Humanities Girl
By Raquel Jardim, Latvia
“Sorry! I’m a Humanities girl,” I would exclaim whenever I got a math problem wrong. Whenever I was challenged in class, those five words would get me out of trouble. After my first shortcomings with numbers in 5th grade, my ten-year-old self declared mathematics — and every other STEM subject — her archnemesis. I vowed myself to the field of humanities and, surprisingly, no one questioned it. It seemed that my teachers saw it as the fulfillment of one of life’s unbending truths — with the exception of a few brave ones, girls were forever bound to languages, law, and, at most, nursing. For the next five years — the entirety of middle school — my teachers would never offer me the opportunity to be challenged by math exercises, content, or STEM-related activities beyond the minimum that I was required to learn.
Their indifference to my uninterest in STEM subjects, the after-class activities filled with hostile boys, and the overall stereotype of girls in STEM as ‘ugly’ or ‘boring’ widened the schism between me and mathematics. While the few girls who thrived in mathematics were constantly singled out, my self-assigned “Humanities girl” label granted me safety and a community: bonding with my female classmates over our mediocre grades on physics tests and our common ignorance of advanced maths, I made sure I was not seen as an ‘alien’ and was thus spared the exclusion the girls in my class who excelled in STEM subjects faced.
When the movement for women in STEM sprang up in my school through posters and homeroom presentations, I, as an aspiring lawyer, supported the fight for equality for women in all fields. But I never thought that movement would ever apply to me — after all, I had always been, and would forever be, a “Humanities girl.” I didn’t like mathematics… Or did I?
In eighth grade, I met a mathematics teacher who helped me change my mind without even trying. He didn’t come barging through the door talking about admirable women in STEM, nor did he hold us girls by the hand and say, “You can do it if you believe in yourself.” Rather, he acted as if gender equality was already a reality, and focused on making mathematics more interesting for all of us. His quizzes always had optional, challenging questions that awarded extra points; his mark schemes relied heavily on understanding, and not a single time did he refuse to answer a student’s genuine question. The frontiers between those good at maths and those bad at it eased, and suddenly the ‘boring’ girls who excelled at STEM became my closest friends.
When I moved to an international school abroad, the idea of taking Economics as an extra subject did not feel intimidating, but I still chose the lowest level of mathematics possible. I soon realized, however, that bonding with other girls over my dislike for STEM was no longer an option: they were equally interested in advanced courses as boys and, for the first time in my life, most of my STEM teachers were women. No matter where I looked, the environment around me told me that, although it was okay not to pursue science or mathematics, I always could. And that spark of possibility followed me for a year and a half, in Economics and Mathematics lessons, until I realized they were the subjects I liked the most. When I received my acceptance letter to a college I had applied to as a Political Science major, I wondered: what if I pursued Economics instead?
My teachers — all of them, from Mathematics to French — quickly adapted to my choice. I received book recommendations, YouTube playlists, and study advice as if my future in STEM was already a reality. No snarky comments followed me around, no questions were made to undermine my new-found interest in the field. As the days go by and as I hold more meaningful conversations with my teachers, the idea of pursuing Economics as an undergraduate degree feels increasingly more comfortable.
I must admit, though, that I still feel cheated. As I approach my last months of high school with a major in Economics in mind, I am at times overcome by fright. Unlike my other subjects, which I had years to explore, I feel the gap in my STEM education, and find myself unsure what I know, if I know it, and whether I truly have the skills I need to succeed in Economics at university. Can I really endure years of calculus and statistics? Is it truly possible for me to be in STEM, or am I, like thousands of girls out there, fated to be a Humanities girl forever? I don’t yet know the answer to these questions, but I owe it to myself — and all the other girls who wonder the same — to find out.
