I was working inside a legacy enterprise, one with decades of history and a culture shaped by industry veterans. The company had invested millions into building a new product, confident that their collective experience was enough to predict what users needed. Decisions were made at the top, with little involvement from the end users themselves.

As the researcher, my role was clear: collect data, synthesize insights, and de-risk decision-making. I went into the field, spoke with users, mapped their workflows, and uncovered the realities of their day-to-day challenges. The evidence was undeniable, the product being built lacked the fundamentals required for adoption.

When I presented my findings, I knew I was right. But I also knew my insights directly contradicted the product vision. I knocked on doors, shared reports, and voiced my concerns. In my urgency, I criticized the direction rather than empathizing with the emotional weight of the investments already made. The veterans listened, but ultimately chose to continue down their path.

Months later, the product faced immense adoption issues. Scaling failed. My data had been accurate, but the way I communicated it hadn’t bridged the gap between truth and acceptance.

Data alone isn’t enough: Even when evidence is clear, stakeholders may resist if it threatens their identity, experience, or investments.

Legacy confidence bias: Industry veterans often rely on past knowledge, believing it still reflects current user needs.

Sunk cost fallacy: Heavy investments make it harder for organizations to pivot, even when risks are visible.

Instead of leading with critique, I could have approached with empathy and storytelling:

Instead of: “This product will fail because it doesn’t meet user needs.”

Alternative: “Let me share a day in the life of a frontline worker. Here’s how they struggle with the workflow today, and why adoption will be difficult if we don’t address these gaps.”

Instead of: “Your assumptions are outdated.”

Alternative: “Your past experience shaped the industry. What we’re seeing now is how user needs have evolved. Together, we can align your expertise with today’s realities.”

Instead of: “This direction is wrong.”

Alternative: “Here are two possible futures: if we continue on this path, adoption will likely plateau at X%. If we pivot, here’s the potential upside. Which future feels more aligned with our investment goals?”​​​​​​​

Instead of: “We’re wasting millions.”

Alternative: “I know millions have already gone into this product. My goal isn’t to dismiss that effort, but to ensure those investments lead to adoption and scale.”

Empathy in communication matters: Insights must be framed not as criticism, but as stories that honor stakeholders’ expertise while revealing evolving user realities.

Bridge expertise with evidence: Position research as a complement to veteran wisdom, not a contradiction.

Narrative framing is a design challenge: Presenting data through scenarios, user journeys, and alternative futures makes it easier for stakeholders to see themselves in the story.

Respect the investment: Acknowledge the emotional and financial weight of decisions before suggesting change.

This experience taught me that being “right” is not the same as being effective. Research is not just about uncovering truths—it’s about guiding organizations to act on them. In legacy environments, empathy and storytelling are as critical as methodology. Today, I approach stakeholder communication as a design problem in itself: how to craft narratives that align insights with organizational identity, while still advocating for the user.