There’s a quiet but undeniable tension in the moment right after a survey launches, when all the drafts, consultations, and dedicated revisions give way to waiting. That final decision to hit “send.” The questions you’ve obsessed over are now in the hands of the people who we have been waiting to hear from. And at that point, all you can do is hope that the care that was put into designing those questions comes through clearly on the other side.
As the research coordinator for the 2025 national survey of women’s shelters in Canada, joining the team at Women’s Shelters Canada in January 2025, I’ve spent the better part of the early months of this year immersed in the details of this project. Every word choice, the question order, every survey logic path, these became daily preoccupations. Not just for me, but for Robyn, the Research and Policy Manager, who spent 2024 immersed in the design and minutiae of creating the survey. But as involved as some of that work was, it never stopped being meaningful, for either Robyn or myself. This wasn’t just about data collection. It was about trying to create a prism that could reflect, as honestly as possible, the conditions faced by shelters across Canada. And even more importantly, it was about respecting the people who live that work every single day.
From the start, one of the biggest challenges was the sheer diversity of the shelter landscape in Canada. These organizations operate in wildly different contexts, from large urban centers to remote northern communities, from Indigenous-led shelters to newcomer-serving agencies. There is no one-size-fits-all experience of shelter work, and we knew the survey had to reflect that. Our early drafts were filled with debates: How do we ask about funding in a way that applies both to a large multi-staff shelter and to a small volunteer-run space? How do we design questions that are flexible enough for these different realities but structured enough to give us usable data?
Those conversations weren’t always easy. But they were necessary. We consulted with sector leaders and service providers throughout the process, and their feedback pushed us to refine the survey again and again. They told us when questions weren’t necessary, when language missed the mark, or when assumptions we hadn’t even noticed were baked into our approach. That kind of honesty was invaluable and humbling. It reminded me that research doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Good research, especially in this field, must be collaborative.
At the same time, working on this project raised questions that go beyond survey design. I found myself grappling with what it means to ask people working in crisis response to take time out of their packed schedules to fill out a survey. These are staff who are often underpaid, overworked, and stretched thin. Asking them to give their time and knowledge is not a small ask, it’s a request for trust.
And trust, I’ve learned, isn’t built by saying “we care” or “your input matters.” It’s built by showing that we understand the realities they’re working in, by making the survey as clear, respectful, and relevant as possible, and by committing to use the results in ways that actually support the sector. It’s also built by being transparent about the limitations of what a survey can do. A list of checkboxes will never fully capture the grief of not being able to provide all the desired services a survivor would require, or the resilience of staff who find ways to keep going despite impossible conditions. But if the survey can document those realities in services, those funding shortfalls, those urgent needs, then maybe it can help shift conversations toward real change.
As research coordinator, I’ve been privileged to be part of this balancing act: between the technical side of survey logistics and the ethical responsibility of doing this work well. I’ve spent hours debating the wording of a single question because I know the difference between “adequate” and “appropriate” is not just semantic. The amazing WSC team and I, and I mean everyone who took time out of busy schedules to contribute to this work, worked closely to ensure the survey is accessible, not just in language but in design, understanding that ease of use can mean the difference between a completed survey, and one abandoned halfway through.
Now that the survey has launched, I’m feeling the weight of the next stage. Data collection is only one part of the story. What we do with the responses, how we analyze them, how we share the findings, how we amplify the voices behind the numbers, is where the real accountability begins. The sector has trusted us with their time and insights. It’s on us to make sure that trust is honoured.
This experience has made one thing very clear to me: good research is about relationships, not just results. It’s about listening as much as asking. It’s about knowing that behind every data point is a person, a team, a community doing the hard work of supporting women and gender-diverse people fleeing violence. Launching this survey is just one step in a much bigger process, but it’s a step I’m proud to have helped shape.
Chika Maduakolam is Research Coordinator at Women’s Shelters Canada. She is also a Ph.D. candidate in Socio-Legal Studies at York University. She has worked on several international research projects on gender-based violence.
