I have been asked many times throughout the past year about my job and whether I will continue to work after becoming a mother, and whether I will continue to travel. The answer to both questions is definitely yes. Lately, I have been reflecting a lot on my career, as May marks the 10 year anniversary of my graduation from the chemical engineering program and the beginning of my career as an engineer. There have, of course, been many ups and downs throughout this 10 year period, both professionally and personally. I have begun to realize that having a career is a major part of who I am. I would feel lost without it.

When I was a little girl, I liked big, fluffy dresses and castles and princesses. But, I also remember liking women in business suits and glasses with strength and intelligence. I don’t remember if I desired a family or having children, but I do always remember having a goal of some sort as to a career aspiration. I was always thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. It changed a lot. Sometimes, I wanted to be an astronaut, a lawyer, a writer, a doctor. I got straight A’s in high school and went on to college, selecting a major of biochemistry. Throughout college, I flip-flopped around, adding and dropping majors and minors several times. I finally somewhat settled on psychology with a pre-med focus. But I wasn’t entirely happy with this choice either. At the end of my junior year of college, I decided to add chemical engineering as a second major. I decided to stay and attend summer school that year, and I signed up for all of the freshman engineering courses to complete during that summer.

I’m not sure how serious I really was about becoming an engineer when I added the major. I had been a really good student in high school and pretty good in psychology, but I was failing miserably at my engineering courses that summer. I managed to scrape by with C’s in the first round of summer school, which meant that I passed, but just barely. This was devastating to me because I was used to being good at school. I was trying as hard as I could, and it wasn’t working. I felt discouraged. In the second round, I began taking a class on drafting and technical drawing, both by hand and on the computer. I am completely horrible at this type of thing. I can barely draw a stick figure, and I cannot visualize anything in 3D very well. On top of that, the course was taught by a professor who had tenure at the university. He had been reprimanded several times for sexist grading policies. I struggled through the class, hating every minute of it. At the end, he gave me a failing grade. It quite possibly was deserved, as my work wasn’t good. It also meant that I could not advance further in the program, unless I retook the course. If I retook it and failed again, I would be kicked out of engineering school. I went to his office to talk to him about my grade, and when I asked what could be done, his response was that nothing could be done. He then looked me right in the eye, and with a sneer on his face, he said “women don’t belong in engineering.” I was 21 years old, and I had never before been told I couldn’t do something that I wanted to do, but particularly not because I was a woman. I felt defeated and devastated for a long time. That one simple conversation, one sentence even, just lingered in my mind and fueled my doubt in myself. I wasn’t smart enough. I wanted to quit. I almost quit.

Eventually, I began to feel angry and to try to figure out a way around his course, as I saw no point to retaking another course from him. I learned of a local community college who offered the same drafting and technical drawing course where credits could transfer back to my school. I got myself admitted to that college, I signed up and I found a way to make the trip to that other campus each week to complete it, despite having a full plate with 2 majors at my regular school. I finished the course successfully with a B+ and got the credits transferred.

I look back on this experience now with interest. The man was completely wrong to have said what he said to me. But he lit a fire under me that hasn’t died to this day. He made me seriously think about what I was trying to do and how I could get there, despite setbacks. I don’t even remember his name, but I remember his face on that day. I remember how deeply I felt a desire to prove him wrong. Some days, I still do.  I look at my own daughter and I think about how I would feel if she was in this situation. I think I would want to march in to the professor with guns blazing and try to solve her problems for her. Honestly, I’m not sure if I even told my parents about this experience. I can’t remember. I remember feeling incredibly hurt, defeated, and angry at the time. But I’m not sure that I would be where I am today if my parents had stepped in and solved it for me.

In the years that followed up to my graduation, I had to work really hard, but it began to come a bit easier for me than that initial start. I finished my degree successfully and joined the working world. I’ve had 3 different jobs with many successes and many struggles in the 10 years since. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, not even that first awful experience. For the first time in my life, it made me learn how to fail, get back up, figure it out, and keep on trucking. I enjoy my job. I now provide not just for myself, but for my family, and I’ve found that I’m more motivated than ever as a result. Bring on the next 10 years! I’m looking forward to it.