I was in my teens—an age of dreams, dilemmas, and restless ambition. I was drawn to science, inspired by accomplished voices in STEM  (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics), especially those I met through family or school.

One day, an elderly relative I deeply admired came home. Brimming with pride, I told him, “I want to become a doctor, one who treats patients and does research. I’ll find a way to do both.” I expected encouragement, even praise. After all, I had heard him urge my older male cousin to chase big scientific goals and reach for the stars.

Instead, he looked at me, frowning with concern. “That’s too much,” he said. “You should choose something easier—something that lets you come home early and look after your family. Women need jobs with less work so they can be good wives and mothers.”

That moment hit me like cold water. I realized then the rules were not the same for me and my cousin. Subtle expectations had always been there—praise for doing house chores “well” and warnings about what “my husband’s family” might think about my cooking or cleaning. Yet no one ever said, “If medicine makes you come alive, chase it with everything you have—build a life around what you love.” My worth, it seemed, was measured in clean dishes and folded laundry, not academic merit.

Years later, after countless years of study, clinical duty, and a great deal of blood, sweat, and tears, I became both a doctor and a researcher. But those words still echo in my mind. And when people now ask, “But when will you settle down and get married?”—as if that’s my ultimate goal—I feel that old ache again. Is that all I was made for?

Success Through a Male Lens

As I reflect on my journey in STEM, I am now struck by the weight of the advice I received from male role models during my formative years. Their guidance, cloaked in well-meaning ambition, painted a picture of success that, in hindsight, was deeply flawed.

It was a narrative shaped by inherent biases—one that preached the virtues of relentless hard work, ambition, and sacrifice. However, as I navigated my career as an Assigned Female at Birth (AFAB) individual, I realized that the world they prepared me for was starkly different from the reality I faced.

STEM is often described as a male-dominated field, but my time in the field revealed that the dominance runs deeper than numbers. It lies in the power structures and cultural norms that perpetuate the status quo, which assigns women the role of workers but men the role of leaders.

Growing up, I was urged by my family to prioritize academics and study hard. Yet, as I advanced in my career, the expectations shifted. The same voices that celebrated my ambition began to remind me of my "biological clock," the importance of marriage, and the sacrifices expected of me to balance family life. The contrast was jarring. What was easy for them—a life centered around work—was underpinned by women's invisible labour managing their homes, raising their children, and enabling their success. This privilege was rarely acknowledged but deeply ingrained in the system they upheld.