Working as a Woman of Colour in Science - and Why it Shaped the Way I Mentor Today

I come from a socially disadvantaged background as the daughter of immigrant parents. My father was born in Tanzania, and my mother in Kenya. They came to the UK in the 1970s with very little, leaving behind established careers in search of stability, safety, and opportunity.

Their early years here were not easy. They worked tirelessly, saving for nearly a decade before feeling financially secure enough to start a family. Growing up, I understood deeply the value of education, hard work, and perseverance, not as abstract ideals, but as necessities.

Like many children of immigrants, I carried both their sacrifices and their hopes.

When I decided I wanted to become a scientist, they supported me completely. Science was still, and in many ways remains, a male-dominated field, but I was inspired by the women who had come before me and excited by the possibility of contributing to something meaningful.

I believed that if I worked hard enough, it would be enough.

When hard work isn’t the whole story

I threw myself into my career.

I studied constantly. I volunteered. I mentored others. I took on additional responsibility. I pushed myself to be as capable and prepared as possible.

But over time, I began to notice something difficult to articulate at first.

I was being overlooked.

Opportunities I was qualified for went elsewhere. My contributions were sometimes questioned or diminished. And in some environments, I became acutely aware that being a woman - and a woman of colour - shaped how I was perceived, regardless of my ability.

This wasn’t always overt. Often, it was subtle. But its cumulative effect was profound.

What made it especially challenging was the sense that there was no roadmap for navigating it.

I had been taught that hard work created opportunity. I had not been taught how to work within systems that were not always designed with people like me in mind.

The hidden cost of constantly proving yourself

At one stage in my career, I worked alongside a colleague who repeatedly undermined my contributions. In one instance, work I had developed was presented as his own in a senior meeting.

I remember leaving that meeting and wondering whether I belonged in science at all.

I responded the only way I knew how at the time: by working harder, documenting everything, and ensuring my contributions were visible.

And while I eventually regained recognition for my work, the experience left a lasting impression.

Not because of the individual incident, but because of what it represented.

I realised how much energy I was spending not just doing my job, but protecting my place within it.

This is something many scientists experience, particularly those from underrepresented or non-traditional backgrounds.

The mental load of navigating professional uncertainty, invisibility, or structural inequity is rarely acknowledged, but it is real.

Why this matters to the work I do now

My career has since spanned public and private sectors, laboratory and non-laboratory roles, scientific and commercial environments, and independent freelance work.

Each transition taught me something new, not just about science, but about people, systems, and sustainability.

I learned that career progression is not simply about working harder.

It is about:

• Understanding how systems function

• Recognising when environments support your growth, and when they do not

• Developing ways of working that protect your wellbeing, not just your output

• And building a career that can evolve alongside you

Most importantly, I learned that no one should have to navigate this alone.

Mentoring as a space for clarity, not pressure

This is why mentoring became such an important part of my life.

Over the years, I’ve mentored students and professionals through organisations including:

• The Social Mobility Foundation

• The UCL Alumni Mentoring Scheme

• The 1-Hour Project

These experiences showed me how powerful it can be simply to have space to think, reflect, and make sense of your career with someone who understands the landscape.

Not someone to tell you what to do.

But someone who can help you see more clearly.

A different way of thinking about career success

My experiences as a woman of colour in science shaped me profoundly. They taught me resilience, but they also taught me something equally important:

Sustainability matters more than endurance.

Success should not come at the cost of your health, identity, or sense of self.

And progress does not have to mean constant struggle.

Today, my work focuses on supporting scientists to build careers that are not only successful, but sustainable - careers that allow room for ambition, wellbeing, and life beyond work.

Because everyone deserves the opportunity to grow in environments that recognise their value.

A note to those navigating their own path

If you recognise yourself in parts of this story, you are not alone.

There is no single “correct” career path in science.

There is only your path.

And it is allowed to evolve.