

An accidental PhD

This emotional burden wasn’t something she’d planned for. Growing up in America’s Midwest, Sami didn’t initially feel the pull of purpose. Instead, she was going to become a primary school special education teacher, specialising in autism because, “I have an older sister who was really good at lots of things, so I would just do what she did as it was working for her!” Her sister had a teaching internship during high school, so Sami followed suit, “I loved it! I thought this is great – it’s definitely for me!”

But by the time she was at university, she’d become increasingly disillusioned with the way autistic children were being treated and had started questioning her career path. “I didn’t love a lot of what I was seeing in the classroom - the systems at play and lack of support didn’t sit right with me.” This cognitive dissonance – the discomfort that comes when values clash with reality – was starting to point her in the direction of her purpose. She knew there had to be a better way to help neurodivergent kids feel a sense of autonomy and belonging, but what was it?

Then, “At the end of my first year, out of the blue, I got an email from a professor called Scott Morrison (not the Australian prime minister – that’s important to clarify!). He proposed we work together on a grant for undergraduate research”. They combined their specific interests – hers in autism, his in outdoor learning – and ran a small-scale study at a forest school, looking at how autistic children experienced going outside for lessons rather than having their group class inside. This gave her the chance to do forest school training – a surprising move for someone who, “wasn’t an outdoorsy kid and didn’t grow up in an outdoorsy family” – and she loved every part of it. Something had clicked. “It’s really interesting that all my work is now oriented around nature, because it really wasn’t a core part of me.”

This unexpected trajectory then took her to Scotland for a master’s degree focusing on autism and nature. But “In the first week, everyone was asking, ‘What are you going to do afterwards?’ I was thinking, ‘Oh shoot – I’m supposed to have the next thing planned? We’ve only just got here!’ I didn’t know what I wanted to do but I knew I really liked research, so I applied to PhD programmes. It seemed like a good next step. And that’s how I ended up going to Cambridge.” Sami was demonstrating a growth mindset: the belief that talents and abilities can be developed through dedication and hard work. Rather than seeing her lack of planning as a weakness, she was treating each uncertainty as a learning opportunity.

And what was going through her head at the time? “I’m sure I was an anxious mess! But I also thought I didn’t really have anything to lose as this wasn’t my grand plan. I remember being an undergrad and one of my professors talking about doing a PhD and I’d replied, ‘Never! I would never do that! Absolutely not!’”

Hanging out in the woods

Now Sami’s realised she’s exactly where she needs to be. “I can’t imagine anything else I would rather be doing. I feel genuinely fulfilled. The thought of this getting taken away from me makes me feel really panicked and sad.” But it’s not a walk in the park, “I feel challenged a lot – and I really like that. I love the idea that it’s like being in school forever. You have to keep learning things!”

And being an academic isn’t just her purpose; it’s also become a big part of her identity. “I’ve always cared a lot about what I research ... it feels all-consuming: there’s always more to be done, more impact to be had. It’s not just a job.” Ultimately, “I guess my purpose is being a conduit: someone who can translate people’s experiences into research that – hopefully – makes their lives better.”

This doesn’t stop self-doubt from creeping in, though. “There are academics out there curing cancer. People whose work is probably going to change the world. And they’d ask me, ‘What do you do?’ And I’d say, “I hang out with kids in the woods and talk to them about what they’re doing’. There’s a level of imposter syndrome – does the work I’m doing really matter?” Ironically, that feeling of being a fraud often tends to strike when people are doing work that matters the most to them.

When the going gets tough

“I’m passionate about making the world a friendlier, more accommodating place, especially for neurodivergent people.” For Sami, this means validating a wide range of experiences, particularly because previous research into autism has done harm by drawing universal conclusions which have since been disproven.

And her approach is resonating both within and outside the academic space, “Last week, I got an email from someone saying they have an autistic child, and everything I said perfectly captured their experiences. And that’s what counts: it doesn’t matter if there’s 15 people saying your work doesn’t matter, if one person says, ‘I feel seen and validated by what you’ve said’, that’s all I want.”

She’s creating ripples in the education sector too – and not just because she accidentally told the Minister for Early Education, “I think our education system is broken” without realising who he was! (“I’m not sure he agreed, but he was super nice about it.”) “Before Edinburgh, I taught on undergraduate primary education programmes for future teachers, and I advocated to run a session on autism. It just was 50 minutes. That’s all the input those teachers had in their entire three years at university.” But it paid off. “Afterwards, I would have students come up to me and say it changed their perspective on neurodiversity. So hopefully they’ll go into the classroom with a different mindset. If you can speak to people before they’ve shaped their feelings, that’s when it’s most impactful.”

Researching outdoor learning is another opportunity to effect change. There’s a psychological theory that says humans flourish when they feel autonomy (having a sense of control), competency (knowing we’re good at something) and relatedness (feeling like we belong). This comes up a lot in Sami’s work with autistic children: when they’re outside, they have opportunities for autonomy on their terms (building, exploring); they’re developing new skills and putting them into practice; and because the dynamics are different, they’re more easily able to relate to the other kids – perhaps for the first time. Being in nature can offer cognitive benefits too – such as improving working memory and attention – but it’s important to recognise that it won’t help if they’re having a bad day. That’s why, “I’m interested in how we take the ethos of what’s happening outside and then figure out how we apply it to indoor classrooms to make things better.”

But of course, it’s not that simple. With myriad funding cuts and curriculum pressures, many teachers’ hands are tied. “We have to figure out how we can translate what we believe to be true into things that fit alongside teachers’ constraints and actually impact practice.” It’s about encouraging teachers to think, “‘Maybe I could allow a bit of autonomy, or do something different, in this instance’ – rather than trying to change the whole system.”

So, what keeps her going through all the setbacks? “Just hearing one person say, ‘Your work meant something to me’. That’s what keeps me going.” That said, “I’d be lying if I said there’s not some extrinsic motivation there too! It feels really good to have a paper published and see my little number of citations going up. But I try not to let that be what fuels me because it’s not healthy – a lot of it’s out of my control. I think if you’re only extrinsically motivated in academia you’d burn out so quickly.” This echoes what motivation researchers have long known: while external recognition feels good, it’s the internal drive – the intrinsic motivation to make a difference – that sustains us when the going gets tough.

An uncertain purpose

For all her clarity about her academic calling, Sami knows that purpose isn’t fixed. “I would say in the next one day to three weeks, my purpose could change quite significantly!” she laughs. Sami’s heavily pregnant and her due date is imminent.

But even with this uncertainty ahead, her advice to her former self – or anyone starting on a similar journey – remains consistent, “Just keep taking the next step.” This approach has carried her all the way from getting her first grant to doing a PhD and now working in her dream job in Edinburgh.

Yet she’s quick to acknowledge, “The cliché of ‘jump and the net will appear’ is such a privileged thing to say right? I could only do that because I knew my family and my spouse would have my back.” But beyond the practical support, there’s something deeper at play, “It’s more about the self-belief element. If you care about something, lean into it. Because I think that takes someone the furthest. You can be technically good, you can be good in an interview, whatever. But if you don’t truly care about it, that comes across.”

For Sami, passion and purpose remain inextricably linked, “I’m very lucky that I’ve been able to put those two things together and make it my career. I recognise not everyone can do that.” As she prepares for the next chapter of her life, she’s holding space for the possibility that her purpose might evolve again – and that’s exactly as it should be.