EDI Spotlight Series: Mai Kondo on her supportive care research, commitment to EDI and lessons learned

Mai Kondo, She/Her 

In this spotlight, we hear from Mai, an MSc student conducting supportive care research under the supervision of Dr. Camilla Zimmermann at Princess Margaret Cancer Centre.

How did you become interested in supportive and palliative care research?

My interest in supportive and palliative care research is rooted in both personal experience and scholarly inquiry. In my 3rd year of undergraduate studies at the University of Toronto, I enrolled in a bioethics course on death and dying — a deeply transformative experience that prompted me to reflect on my grandfather’s passing. At the time, he was fortunate to receive timely palliative care. His interdisciplinary team — from a palliative care physician to a music therapist — provided him and our family with exceptionally compassionate care. 

Although it was incredibly difficult to lose my grandfather at the age of 13, my very first experience with death is what I would personally consider a “good death,” largely because of the tailored support and guidance provided by his — and our — care team. However, I have since come to understand that such experiences are far from universal. Systemic barriers, stigma, and knowledge gaps often prevent families — especially those from marginalized communities — from accessing timely, appropriate end-of-life care.

This realization has fueled my commitment to research that is centred on the lived experiences of underrepresented communities. My master's thesis is a qualitative study that explores the multidimensional nature of preparedness for the end of life from the perspective of bereaved caregivers of patients with advanced cancer — individuals who often provide care to their loved ones with limited guidance, recognition, or support. By listening deeply to their stories, I aim to develop a nuanced conceptual framework that reflects the lived realities of caregiving in the context of advanced cancer, ultimately informing the development of more responsive, compassionate, and caregiver-informed tools, policies, and systems of care. 

What does it mean for you to have a commitment to equity, diversity, and inclusion?

Growing up across five different countries while navigating complex, life-limiting physical and mental health challenges, I have experienced firsthand how culture, power, and access shape our understanding and lived experience of identity, wellness, and care. These cross-cultural experiences, alongside my intersecting identities as a disabled scholar, patient, leader, and advocate, continue to inform how I approach EDI.

For me, EDI is not a buzzword, checkbox, or strategy — it is a way of being. It reflects a commitment to honouring lived experience as a form of knowledge, to holding space for nuance and complexity, and to building communities where care is mutual, responsive, and structurally supported.

I am still learning what this looks like in practice. But I hope to contribute to communities where people are not reduced to credentials, productivity, or appearances but welcomed in their wholeness: with their stories, needs, wisdoms, aspirations, and emotions. My lived experience has taught me that the systems we move through are not neutral, and that practicing equity requires an ongoing commitment to unlearning, listening deeply, showing up with humility, and staying in relationship with one another, even when it’s uncomfortable.

What is an empowering lesson you have learned?

That showing up — quietly, consistently, and even imperfectly — can be an act of courage. My leadership, scholarship, and advocacy may not always follow traditional paths. At times, I require more support, flexibility, or accommodations. But I’ve come to understand that authenticity is not a limitation — it is a form of strength. Showing up as my full self creates space for others, especially those who’ve been silenced, excluded, or underestimated, to feel seen and like they belong too.

There have been many times I felt discouraged or disheartened navigating ableist and oppressive systems. But I’ve realized that advocacy doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. Often, the most meaningful thing we can do is continue to show up — for ourselves, for each other, and for the communities we care about.

Most days, I am accompanied by Umi, my service dog, whose presence brings comfort, grounding, and connection. She reminds me — and those around us — that presence itself can be powerful. Some days, that’s all I have to offer: my presence. And some days, that's exactly what I need too — to sit beside someone in their joy, confusion, grief, or hope, and everything in between, and to allow them to sit beside mine.

I’m deeply grateful to those who embrace me and Umi as we are. They’ve taught me these lessons, believed in me when I couldn’t always believe in myself, and reminded me that care, courage, and community don’t have to be loud or performative. Sometimes, simply being here — together, as we are — is more than enough.