“I’m sorry. It’s not normally like this, I promise.”

A while back, my research partners and I were visiting families at home on behalf of a meal delivery company. We wanted to get a sense of their eating habits — why, what, when and how they ate.

One Friday afternoon we were speaking with “Nicole” in her living room, amidst the far-flung suburbs of San Diego.

She takes care of meals. She told us her family prefers organic, mostly natural foods. She cooks from scratch regularly. She shops at Whole Foods and Safeway. Sometimes she’ll order out because who always has time for a good meal.

As she shared details of family life it became obvious that Nicole is her family’s fixer. This is a role she seemed proud of.

We made our way towards the kitchen and asked “can you show us your pantry?”

She hesitated. Her eyes shifted. And then she opened the door.

The shelves were mostly stocked with processed foods and snacks. The fridge and freezer, more of the same. Ice cream, frozen pizzas.

This wasn’t the picture that she had painted for us.

That’s when she said the words that still resonate with me:

“I’m sorry. It’s not normally like this, I promise.”

Why apologize?

Had we as researchers done a poor job of conveying our impartiality? Did she think we were judging her? Was she judging herself?

This is where many sense-maker product types come up short.

It’s fair-ish to assume the world’s Nicoles simply need more healthy eating options for her family. Or maybe she needs simpler pre-made meals. Perhaps a subscription service.

Yes and?

What’s the layered story of how Nicole sees herself? What adds to or subtracts from that?

We’re missing opportunities to add meaningful value when we don’t honor that story, and make that the focus of our work.