A thought on feminism in gender dominated fields

And how I discovered I was hurting myself

I have always considered myself to be a feminist — aware of the distinctions made in society between men and women, aware of the pay grade difference, aware of rape and abuse and the idea that girls should only be good at certain things. Maybe I was a little too aware.

I was in sixth grade when I discovered I really loved astronomy. I read a book about a young woman astronaut who went into a black hole, through a worm hole, and out of a white hole into another universe. I read about what it would be like to be her, crossing the event horizon, watching time dilate outside of the black hole, but feeling no time shift in her immediate surroundings as she accelerates toward the pinpoint where time and space mean nothing and everything is lost to gravity.

This book enthralled me and terrified me at the same time. I couldn't imagine the courage she must have had to be able to allow herself to be sucked down into the void that is nothing but everything. I wondered at the images of the various universes she might find on the other side. And I cried that she would be gone forever from her home — my home, with no hope of returning and no way of sharing her findings.

This woman, fictional though she may be, started me on my path to where I am now — a physics major, and one of only ten women in my year. That’s ten out of one hundred and fifty.

I was proud of this fact. I was proud when I’d tell people I’m majoring in physics and their response would be “wow, physics is so hard. I could never do that!” or “wow, you’re a woman in physics! That must be pretty daunting, working with guys all the time.” Yes, I am a woman, and I am learning the disciplines of physics, math and astronomy. It’s not bad to be proud — physics is a challenging subject. It is one of many challenging subjects, but the important thing was that it’s a subject that most women don’t go into.

But so what? Why should that matter? To me, it mattered because I was being different. I was breaking gender norms. I was going into physics, I was into math and astronomy, and I wanted everyone to know what a huge deal that was. I was thinking like a feminist. I wanted to show everybody that I could be just as good as a guy in a subject dominated by males. Sure, I liked science, astronomy and physics in particular, but I was especially proud of the fact that I was a woman who liked these things.

And what’s wrong with that? I was studying a subject I had an interest in, and finding that I was really rather good at it to boot. The fact that I was proud of being a woman in the field was personal, and not something I went shouting from the rooftops, though it was always present in my mind, and I knew it was one of the first things about my major that people noticed.

The bump came for me when I started thinking, after deciding that I really did like physics enough to continue majoring in it, about what I wanted to do with my discipline. My mother is a research scientist, and growing up knowing the stress of grant writing turned me off of that very quickly. I thought for a while that I’d work in the government, as a liaison or specialist of some sort. Or maybe I’d work at NASA. Or maybe… basically I really didn't know what I wanted to do once I had my degree.

It wasn't until I had a conversation with my high school AP Studio Art teacher on a return visit home that I figured out what I wanted to do. I was telling her about a class I was taking at college called Physics Outreach. In this class, you go out to local elementary, middle and high schools and give physics demonstrations. I talked about how much fun I had with the students, and how I felt I really knew the material better for my physics classes after going on the trips. I told her how I thought it was because I was a counselor at an art camp for five years that I felt more comfortable in front of a group of kids, explaining concepts and maintaining their interest for a period of time.

Then she asked me what I wanted to do with my physics. How was I going to put this discipline to use? At first, I gave her the hand-wavy answer of, ‘oh, you know, maybe something in the government’ I had become accustomed to saying. But when she asked for specifics, and gave me that piercing look she’s known for, I admitted I really had no clue what I wanted to do. That’s when she suggested teaching.

It made sense. I had taught art before, and liked it. I was taking a class based around teaching people physics, and was really enjoying myself. And if you ask me my opinion on AP classes or common core, be prepared for a mouthful. So what held me back? The fact that most teachers are women. I shied away from the idea of becoming one of the masses. I was proud of my unicorn status. It didn't matter that I was really into the idea, I couldn't stand the thought of bowing to gender norms and doing what women did instead of sticking it out and showing everybody that I was as good as any man and could do what any man could.

So I talked to another woman about it, one of the new physics professors at my university. She is a most accomplished woman, having graduated from Oxford and done post docs at most of the Ivy Leagues before taking a permanent position at my school. I had a luncheon with her, and I told her about the conflict I was having. She pointed out that allowing stereotypes and generalities of what women do to deflect me from my passion of teaching was just as bad as teaching because I’m a woman. If I like to teach, then I should teach.

This pivotal moment is when I realized that I had been proud for the wrong reason. I should be proud of my hard work in a difficult field. I should be proud of my success in my school career. But being proud to be a woman in a field where so many are deterred is nothing but silliness — especially when being a woman has nothing to do with anything, not really.

I nearly stopped myself from pursuing something I really love because I didn't want to do what society told me was normal or usual. I ignored myself to listen to others. And that is where the problem lies. In trying to defy rules, I just made more barriers for myself. It doesn't matter who you are, all that matters is what you make of yourself, for yourself.