PERSONAL REFLECTION

Being a Woman of Colour in STEM

I've often been asked what it has been like to build a career as a woman of colour in STEM. It's a question I've thought about a great deal over the years, not least because my answer has changed as I've gained more experience and perspective.

When I was younger, I don't think I would have described myself as someone who spent a great deal of time thinking about representation. My focus was on doing well academically, working hard, and creating opportunities for myself. Like many young people, I was focused on the next exam, the next milestone, or the next step in my education.

Looking back, however, I can see that there were many moments when I became aware that I was often one of only a few people who looked like me in certain spaces. At the time, I didn't always know what to do with that feeling. Sometimes it was barely noticeable, while other times, it felt impossible to ignore.

As I've reflected on those experiences over the years, I've come to realise that being a woman of colour in STEM is not a single experience. It is not a story of overcoming adversity, nor is it a story of constant struggle. Rather, it is a collection of moments, observations, challenges, opportunities, and lessons that have shaped how I see myself and the world around me.

One of the things I wish I had understood earlier is that feeling different does not mean you do not belong.

When you find yourself in environments where there are very few people who share your background, it can be easy to assume that the feeling of being different is evidence that you are somehow out of place.

I think many people from underrepresented backgrounds experience this at some point.

You walk into a room and notice things that other people may never have to think about. You notice who is represented. You notice who isn't. And you notice whose voices are heard most often.

And sometimes, whether consciously or unconsciously, you begin to wonder whether you truly belong there. What I have learned over time is that belonging is not something that should be dependent upon how many people in the room look like you. Your right to be there is not determined by representation statistics, job titles, backgrounds, or other people's assumptions. You belong because you have earned your place, just like anyone else.

That may sound obvious, but it took me a long time to fully believe it. For many years, I carried an underlying belief that I needed to prove myself. Not occasionally, but constantly.

I felt that if I worked hard enough, achieved enough, and demonstrated enough competence, I would eventually reach a point where I felt completely secure in my place. The problem with that mindset is that the goalposts are always moving. There is always another achievement to pursue, another benchmark to reach, or another reason to question whether you have done enough.

Over time, I realised that confidence cannot be built entirely on external validation. If your sense of belonging depends on continual proof, you may spend your entire career searching for a level of reassurance that never fully arrives.

What eventually changed for me was recognising that confidence and self-belief are internal processes. Of course, positive feedback, supportive colleagues, and meaningful opportunities matter. However, there comes a point where you have to decide that your value does not depend entirely on someone else's recognition.

You have to learn to trust your own judgement. You have to recognise your own strengths. And you have to allow yourself to occupy space without constantly justifying your presence.

Another thing I have come to appreciate is that visibility matters, even when we don't realise it at the time. Throughout my career, I have met young women who have told me that seeing someone who shares aspects of their background working in science has helped them believe that a similar path might be possible for them too.

Every time that happens, I am reminded of how powerful representation can be. Not because people need role models who are identical to them, but because seeing a wider range of stories expands our understanding of what is possible.

When you only see one type of person represented in a particular field, it can be difficult to imagine yourself there. When you begin to see people from different backgrounds, cultures, experiences, and perspectives succeeding in those spaces, the picture becomes broader and more inclusive.

Possibility becomes easier to imagine.

That said, I think it is important to be honest about something - being a woman of colour is only one part of who I am. It has shaped some of my experiences, influenced how I see certain situations, and informed parts of my journey. However, it is not the entirety of my identity. I am also a scientist. A mentor. A wife. A daughter. A sister. A friend. A lifelong learner. I am someone who has made mistakes, changed direction, questioned myself, and continued growing along the way.

I think there can sometimes be a temptation to reduce people to a single aspect of their identity, when the reality is that we are all far more complex than that.

Perhaps the most important lesson I have learned is that authenticity matters far more than fitting in. When I was younger, I think I spent a lot of energy trying to understand what success looked like and how I was supposed to behave in certain environments. Like many people, I wanted to be taken seriously, respected, and accepted.

As I've grown older, I have become less interested in trying to fit into someone else's idea of who I should be and more interested in understanding who I already am. There is a significant difference between adapting to new environments and losing yourself in the process. One helps you grow, while the other slowly erodes your confidence. I have also come to appreciate how transformative it can be to find yourself in an environment where you are genuinely supported by the people around you, particularly by those in leadership positions.

Throughout my career, some of the most meaningful periods of growth have come from working with managers who saw potential in me, encouraged me to stretch beyond what felt comfortable, and created opportunities that challenged me to develop new skills and perspectives. At the time, those experiences were not always easy. Being pushed outside of your comfort zone can feel daunting, especially when you are already navigating unfamiliar environments or questioning your own abilities. However, there is a profound difference between being pushed without support and being challenged by someone who is invested in your growth.

The managers who have had the greatest impact on me were not simply focused on performance or outcomes. They took the time to understand my professional aspirations, supported my personal goals, and recognised that a successful career should complement a fulfilling life rather than compete with it. When someone believes in your potential before you fully see it yourself, it can be incredibly powerful. It can help you build confidence, broaden your ambitions, and develop a stronger sense of what you are capable of achieving.

Looking back, I realise that supportive leadership does more than help people progress professionally. It creates environments where people feel valued, empowered, and able to bring their authentic selves to work. Those experiences have reinforced my belief that growth is not something we achieve entirely on our own. Often, it is nurtured by people who challenge us, encourage us, and help us see possibilities that we might otherwise have overlooked.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that sustainable success comes from understanding your values and remaining connected to them, even when circumstances change.

If I could say one thing to a young woman considering a future in STEM, it would be this:

There is no single way to belong.
You do not need to become someone else in order to succeed.
You do not need to hide aspects of yourself to be taken seriously.
And you do not need to wait for someone else to validate your potential before believing in it yourself.

The scientific community, like any community, is stronger when it benefits from a diversity of experiences, perspectives, and ideas. Your background is not something that diminishes the value you bring; in many cases, it enhances it.

Looking back, I think I spent too much time worrying about whether I fitted into certain spaces. What I understand now is that the goal was never to fit perfectly into every room. The goal was to recognise that I deserved to be there in the first place.

And, perhaps more importantly, to help ensure that the next generation feels the same.