Between Who I Am and Who I Was Told to Be: Unravelling Identity as a Woman in STEM

Immigrant women in STEM

One of the most challenging hurdles I faced in my late twenties was understanding who I was—professionally and at my core. I knew I brought value, but I struggled to identify whether I was who I thought I was or what others expected me to be.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m still figuring it out. But for the first time, I’m starting to believe my narrative. Let me give you some context.

The Women Who Raised Me—and the Ones I Watched

I grew up surrounded by strong women, each carving out their version of success. My mom dedicated her life to raising her children with love and grit. Some of my aunts were career-driven professionals who never had kids, while others played the role of the nurturing aunt or tried to balance both worlds. Being the youngest of all my siblings and cousins, I had the privilege of watching many versions of womanhood unfold before me.

But with those examples came a silent rulebook. I was expected to be respectful—even when authority figures contradicted my values. I had to be sweet, polite, and agreeable. I wasn’t encouraged to voice discomfort, draw boundaries, or question tradition. And I wasn’t supposed to “get along too well” with boys or challenge anyone openly.

Learning to Question

I still remember the morning at the family farm when I was 13. The kitchen buzzed with women cooking and setting the table. I sat down for a moment, overwhelmed. Immediately, an aunt barked at me to "do something useful" and collect eggs. Looking around, I saw my male cousins playing outside, entirely exempt from this expectation. That moment clicked something inside me: the double standard, the gender roles, the invisible expectations I was just supposed to accept.

Another time, I overheard my aunt—a respected academic—criticizing my sister’s academic performance during a car ride. I was a teenager, sitting in the back, shrinking. I later told my mom, which led to conflict, and somehow, I became the problem for "spying" and “not staying in a child’s place.” But my mom believed me. She defended me. That experience showed me how dangerous it could be to challenge authority—even when I knew I was right.

The Cost of Avoiding Conflict

For years, I was taught to avoid conflict at all costs—even when it meant swallowing discomfort or letting people cross my boundaries. That left me emotionally unprepared for honest discussions and fueled resentment, often leading to emotional blowouts with my sisters or colleagues.

Still, there were moments when I felt seen. Some teachers and family members admired my curiosity and determination. They told me I was clever, adventurous, and brave. Those words stuck with me and gave me tiny pockets of confidence to hold onto.

Masking Myself at Work

When I entered the workforce, I shaped a version of myself that was analytical, helpful, and competent—but never too loud or too confident. I dressed “nicely.” I smiled at everyone. I rarely talked about my wins.

Then I moved to Canada.

My first team was filled with alpha males who spoke loudly, used jargon, and carried themselves with authority. I shrunk into my little cubicle—literally and emotionally—questioning if I belonged. But as time passed, I realized something wild: I knew more than they did, especially when it came to data and real insights.

That was a turning point.

Rebuilding My Professional Identity

I started studying leadership, taking English classes to boost my confidence, and updating my wardrobe to reflect the strength I was stepping into. A like-minded colleague encouraged me, and a great leader saw my work and gave me the visibility I deserved.

That led to two promotions in under two years. But even with the momentum, that old inner voice whispered, “You’re still not enough.”

The more I showed confidence, the more some peers pushed back. The qualities that made me effective—my sharp thinking, my directness, my leadership—started to ruffle feathers. I was often judged more for minor interpersonal moments than the results I delivered.

When I became pregnant, the projects assigned to me suddenly got smaller, quieter, and less challenging. That shook me. It made me feel invisible again.

The Ongoing Work of Believing My Own Story

I’m still unpacking all of this. The layers. The narratives. The learned behaviours. But here’s what I know now: I am not too much. I am not difficult. I am not supposed to stay quiet to be liked.

These days, I remind myself: You can pivot the room without shaking their egos.

Coming back after 10 months of maternity leave, I’ve been learning a new kind of influence. I still hold my assertiveness close, but I’ve found power in letting my peers finish their ideas—even when I can already see the gaps. Instead of immediately correcting, I try to guide the conversation toward a better path. It’s not about dimming my light. It’s about redirecting the beam.

Motherhood softened parts of me, yes—but it also sharpened others. I’m not here to fight every battle. I’m here to lead differently.

So, if you’re navigating career, motherhood, and identity simultaneously, I see you. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. And it’s sincerely worth it.