I cannot pinpoint exactly when my love for science began, but I know it was a love affair from the very beginning. I was always a curious child, the type to question everything, take apart everything in quest of the “why” behind it all.
I was also a heavy reader and would often get out of household chores by begging my parents to let me read one more chapter. I read anything from mysteries to comedies, but my favorite was science fiction. It was early on, reading stories that weave scientific elements into their plot, that I started carving out my interests in STEM.
My parents played a pivotal role in nurturing my love for science. The earliest memory I can recall is them calling me a doctor, and in hindsight, I believe that it did blur the lines between my dreams and those of my parents.
My parents emphasized the importance of education. They immigrated to America from Haiti in hopes of better opportunities for themselves and their children. What they didn’t expect was how difficult it would be for them to attain the “American dream.” Instead of pursuing their goals to be an engineer (my father) and a registered nurse (my mother), they both took blue-collar jobs and worked long hours in hopes that their children would gain the opportunity that wasn’t afforded to them.
To my parents, the American dream became synonymous with education. From their viewpoint, if life forced them to work instead of going to school, they would make it their mission for their children to get the best education possible.
Being an empath, I always carried the weight of my parents’ dreams. I didn’t realize it at first, but their aspirations for me led me to develop an obsession with perfection. I carried their dreams not because they were forced upon me, but because I literally saw the sacrifices they made each and every day. There were so many times that they both worked over 16-hour days, returning home fatigued. Yet they still managed to check our homework and make sure we were fed. All that they were doing was out of love, and I felt and saw their love daily.
My parents also made sure that our Sundays were family days. Until the day they retired, neither parent ever worked a Sunday. We did the same thing every week: put on our Sunday best, went to church, then spent the rest of the day eating and enjoying each other’s company. I didn’t know it then, but I was witnessing love out loud.
The Love Affair
Middle school and high school were a breeze for me. I was every math and science teacher’s star student — a teacher’s pet, they called it back then. I volunteered to help around the classrooms and to help other students who couldn’t quite grasp the concepts. I thoroughly enjoyed the sciences and math. I entered every math competition and every science fair. I signed up for the Chemistry Club and learned how to gamify learning complicated science concepts, such as playing poker with mole dollars.
I was falling in love with science, and I was excited about it. I knew becoming a doctor was my parents’ dream for me, and chasing perfection to make them proud was my goal. But what I didn’t expect was to actually love it, and that love carried on during my undergraduate years.
My college career began at Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey. There, I spent four years growing up, being on my own, and discovering all that science had to offer. I also got my first taste of failure. I enrolled with the goal of going to medical school and began my extensive STEM education journey, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. What I failed to realize was that college wasn’t high school. I made my own schedule, and didn’t have my parents’ eyes making sure I did my work or teachers gracefully giving out extra credit.
Successfully completing my coursework was now up to me, and discipline and hard work (which I lacked back then) needed to be a part of the formula.
My first semester was a rude awakening. I enrolled in Chemistry 161, certain I would excel in the course, since chemistry was always my favorite and best science course. Oh, but I was in for a surprise! As soon as I started chemistry, I knew I was no longer in high school. Moreover, the freedom of being on my own for the first time didn’t help. I partied hard that first semester, and my grades reflected it. I failed chemistry! I managed to squeeze out a B in all my other courses. However, because chemistry weighed heavier than all other courses, my GPA for the semester was a whopping 1.8! And I, the straight-A student, teacher’s pet, was on academic probation!
This would be the first time I had to dig deep, find the grit, and learn how to accept failure with grace. It would have been easy at this point to say, “Maybe science isn’t for me,” and change to another major, but I decided to self-evaluate my actions and state of mind that first semester.
I knew that I was capable and had the brain for it. But in my self-reflection, I understood that I had lost my way a bit, lacked discipline, and was a bit arrogant to believe that I didn’t have to work hard. I also knew that there must be a happy balance somewhere, a space in which I could do my work, be successful, but not miss out on the college experience I yearned for.
I came back the second semester with an action plan. And I soared! I excelled in all my courses, took chemistry over, and received an A. I later picked up chemistry as a minor and majored in public health with the intent of taking all the prerequisite courses needed for medical school. However, as I got deeper into my science courses, I realized that the physical sciences were my strongest suit. I enjoyed physics, analytical chemistry, and every calculus course I took. Although I did well in genetics, biology, and organic chemistry, they simply didn’t bring me the same joy.
I continued down the pre-med path, studying and taking the MCATs. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what I was supposed to do. For so long, this had been the goal, this was our (my parents’ and my) dream. But if it was supposed to be my dream, why did I suddenly feel like it wasn’t?
I went through the process of applying and interviewing at medical schools because I wanted to make my parents proud. At the same time, I prayed that I simply would not get in. But I did. I knew a decision would have to be made. Would I continue down this path or deviate? And if I did change my career path, how would I break it to my parents?
A month before I was supposed to start at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey, I made the decision to defer and figure things out. It was a hard conversation to have with my parents. My mom actually cried, while my dad simply said, “OK, but you will not just sit at home for a year.”
After speaking to my advisor at Rutgers University, I decided to start a one-year biomedical sciences master’s degree. This program afforded me the opportunity to take courses in medical school with med students, conduct research at one of the laboratories, and participate in seminars from professors throughout the area who came to the university to share their lives and academic stories. It was there that I met Dr. Treena Arinzeh, Professor of Biomedical Engineering at the New Jersey Institute of Technology.
I sat on the edge of my seat as she spoke about her research and academic journey. Specifically, she explained how it is possible to engineer tissues for bone repair, and even tackle spinal cord injuries using a polymer-based scaffold to repair damaged sections of the spinal cord. I was in awe. It seemed like the best of both worlds: to investigate how the mechanics and physical properties affect the biology and, using these physical properties of a biomaterial, to repair it!
Did I mention Dr. Arinzeh was a black woman? Not only was the science exactly what I’d been searching for, but she looked like me. She was successful, clearly brilliant, and looked like me.
In this woman scientist, I saw endless opportunities for my future. So I began researching the type of schooling I would need to do in order to become a full professor with a lab of my own doing cutting-edge research. From there, I applied to several doctoral programs in biomedical engineering and waited patiently for the decisions to come in. When the acceptances arrived, I cried tears of joy because I felt at peace and relieved. This was what I was supposed to be doing, and the love affair could continue!
Falling Out of Love
I was going to be a doctor after all! And it was in the STEM discipline that excited me and that I wanted to dive deeper into. Although I didn’t know any black women other than Dr. Arinzeh, who held a doctorate in the science and engineering fields, I knew this was what I was supposed to be doing, and I would be able to pave my way.
I started my doctorate program in biomedical engineering in the fall of 2012 at the Drexel University School of Biomedical Engineering, Science and Health Systems. I had never taken an engineering or modeling course prior to this. I didn’t have any experience in coding or know any aseptic techniques in a wet lab. I didn’t know what the process of attaining a doctorate looked like. But I had passion, I had grit, and I was a quick learner. I knew I would excel.
However, on every new journey, you cannot help but do battle with a bit of the imposter syndrome, especially when you are in a space where no one around you looks or talks like you. Nevertheless, I embraced the journey with vigor and started my first year of classes as I began looking for a lab to join.
My PhD program was different from typical STEM PhD programs. In those days, Drexel accepted students based on academics and resumes; after starting classes, students had to find a lab where they could conduct their research. This was atypical, but not knowing how a program should be run, I thought it was normal.
Once the program started, this process led students to compete with each other. Everyone took the same engineering-based first-year courses and, at the end of the year, took the same qualifying mathematics/modeling exam, so we knew our performance on the qualifiers would determine our ability to find a lab in which to work. Those who couldn’t find a lab would simply be given a master’s degree. I already had a Master of Science, so for me, obtaining a second master’s was not an option.
I attacked my courses with vigor. I also decided to be proactive in the lab search and sent emails to principal investigators throughout the BME program asking for meetings to discuss opportunities to work in their lab. During this process, the light and spark I had for STEM started dimming. Multiple principle investigators seemed excited to schedule meetings via emails, but when I walked into the office, it seemed I was met with disappointed looks. Many wouldn’t reply to my follow-up emails after our meeting, whereas others would simply say, “It isn’t a good fit.”
I didn’t quite understand why. I knew my lab experience was limited, but my grades were exceptional, and I got a near-perfect score on the math section of the GREs. I tried not to jump to conclusions, kept my head down, and decided I would excel in my classes and crush my qualifiers. In my mind, I believed if I was perfect, I would be given a chance.
I did just that! Out of the 27 students (the first years and some second years who had to retake the qualifiers), I received the second-highest score! I was ecstatic, and the offers to join the very labs where I once wasn’t a “good fit” came pouring in. I reviewed all my options and decided to join the lab in which their research aligned most closely with my interests.
What occurred after this decision would forever change my outlook on the STEM field. My dissertation work was in BME, specifically in the orthopedic field. I was among a very small subset of BME scientists who intensively study the musculoskeletal system. The community was close, tight-knit — and uninviting. I spent the greater part of the next five years not only trying to navigate the process of successfully completing a PhD, but also dealing with micro- and macroaggressions, prejudice and, often, racist comments.
I was told indirectly by peers that I didn’t belong. One vivid memory I have is receiving the United States Department of Education GAANN iCare for Healthcare Fellowship, which is awarded based on academic merit. I overheard a few peers who had applied but didn’t get the award discussing how “Daphney received this fellowship due to affirmative action.”
I felt defeated at that moment, and was upset that I didn’t stand up for myself. My mindset then was, “I will excel, be the smartest, the brightest, and outperform everyone.” What I failed to realize then was that advocating for yourself is key. Instead, I allowed every situation to occur quietly, thinking maybe if I shrunk and made myself less visible, it would get better.
My advisor, who was supposed to be an advocate, played a major part in my feeling inadequate. Although, in hindsight, I don’t know if it was purposeful, it was clear that he had favorites and wasn’t afraid to let that be known. For example, he never funded my studies even though every one of my labmates was fully funded through his grants. When I asked him about funding early on in my doctorate studies, he said, “There are plenty of external fellowships available for you since you are a black woman in STEM.”
Those words constantly played in my mind, and I chose to once again use my actions instead of words. I went on to attain the best external fellowships that would not only fully fund my research and pay a higher stipend than my peers, but also put me in a position to network with pioneers in my field. During the course of my studies, I was awarded the NSF GK-12 Fellowship and the United States Department of Education iCare for Healthcare Fellowship.
There are many more examples I could share, with each situation playing a part in my eventual departure from academia. On paper, I was excelling. My research was going well, I was publishing, I was receiving awards based on academic merit and my work in the local community of Philadelphia, in which I was organizing workshops, career days, and speaking on panels geared toward increasing the number of underrepresented individuals in STEM. But deep down, I was drowning. Every time I attended a conference as a speaker in my field only to have someone to assume I was a convention center worker or to make a rude comment about my hair, I experienced a chipping away at my love for science.
I was excelling, doing great research that was getting recognized and awarded, but I no longer loved my work. I felt stuck and needed a change. Once I graduated, I took a post-doc position in the University of Pennsylvania Orthopedic Surgery Department.
Because I had a very supportive advisor, it was there that I found my voice and began advocating, not only for myself, but for those around me. I was performing innovative research and became even more active in the local community, organizing workshops and speaking at local events. I also held a member-at-large position on the Orthopaedic Research Society Board of Directors, the first black woman to do so. There, I was able to speak about my experiences in the field while helping to implement and change the environment for all trainees who are a part of this society.
The climate for me personally was changing, but it was a little too late. I wanted out. So I left academia.
Rediscovering Love
Many argue that attending school and obtaining a degree will present one with the professional opportunities necessary to overcome poverty and systematic oppression and inequality, as “education is a great equalizer.” I believe that statement to be true only if the educational system is equal and accessible to all!
Unfortunately, this is still not the case in today’s America. The more I worked in the local community, the more I wanted to see what type of changes I could effect on a larger scale. After a conversation with a colleague, I decided to apply for the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Science and Technology Policy Fellowship. This provides a unique opportunity for bench scientists to experience the policy world in various fields, using their knowledge to implement change on the federal and state levels.
I was awarded the fellowship and accepted a position in the United States Department of Defense (DOD) Research and Engineering Department, working on their largest national defense education program. I provided strategic planning, oversight, and execution of this portfolio while having the unique opportunity to prepare reports for leadership and attend their briefings. I also worked closely in the Office of Secretary of Defense Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCU) program in which I was able to steer several pilot initiatives that influenced the participation of underserved individuals in DOD STEM programs.
I learned a lot! I learned how federal laws and programs trickle all the way down to the students and even the teachers. I was seeing what kind of initiatives were important to our governmental leaders and the emerging sciences they were investing in. I learned the inner workings of bringing a policy from thought to implementation. I was able to solidify relationships with leaders, and as the fellowship was coming to a close, I had a decision to make. Would I continue to work in the political world or return to academia? Or even enter another field?
I ultimately decided to enter a slightly different field and took a position at Northrop Grumman, a large technology defense contracting company. My time at the DOD showed me the type of emergent science that was allowing the nation to stay at the forefront of innovation and strengthen our defense. I learned new skills there that I knew would translate well at Northrop.
I am currently the Innovation Ecosystem Lead; my primary role is establishing and nurturing key strategic relationships that enable technologies, architectures, and innovations to create, sustain, and evolve the enterprise tech strategy to meet the dynamic needs of the customers. I also have the opportunity to help build strategic partnerships with universities to accelerate the digital transformation of the enterprise while bringing new talent into our pipeline.
Although I am still an early career professional, I’ve learned and discovered a lot about myself throughout this journey. My perspective has changed drastically, from the naïve girl who just loved the sciences to now being informed and enlightened about the STEM field. I’ve learned some valuable lessons that I impart to many who are coming after me. The most important is to always show up as your full self, not allowing anyone to stifle you and cause you to shrink. Always have your voice, and advocate for yourself as well as those around you who may not be able to advocate for themselves.
And follow YOUR own passions — not the passions and dreams of those around you who may believe they know what’s best for you. Embrace failure with grace, and allow yourself to fall in and out of love with science throughout your journey as you rediscover yourself along the way.
Excerpted from Lessons Learned: Stories from Women Leaders in STEM by Deborah M. Shlian, MD, MBA.