Go on, tell me what you really think.

My first semester at university; fresh off the back of some strong academic performance at my girls-only high school, I entered the School of Law at a top Australian university. Surrounded by other high-achieving guys and girls in our first lecture, we were given some stern advice from our lecturer. He explained that, despite what we each expected, more than a quarter of us would not graduate. We would drop out of law, for a variety of reasons but in many cases it would be our failure to achieve the required academic standard. We had been top students in high school, but this was a whole other world. We had better be prepared to be cut down a notch or two if we wanted to be in the cohort that came out the other end.

As it turns out, I was part of the group that never finished my law degree. Not, as he predicted, for want of academic performance, but due to the realisation that a career in the law was not for me. I realised that the hours, the pressure, the adversarial approach at the heart of the profession — these were all things that did not fit with my developing vision of myself and my life.

He was, however, right about being cut down a notch or two, although again the reasons were not as clear-cut as he predicted. For me, this related to something well beyond my control, in an incident whose significance only genuinely struck me years after the fact.

Within a few months of beginning my studies, I had began participating in “mooting” competitions. On the one hand, these look like an indulgent exercise in role play — students don their best suits and front up in front of mock (or, at the pointy end of competitions, real) judges, pretending to be barristers representing fictitious clients in pretend cases. In reality, these competitions are excellent training for a young legal mind. Drawing on my experience as a high-school debater, I was instantly hooked.

So there I was, just several months into my studies and standing with my female mooting partner and our two male opponents in the First Year Mooting Competition final, in front of a retired judge, who had served at both a state and federal level. I can remember very little of the ‘case’ or the finer points of the event, but I distinctly remember two pieces of feedback bestowed by His Honour.

The first was when, in declaring ‘the girls’ the winner of the moot, he encouraged our opponents to work on their enunciation. Although in their defence, he said, perhaps he had just been able to hear us better over the air conditioning due to the higher pitch of our voices.

The second moment occurred as we all exited the Moot Court and His Honour walked off to leave us to our collective celebrations, commiserations and reflections. As he passed me, he turned back and called “Counsel!” (the form of address used during the moot — not something I anticipated would continue beyond the role play). Being a new law student, somewhat in awe of talking to ‘a real live judge’, I awkwardly replied “Your Honour?”.

Turning away again, he gazed towards the door, and left me with this —

“You did rather well. For a woman”.

And then he left.

In that moment, I was truly lost for words. I turned back to my team mate and fellow students, shaking my head and trying to make sense of it all. 18 year old me, whose high school teachers had consistently (and rightly) reinforced the fact that women were capable, equal members of society, was ill-equipped to respond to this glimpse into the real world. I had no retort or response, and to this day I kick myself for simply “taking” such a ridiculous statement and letting him walk away. I even remember recounting this story early on and labelling it a “back-handed compliment”. “Go on, tell me what you really think!”, I would say, as I laughed it off with friends.

More than ten years on, and with a few more real world experiences under my belt, I realise that this was not simply a bizarre compliment. It was an insight into the fact that women are still not regarded as equal, even in circumstances where their gender plays absolutely no part in their capacity to achieve. Our judge that night thought that women typically did not make good advocates, and therefore my performance was worthy of being called out.

Later in life, I would experience having a contractor ask one of our male staff members, while standing right in front of me, if I was the new receptionist — only to have him stammer out the reply “ah no, she’s the boss”. Because I suppose it was so surprising and counter-cultural to find out that a woman might be the owner, manager, or otherwise in control of a business! How well I was doing…. for a woman.

Later this week, I will be gathering with all the state finalists for the Telstra Business Women’s Awards, to celebrate our collective achievements and recognise the amazing work of women across the state in the business, academic, government, and not-for-profit sectors. I will be celebrating my work on Mountain Bikes Direct, an online retailer selling parts and accessories to Aussie riders at globally competitive prices. It’s a business where my gender should play no part — it has no bearing on my ability to make strategic decisions, analyse business performance or work on our website. Yet still in 2016, there is space for an awards program that specifically recognises the work of women in Australia.

Although I am incredibly honoured to be part of the awards this year, there is a part of me that looks forward to the day when there is no need for an awards program that specifically calls out the achievements of women. When women kicking goals in business is not exceptional, and where the challenges we face are identical to those of our male counterparts. Where our gender doesn’t even register.

Today is International Day of the Girl, and I hope that by the time my three year old daughter finds herself confronted with the realities of the adult world, those realities have shifted and her gender is a non-event. I hope that one day I can look back on my involvement in the Telstra Business Women’s Awards with a nostalgic pride, happy in the knowledge that the world has moved onwards and upwards, and such programs are a thing of the past.

I also hope that if I ever encounter His Honour, or any of his ilk, again, I will have the presence of mind to tell him what I really think!